Chapter II: The Emperor William

Still as ignorant regarding the whereabouts of the Main Headquarters as when we left Berlin, we set out from Treves in the morning of the 18th September, recrossed the Moselle, and cast a glance up at the heights from which on August 4th Frenchmen in mufti were heliographing to the airships, who wanted to know how the German mobilisation was getting on. At the flying station we stopped a moment to have a look at the _Taubes_ in their canvas sheds.

The gentle undulations of the country give it a picturesque aspect. At Igel stands the sandstone tower, 2000 years old and twenty-three metres in height, called the _Igeler Säule_, and considered to be the finest relic left by the Romans north of the Alps. To this very day an inscription can be seen, testifying that this monument was raised by Secundinius Aventinus and Secundinius Securus in memory of their parents and kinsmen. How different from the frail wooden crosses we were to see by the roadside, and which will disappear when the spring sun draws the frost out of the ground and the plough cuts fresh furrows in the soil!

But we must now take leave of the Moselle. On the left we have already behind us the roads to Metz and Saarbrücken, and not far to the south is the boundary of Lorraine. Along a road passing through an orchard we reach Wasserbillig, cross the Sauer stream and enter the Grand Duchy of Luxemburg, the entire population of which does not nearly approach that of Stockholm. On the way to Grevenmacher we passed by numberless nurseries and gardens given up to the cultivation of roses. But there are also woods in Luxemburg, and our road takes us by frequent copses of larch and beech, and further on of pine and beech.

At a railway crossing we are stopped by an empty train of enormous length, going to Germany to bring out fresh soldiers. The natives of Luxemburg regard us with indifference. The greetings and friendly wavings of handkerchiefs are a thing of the past, here no one greets and no one betrays his thoughts, which is as well perhaps, as they cannot be particularly friendly. The apple trees are succeeded by an avenue of chestnut, ash and plane trees. The bedrock consists of the same variety of limestone of which the houses in the villages are usually built.

At length our road winds down into a pleasant valley, and at its bottom lies a part of the pretty and trim little town of Luxemburg, where the equally pretty and trim Grand Duchess has her residence. But the more fashionable part of the town lies on the height above the valley, reached by a very steep street presenting somewhat peculiar views, as, for instance, when one suddenly finds oneself on a level with a church spire.

Now we begin to look about. Yes, it is obvious that the Main Headquarters are still at Luxemburg. Sentries at the entrances to all hotels, soldiers everywhere, officers rushing past in motor-cars. In a market-place large tents have been put up for horses, and round them walk the sentries smoking their pipes; in another open space there are rows of motor-cars laden with petrol and oil in cylinders.

We must observe becoming military precision in our search and consequently make at once for the house where the great General Staff has taken up its quarters, and which in ordinary times is a Luxemburg school. Von Krum gets down and soon returns with the intimation that we must report ourselves to a Lieutenant-Colonel Hahnke. He sent us off to the Chief of the General Staff, His Excellency von Moltke, who with his charming Swedish Countess has just sat down to dinner at the _Kölnischer Hof_, where they reside. The Countess was on a short visit to Luxemburg in the service of the Red Cross. Here I felt almost as if I were at home, for I had many times been a guest in their hospitable home in Berlin. As calm as if he had been on manœuvres, the Chief lit his cigar and made detailed enquiries about my plans and wishes. I said I wanted to go to the front and see as much as I might be allowed to, mentioning that it was my intention subsequently to describe what I had seen of the war with my own eyes. If possible I wanted to get an impression of a modern battle, and hoped also to get an opportunity of visiting the occupied parts of Belgium.

The Chief thought for a moment. Permission to visit the front had already been granted to me by the Emperor, and it only remained to decide which would be the best place for me to begin my observations. The army of the German Crown Prince was the nearest, only a couple of hours away. The Chief would arrange everything for my journey, and I was shortly to receive details of the programme. “Of course, there can be no question of safety in the fighting zone,” he said, “it is not far away. If you listen you can hear the thunder of guns from Verdun.”

Later in the day I was the possessor of a so-called _Ausweis_ or permit signed by the Chief of the General Staff, and intimating that I had “permission to witness the course of events at the different sections of the army” and requesting “all authorities in command to meet my wishes as far as they possibly could,” and to assist me with word and deed. This document was to me an “open sesame.” It gave me almost unlimited liberty of movement. Once I had begun I could go practically where I liked. But it did not take me long to realise that I had been wrong in thinking that a couple of weeks would suffice for a layman to get an insight into the complicated apparatus of a field army; a couple of months would be nearer the mark. I hasten to add that the time I spent at the front was far from sufficient. For every step one takes, for every hour that passes, one is overwhelmed with fresh impressions which there is no time to assimilate, and when the first month is gone one retains but a very superficial conception of this enormously complicated piece of machinery, which nevertheless under the firm hand of the master runs as smoothly and noiselessly as clockwork.

Then we spoke of other things. I learnt that a troop train passes through Luxemburg station every half-hour, and that the only pause is at midday to prevent congestion. It is the pulse which beats in the arteries of the German railway system. One wave of human energy after another thus sweeps out towards the battlefields and flings itself against the enemy’s fire; the spirit of gaiety resounds from the overfilled wagons, accompanied by the glorious songs of _Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles_ and _Die Wacht am Rhein_. There is no trace of fear, not a sign of despondency anywhere. All are willing and cheerful. What would life be worth as long as the dear fatherland was not free and great and powerful! One wonders if these soldiers have any conception of the dangers and struggles that await them. Of course they read about it daily in the newspapers, but the more difficult it looks the more eager they become. The Bavarians are the most warlike. They are in their element with bayonets lowered for the charge. Superhuman power is required to withstand them, once they have decided to “go ahead.” Here at Headquarters everyone also speaks with the greatest respect of the Frenchmen as opponents, and no one denies the bravery of the British soldiers. “They go straight into perdition without flinching and fall, but do not yield, before the fire of machine guns.” Of the prisoners, it was said that there was a great difference between the British and the French. The former would stand with their hands in their pockets and a pipe in their mouth when spoken to by an officer, and a salute was only elicited by a reprimand. The Frenchmen, on the other hand, always salute the German officers without being told, and this is probably due to their inherited military spirit and to the trait of inborn courtesy which pervades the whole nation.

When speaking of the troop trains, the Countess Moltke suggested a visit to the railway station, and we accordingly proceeded there, accompanied by von Krum. We were just in time to see an ambulance train--that is to say, not a properly equipped hospital train--roll into the station. Immediately some doctors began their round of the carriages, where the wounded lay on a thick layer of straw and were covered with blankets. A goods wagon in a troop train holds forty men or eight horses, but only thirty-six wounded at the most. The seriously wounded are sorted out and carried out on stretchers to large ambulance motor-cars, which take them to the hospitals in the town. The remainder, who are to be taken into Germany, receive new dressings if necessary. All are fed whilst the train is standing in the station with soup, sausages, bread and coffee in ample quantities. The Red Cross sisters have installed a kitchen at the station, in which cooking is in full swing day and night. Temporary nurses and servants do the waiting and go from carriage to carriage with large buckets filled with steaming and fragrant soup or coffee. A kindly old gentleman accompanied by a porter slowly goes the round of the carriages and distributes newspapers and entire armfuls of cigars. Two carriages were occupied by Frenchmen only. They were treated otherwise in exactly the same way as the Germans, but the old gentleman devoted himself only to his countrymen. The latter, who were clearly on the road to recovery, were singing cheery soldiers’ ditties and delighted in recounting their experiences to anyone who would listen. One of them had had three horses shot under him on a critical occasion, but at last got hold of a mule which enabled him to carry on his duties. “You need not believe him if you don’t want to,” said one of his comrades laughingly, but he went on nevertheless with his tales and declared that he slept like a child whilst the shells were falling thick around him.

From the railway we drove to a private hospital, of which there are several, supported by private contributions. This small house had over sixty beds, of which fifty-three were now occupied by soldiers. Forty Catholic sisters tended them. A sister of refined and distinguished appearance took us round from bed to bed, and Countess Moltke spoke in a friendly and interested manner with all the wounded. Here lay men with bullets through arms and legs, through a foot or a hand, or through the lung. One had lost his right hand. Another felt his lung wound only at the point where the bullet had passed out through the back. A couple of French officers were lodged in a separate room. All, and not least the Frenchmen, were very satisfied with the treatment they received. Most of them had been wounded at the battles of Vitry and Longwy.

It would take too long to describe all the interesting acquaintances I made in Luxemburg and to introduce to the reader all the eminent men with whom I spoke during the two days I spent in this little town. Suffice it to mention the Imperial Chancellor von Bethmann Hollweg, the Foreign Minister von Jagow, the War Minister Lieutenant-General von Falkenhayn, and the Chief of the Imperial Volunteer Automobile Corps the young Prince Waldemar, son of Prince Henry.

The Main Headquarters are the head or rather the brain of the army in the field, where all plans are made and from which all orders are issued. It is an incredibly complicated apparatus with an organisation of which every detail has been prepared in advance. When an apparatus of this kind is installed in a small town like Luxemburg, all hotels, schools, barracks, Government offices, as well as a number of private houses, have to be requisitioned for billets. The invaded country has no alternative but to resign itself to its fate. But nothing is taken promiscuously, everything will be made good after the war. The War Ministry is housed in an hotel, the General Staff--as already mentioned--in a school, the offices of the Automobile Corps in a private house, and so on. The Commander-in-Chief, von Moltke, resided at the _Kölnischer Hof_, the Imperial Chancellor and the Foreign Minister in an exceptionally elegant private house, whilst the Emperor’s personal staff and suite were stopping at the _Hotel Staar_, where a room was also placed at my disposal.

But although for several obvious reasons I could not remain long at the Main Headquarters, I must nevertheless say a few words about a man whom I met there and whom I regard as one of the most remarkable figures of the world’s history, the most powerful and most impressive ruler of our time, and, moreover, one of the most genial and most fascinating men one could wish to meet.

When in June, 1913, William II. celebrated his twenty-five years’ jubilee as German Emperor, I wrote about him in the _Magdeburgische Zeitung_ the following words, which in a large measure have already been borne out by events: “By his strong and powerful personality William II. stamps his impress on the era to which he belongs. Hitherto this has only been in the sphere of peace. What the future carries with it no one knows. But this much we know, that no foreign State will unchastised dare to challenge Germany’s honour and security. Even if an unkind fate should sometime draw letters of blood across his firmament, the Emperor, with the same energy and impulsive force which distinguished him in times of peace, will lead his legions into the fire, and the golden eagle on his helmet will point the way to fresh victories.”

History will bear out as an indisputable fact that Emperor William throughout a quarter of a century has done all in his power to keep the thunders of war from the confines of the German Empire and from Europe. On more than one occasion peace hung by a hair. All who know the facts agree that it has been the Emperor’s personal intervention which averted a catastrophe. Once, not long ago, the war was nearer than people thought, and here again it was the Emperor’s love of peace that became the deciding factor. Many blamed him for this, and called his attitude irresolute and yielding. But here also the judgment of history will be in his favour. In the meantime Germany armed herself for the sanguinary conflict as to the coming of which no far-sighted man could doubt. In the end the struggle for the maintenance of peace became hopeless. This was realised by no one better than by the Emperor himself, and for this reason he has throughout his reign striven to strengthen the Empire’s fighting resources on land and water. At the present moment the fleet is riding on the seas like a gigantic monument to the wise and clear-eyed foresight of its creator. For it is the Emperor himself who, in co-operation with his peerless Grand Admiral von Tirpitz, created the floating fortresses without which Germany’s position would have been precarious when England came along with her declaration of war.

When the spark of war was kindled, Emperor William was spending his usual summer vacation off the coast of Norway. He went home at once--with the same haste that brought President Poincaré from Stockholm, where he was spending a day after his doubtless very important visit to Petrograd. Since then events have succeeded one another rapidly. The little spark at Serajevo has become a conflagration which has spread over the entire earth like a devastating prairie fire. It was a fortunate thing for Germany and her Germanic neighbours that she was armed to the teeth and possessed a ruler who knew what he wanted, who wanted what was right and beneficial to his country, and who fully realised the grave responsibility which rested on his shoulders.

But let us return to the Great Headquarters.

Directly I arrived in Luxemburg, I was honoured with an invitation to dine with the Emperor William the following day at one o’clock. Most of the guests were stopping at the _Hotel Staar_, and the cars were to leave there in good time. I went with Adjutant-General, Lieutenant-General von Gontard, Acting General à la suite. The street close to the Imperial residence was railed off, the barriers being withdrawn by the soldiers to let our car pass. The Emperor lived in the house of the German Minister and had his private apartments on the first floor. On the ground floor was the chancellerie, where enormous maps of the theatres of war were mounted on easels, and next to it was the dining-room, quite a small apartment.

The guests, all in field uniform, without any display, forgathered in the chancellerie. I myself was dressed in the most flagrant everyday clothes--in the field nothing is carried for show. Among the Emperor’s suite I recognised a couple of old acquaintances, the Headquarters Commandant, Adjutant-General, Colonel-General von Plessen, and the President of the Navy Council, Admiral von Müller, of Swedish descent, who spoke Swedish as fluently as German. The others were his Excellency von Treutler and Lieutenant-General Baron Marschall, Colonel von Mutius, acting aide-de-camp, the Princes Pless and Arnim and the Emperor’s body-physician, Dr. Ilberg. We were thus ten all told.

At the stroke of one the door from the vestibule was opened and Emperor William entered with a firm, quiet step. All glances were fixed on the strongly built, well-knit figure. The room became as quiet as the grave. One realised that one was in the presence of a great personality. The little room, otherwise so humble, now had a deeper significance. Here was the axis, the pivot round which the world’s happenings turned. Here was the centre from which the war was directed. Germany is to be crushed, so say its enemies. “_Magst ruhig sein_,”[4] says the German army to its Fatherland. And here in our midst stands its supreme war-lord, a picture of manliness, resolution and honourable frankness. Around him flit the thoughts and passions of the whole world. He is the object of love, blind confidence and admiration, but also of fear, hate and calumny. Round him, who loves peace, rages the greatest war of all times, and his name is ringed with strife. A man who, in a nation sprung from the same race, can arouse such fierce hatred and call forth such outrageous indictments, must indeed possess a very remarkable personality. For otherwise his detractors would leave him in peace and empty the vials of their wrath on someone else, more formidable still. But all that calumny, meanness and craven fear can inspire has been poured on his head. His intentions are distorted, his words are misconstrued and his actions are turned into crimes. But in the whole of Germany, throughout the German army, his praises are sung. In the field services, in all the churches of Germany, everywhere fervent prayers for his safety are offered up. “_Magst ruhig sein_,” the soldiers may well say to their Emperor, and they on their part know that he will never fail in his duty and that he will never withdraw a single soldier from the fighting line until Germany’s future is assured.

[4] From the line “_Lieb Vaterland magst ruhig sein_” (“Be undismayed, dear Fatherland”), in _Die Wacht am Rhein_.

It is not a Charlemagne or an Imperator who enters the chancellerie. It is merely an officer in the simplest uniform imaginable, a greyish-blue tunic with a double row of buttons, dark-coloured breeches and brown top-boots. Not even the little black and white ribbon of the Iron Cross adorns his breast. But it is nevertheless a fascinating and compelling personality, an urbane and courteous man of the world, that we see entering the room. It is a man whose quick intuition and superb powers of description reveal the observer and the artist, whose wise speech betrays the statesman, whose kindly manner betokens humility and sympathy and whose military, commanding voice indicates the master, accustomed to be obeyed. Happy is the people which especially in troubled times possesses such a leader, a chieftain round whom all gather in confidence and whose ability no one doubts.

But it is also his eyes that possess a singular magnetic power, and which fascinate all when the Emperor enters. It is as if the whole room suddenly became lighter, when one meets the glance of the Emperor’s calm, blue eyes. They are wonderfully expressive. They bespeak first and foremost an iron will and unconquerable energy. They betray a certain melancholy at the thought that all may not understand that he is actuated absolutely by the will to do what is pleasing unto God and beneficial to his people. They also betray a sparkling wit, an intellect to which nothing human is foreign and a spirit of humour which is irresistible. They betoken honour, love of truth and a steadfast sincerity, firm and indomitable, the spirit of which penetrates to one’s very marrow as one meets his glance.

Any feeling of timidity one may have had whilst waiting for the most powerful and most remarkable man in the world vanished completely once the Emperor, after a more than hearty handshake and a cheery welcome, began to speak. His voice is manly and military, he speaks extraordinarily plainly without slurring over a single syllable, he is never at a loss for a word, but always strikes the nail on the head--often in exceedingly forceful terms. He punctuates his sentences with quick and expressive gestures. His speech flows smoothly, is always terse and interesting and is often suddenly interrupted by questions delivered with lightning precision, which one must endeavour to answer equally quickly and clearly. A good answer never fails to elicit the Emperor’s approval. He is exceedingly impulsive and his conversation is a mixture of earnest and jest. A ready repartee or an amusing tale causes him to laugh so heartily that his shoulders shake with it.

At the Emperor’s bidding we passed into the dining-room. Admiral von Müller sat on the left, I on the right of our august host, and opposite him was Adjutant-General von Gontard. The table was simply laid. The only luxury that could be discovered was a bell of gold placed in front of the Emperor’s cover, and which he rang when a new course was to be brought in. The dinner was equally plain, consisting of soup, meat with vegetables, a sweet dish and fruit with claret. I have seldom been as hungry as when I rose from this table: not on account of the dishes, but because there had not been a moment’s silence up to the time when the bell rang for the last time and bade the uniformed servants withdraw our chairs as we rose. The Emperor talked to me all the time. He began by reminding me of my last lecture in Berlin, at which he was present, and he conjectured that Tibet, where I had passed through such stirring times, would probably soon be the only country in the world where peace reigned. Then we spoke of the political position and of the storms that are sweeping over Europe. It pleased me especially to hear with what respect and sympathy the Emperor referred to France. He regretted the necessity which, contrary to his wish, compelled him to lead his army against the French, and he hoped that the time would come when Germans and Frenchmen might live on amicable and neighbourly terms with one another. For this goal he had striven for twenty-five years and he hoped that quite a new order of things would arise out of the present war. An understanding between Germany and France would of necessity lay the solid foundation for future peace. But first there must be victory over the innumerable legions which four great powers had hurled against Germany’s frontiers and the German possessions in other continents, then an honourable and assured peace in all directions, and finally the great and abiding world-peace. First and foremost the Emperor placed his faith in God, but he also relied implicitly on the German people, on this great and noble army which had now for six weeks asserted itself so gloriously, and on his powerful fleet, longing to fight out its battle on the waves of the Atlantic. He relied on his soldiers’ superb bravery and contempt of death and on the officers who led them on land and water.

If the French had any idea of the Emperor’s real feelings towards them, they would judge him very differently. Surely no one thinks that I would take the responsibility of attributing to the Emperor opinions other than those which had fallen from his lips and which I myself had heard! It would be an ill reward for the hospitality I met with in the German Army.

The conversation turned besides on many other topics. The Emperor said many strong and manly things. He spoke like Gustavus Adolphus, when he first landed in Germany with his Swedish Army to bring succour to the Protestant princes and to fight for the liberty of thought and religion on this earth. When the German Emperor talks thus--then I have truly no time to eat beef and vegetables--then I prefer to listen and to order sandwiches afterwards, when back in my room at the hotel.

On a table in the chancellerie were cigars and cigarettes round a lighted candle. Here the conversation was continued with zest and vigour, and jest and earnest, horrors of war and funny stories were all jumbled together; finally the Emperor took his leave, wishing me a successful and instructive trip, and went up to his apartments, where no doubt piles of papers and letters, reports and telegrams awaited him.

The talk of the Emperor having aged during the war, and of the war with all its labours and anxieties having sapped his strength and health, is all nonsense. His hair is no more pronouncedly iron grey than before the war, his face has colour, and far from being worn and thin, he is plump and strong, bursting with energy and rude health. A man of Emperor William’s stamp is in his element when, through the force of circumstances, he is compelled to stake all he possesses and above all himself for the good and glory of his country. But his greatest quality is that he is a human being and that with all his fulminant force he is humble before God.