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Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

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MEMOIRS OF PRINCE VON BÜLOW

Vol. III

The World War and Germany’s Collapse 1909-1919

Translated from the German by

GEOFFREY DUNLOP

ILLUSTRATED

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 4

ILLUSTRATIONS 5

CHAPTER I 22

My Journey from Berlin to Hamburg (July 17, 1909)—Old Memories and Fresh Impressions—In Hamburg—The Hotel Atlantic—Herr Pfordte—Ballin’s Plan for a Meeting between the Admirals Defeated by Bethmann’s Opposition—By Steamer from Hamburg to Cuxhaven; Thence to Norderney—The Minister, Doctor Rosen—The Friendly Demonstrations on My Retirement—I Answer Letters and Addresses. 22

CHAPTER II 29

The Political Situation when I Retired—Last Conversations with Bethmann-Hollweg—Last Sitting of the Prussian State Ministry—Details of Bethmann’s Taking Office. 29

CHAPTER III 37

After My Retirement: Schmoller, Oncken, Riezler, Philip Eulenburg. 37

CHAPTER IV 44

Some Character Studies à propos of My Retirement—Tschirschky—Schön—Kiderlen—Radowitz—Jagow—Monts—Flotow—Walter Rathenau, His Relationship to Kaiser and Republic. 44

CHAPTER V 56

William’s Attitude towards Me after Retirement—The Press Stunts—Schiemann—A Talk on the Subject of My Retirement between the Emperor William II and Count Friedrich Vitzthum-Lichtenwalde—The Aspersions in the Märkische Volkszeitung—A Letter to Bethmann He Replies from Linderhof—Wahnschaffe, the Head of the Imperial Chancellery, in Norderney—Exchange of Letters between Myself and Bodo von dem Knesebeck on the Events of November, 1908. 56

CHAPTER VI 67

In Berlin—A Conversation with Bethmann (October, 1909)—Luncheon with Their Majesties at the Neues Palais—The Soirée for the Kaiserin’s Birthday (October 22, 1909): My Last Meeting with William II before the World War—I go to Berne; My Brother Alfred—We Arrive in Rome; the Villa Malta—Its History—My First Walk Leads Me to the Capitol My Life in Rome; Barrère—Von Loebell. 67

CHAPTER VII 79

A Change in the Brussels Legation—Flotow’s Intrigues against Wallwitz—My Correspondence with Bethmann—Bethmann’s Reorientation of German Policy towards Belgium—Bismarck and Belgium in am—Bethmann’s Visit to Rome in March, 1910—Frau von Flatow—The General Situation—The Reichstag Elections of 1912—The Death of Edward VII—Herr von Kiderlen in Rome—Letters from Germany: Ernst Bassermann, Lichnowsky. 79

CHAPTER VIII 90

Adolf von Harnack’s Visit to Rome—Harnack’s Attitude to the Kaiser before and after the Revolution—Visit to Brandenburg-on-the-Havel in the Summer of 1913—A Family Gathering at Doberan—My Commemoration Address at the Unveiling of the Monument to General von Bülow-Dennewitz—Congratulatory Letters—Count Roon—I Visit Fitger in Bremen. 90

CHAPTER IX 101

Montreux, October, 1913—Audience with Pius X—Disquieting Events Abroad—A Memorandum to the Kaiser?—William II’s Behaviour to Ministers out of Office—William II never Consults Me again, not even before the Ultimatum to Serbia or in the Critical July Days in 1914—My Letter to Count August Eulenburg a Year before the Catastrophe. 101

CHAPTER X 111

Bethmann-Hollweg’s Policy from 1909-1914—His Reticence with Myself on Politics—I Remain for These Five Years Eliminated—Lichnowsky Appointed London Ambassador—The Opinions of Foreign Statesmen—Peter Carp Visits Rome—Krupenski and Sasonow’s Instructions—Kokowzow and Kriwoschein in Rome—Sir Rennell Rodd, the British Ambassador—My Book German Policy. 111

CHAPTER XI 123

Berlin, June, 1914—News of the Assassination of the Heir to the Austrian Throne—Conversations with Bethmann and the Emperor—Bethmann’s Illusions. 123

CHAPTER XII 133

German Policy on the Eve of the World War—William II’s Attitude to the Crisis—Bethmann as Diplomat—His Offer to English Ambassador Goschen—State Secretary von Jagow—A Report of Baron Beyens, the Belgian Minister—Wilhelm Stumm—Zimmermann—Diego von Bergen—What Was the Diplomatic Position? 133

CHAPTER XIII 141

Bethmann Proposes to Resign—The Heroic Behaviour of Our People Bethmann’s Declaration of War on Russia; His Motives—Our Clumsy Handling of Italy—Roumania—Talks with Prince W del on Our Strategy—Lichnowsky’s Telephone Conversation with Grey—The Fall of Liège—General Ludendorff—The First News of the Battle of the Marne The Invasion of Belgium—Bethmann’s Speech on Belgium (August 4th) The Scrap of Paper. 141

CHAPTER XIV 151

CHAPTER XV 163

My Roman Mission, 1914-1915—A Letter from Bethmann and My Answer—I Go to Rome in the Middle of December, 1915—Jagow and Flotow versus Bülow—A Letter from Ballin—Friendly Messages. 163

CHAPTER XVI 172

An Audience with William II—My Farewell Visit to Moltke—Flotow Stays on in Italy to Intrigue against Me—Erzberger’s Visit to Rome—His Loyal Behaviour there—From the Archives of the Roman Embassy—My Roman Activity—Letters from Germany—The Kaiser’s Frame of Mind The German Colony—Count Greppi—The Austro-Hungarian Ambassador, Von Merey, Replaced by Freiherr von Macchio. 172

CHAPTER XVII 182

Sidney Sonnino, the Italian Foreign Minister—The Allies’ Propaganda in Italy—How They Exploited the German Invasion of Belgium—King Victor Emanuel III—Queen Margherita; Her Confidential Question to Princess Bülow—The Councillor of Legation, Von Hindenburg—Gioloitti’s Parecchio—Pope Benedict XV—Bethmann’s Miserable Policy—A Letter to Me from Bethmann—Flotow Reappears in Rome—My Farewell Audience with the King—Erzberger’s Optimism. 182

CHAPTER XVIII 196

Back to Berlin—A Dinner Party at Bethmann-Hollweg’s—But I Am not Received by the Emperor—Bethmann Writes to Me—My Answer and His Reply—My Reception at Hamburg—The War Develops—Bethmann-Hollweg Indicates the Future Establishment of an Independent Poland. 196

CHAPTER XIX 205

The Winter of 1915-1916 in Lucerne—Count Ledochowski, the General of the Society of Jesus—The Central Powers Make a Clumsy Offer of Peace—My Last Audience with William II—The Tactics of Defeatism in Germany—Energy of the French Government towards Similar Manifestations among the French—Prince Lichnowsky’s Brochure A Conversation with Bethmann-Hollweg—Conscription Introduced in England. 205

CHAPTER XX 214

Submarine Warfare—The Crown Prince Interviews Leading Politicians—Bethmann’s Retirement—My Recall Is Considered—Intrigues against Me in Berlin and Vienna—The Diplomatic Possibilities of Peace Assistant State Secretary Michaelis, Imperial Chancellor—Count Czernin’s Memorandum—A Peace Resolution in the Reichstag—Erzberger—The First Signs of Demoralization in the Fleet at Kiel—State Secretary Zimmermann—Michaelis Replaced by Hertling—State Secretary Kühlmann—The Peace of Brest-Litovsk—The State of Mind in Berlin Adolf von Harnack. 214

CHAPTER XXI 226

Bad News from Austria—Our Ambassador there, Count Botho Wedel Roumania Comes into the War—Hindenburg, Ludendorff—The Development of Their Strategy—Our Great Offensive in France in the Spring of 1918—The Increasing War Weariness in Germany—Lamentable Weakness of Our Government—Ballin Visits Me at Klein-Flottbek—His Last Attempt to Open the Emperor’s Eyes—A Letter from the Deputy Heckscher on Our Defeat—My Answer—The Soviet Ambassador, Joffe. 226

CHAPTER XXII 235

Prince Max of Baden, Imperial Chancellor—His Personality, His Unfitness for Office—My Name Comes up for the Chancellorship—The Question of William II’s Abdication—His Flight into Holland and Letter to the Crown Prince—The Kaiser Abdicates—Philistine Character of the German Revolution—The Naval Mutiny in Kiel—Events in Munich—The Flight of Ludwig III of Bavaria—King Frederick Augustus of Saxony’s Farewell to His People. 235

CHAPTER XXIII 245

The Triumph of Revolution in Berlin—Prince Max Leaves the Capital for Baden—The Spartacus Agitation—Ebert and Noske—My Experiences in the Hotel Adlon—Countess Treauberg, Doctor Stampfer, Doctor Breitscheid—The Troops Return from the Front—The Armistice Negotiations in Compiègne; Erzberger’s Business Methods as Head of the Armistice Commission—The Shameful and Dictated Peace of Versailles—The Publication of Our Archives. 245

CHAPTER XXIV 256

The Weimar Spirit—Erzberger—The Political Incapacity of the Leading Politicians at Weimar—Defects of the Old System, Its Attitude to Parliamentary Government—How Many Chancellors since the Revolution?—Did Bismarck Give too Much Power to the Crown?—Retrospect—No laudator temporis acti!—Symptoms of Gradual Improvement in Germany—Hindenburg—Germany’s Future. 256

SUPPLEMENT 262

Letters and Addresses Received by Prince von Bülow on His Retirement 262

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 262

ILLUSTRATIONS

PRINCE BERNHARD VON BÜLOW

VILLA KLEIN-FLOTTBEK

DR. WALTER RATHENAU

VILLA MALTA IN ROME

IMPERIAL MANŒUVRES

PRINCE MAX LICHNOWSKY

VISIT TO THE NAVY MANŒUVRES AT KIEL

LEOPOLD COUNT BERCHTOLD

GIOVANNI GIOLITTI

HEINRICH LEONHARD VON TSCHIRSCHKY UND BÖGENDORFF

MARCHESE ANTONIO DI SAN GIULIANO

ANTONIO SALANDRA

POPE BENEDICT XV

IMPERIAL CHANCELLOR THEOBALD VON BETHMANN-HOLLWEG IN CONVERSATION WITH VICE-CHANCELLOR DOCTOR KARL HELFFERICH

GENERAL FIELD MARSHAL PAUL VON BENECKENDORF UND HINDENBURG

PRINCE VON BÜLOW

CHAPTER I

My Journey from Berlin to Hamburg (July 17, 1909)—Old Memories and Fresh Impressions—In Hamburg—The Hotel Atlantic—Herr Pfordte—Ballin’s Plan for a Meeting between the Admirals Defeated by Bethmann’s Opposition—By Steamer from Hamburg to Cuxhaven; Thence to Norderney—The Minister, Doctor Rosen—The Friendly Demonstrations on My Retirement—I Answer Letters and Addresses.{1}

I HAD said my farewells to the capital and now sat opposite my wife in the saloon car, transformed by the kindness of many friends into a bower of roses, carnations, and orchids, in her honour. No other city, in the days before 1914, was so lavish with her flowers as Berlin. The train bore us from Berlin to Hamburg.

My first emotion was one of thankfulness to God who, throughout an eventful, sometimes stormy decade, had permitted me to shield our land from harm, extend and consolidate her power, promote her well-being, and yet preserve in honour that peace of which, above all, we stood in need. I thanked my dear wife for her devotion. It had kept me fit to do my duty amid the nerve-racking activities of twelve strenuous years. I had often travelled on this line between Berlin and Hamburg, to Kiel, to make the Emperor a report, or, in his company, do honour to the royal sport of yachting, on board his fast yacht The Meteor, or the graceful Iduna of the Empress. Now, a retired Imperial Chancellor, retracing the same well-known route, memories of my boyhood came to life in me. I thought of my kind father who, when we travelled, had let slip no chance of adding to my knowledge of a countryside, or of extending my historical horizon. We passed through Spandau, the ancient residence of the first Hohenzollern electors, where, on November 1, 1539, Joachim II had taken the Sacrament sub utraque, and paved the way for the new doctrine through the whole March of Brandenburg by his act. There too stands the Juliusturm. It once concealed that Prussian war treasure which for so long held the popular fancy. But in the fiscal reforms that caused my downfall, the sums in debate already far exceeded this treasure , and the time was yet to come when milliards far surpassing the millions of which so much was made in those days were to be wrung from our exhausted, martyred people. Kremmen, Fehrbellin, rose along the sky line: Kremmen, where the men of the March did battle with the men of Pomerania; they who, in after years, were to fight so stoutly side by side. Fehrbellin, the first great victory in the heroic annals of Prussian Brandenburg. The spirit of our greatest Prussian poet, Heinrich von Kleist, hovers above this glorious countryside. Wilsnack recalled to mind a deed of violence perpetrated by one of my own ancestors. In 1383 the gallant knight, Hennecke von Bülow, a valiant, nicknamed "Grosse Tête", having retaken the free cities Plau, Dömnitz, and Neustadt, set fire in barbarous fashion to Wilsnack, in the course of a raid on the Bishop of Havelberg. Nor would he even spare the church in which the Blessed Sacrament was exposed. The Host had remained unconsumed. It bled, and the Holy Blood of Wilsnack became a famous place of pilgrimage. By the Holy Blood of Wilsnack was a current form of oath in the Middle Ages. The Bülows paid, by excommunication for three years, for the crime of this unworthy son. Since, in the centuries leading up to the Reformation, my family gave five exemplary bishops to the Church, four at Schwerin and one at Lebus, I trust that this lapse of a single member has not left us with an indelible stigma. And the criminal did not long survive his crime. Our family chronicle relates how, shortly after the sack of Wilsnack, "Grosse Tête" was borne away to hell, at the age of scarce thirty years.

We passed the Dassin estate, the property, for many generations, of my ancestors in the direct line. Of nearly ninety estates, I said to myself, which the family has owned since the fourteenth century in Mecklenburg, scarcely twenty remain in our possession. How will it be a hundred years from now? And especially if the central government is clumsy and short-sighted in its policy.

The train pulled up at Ludwigslust, which I had often visited as a boy, to pay my respects to many worthy uncles and aunts. I fancied myself back in the Biedermeierzeit, the age of Frederick William III, with its scent of lavender, its gold snuffboxes. How respectfully, in this city of the arts which a royal caprice called into being, I had admired the gilt drawing-rooms of the Schloss; the gardens, with their long avenues, the waterfall, with its broad double cascades. I could still distinctly remember the court chapel, together with its singular inscription: "Magnus Dux Megapolitanus, Magnus Peccator Magno Redemptori", but could not recollect the name of the Grand Duke and great sinner.

The mausoleum at Friedrichsruh! On the many journeys I have taken from Berlin to Hamburg, I never saw it without being moved to serious thought. Nor had it ever stirred me more than on this 7th of July, woo, on my way from office into retirement.

The unrest of my last exciting weeks of chancellorship had left me no time for a real talk with my wife. I could explain to her, now, my deeper reasons for resigning. No doubt my fiscal reforms would have gone through in the shape in which I first suggested them had the Emperor’s latent hostility not encouraged the Centre to oppose me, the Conservatives to leave me in the lurch. William II, in contrast to his father and grandfather, had paid more heed to wounded vanity than to reasons of State, of political logic and prudence. My wife had known the Emperor as a boy. He had always shown himself most gracious to her and she still remained very attached to him. She encouraged my resolve to do nothing that could in any way prejudice the Crown. This decision was made easier by the fact that petty, selfish, and clumsy Conservative tactics had been, in no small measure, responsible for the non-acceptance of the Death Duties, the premature split in the bloc—and my resignation. My wife agreed that much might not have happened as it did had certain of our old friends been spared to stand at my side in the last, critical winter in office...friends who could understand me, who remained courageous and steadfast but who, meanwhile, had been called away by death. With Richthofen as Foreign State Secretary, so frivolous and slipshod a handling of the Daily Telegraph manuscript as Schön, Müller, and Klehmet had allowed themselves would not have been a possibility. Arenberg, with his energy and experience, could have made the Centre adopt a more reasonable attitude and would certainly have managed to prevent the intrigues of an Erzberger. Had Count Limburg-Stirum led the Conservatives he would never have overshot the mark, like Heydebrand, the narrow-minded dwarf, and his insignificant creature Westarp. Old Wilhelm von Kardorff, for many years in the confidence of the Bismarcks, a man of fire and of wide outlook, would have given me better support, as leader of the Empire Party, than his successor, the timid and muddle-headed Hatzfeldt-Trachenberg.

The towers of Hamburg came into view; the city with the distant view of the sea. At the station Ballin and Felix von Eckardt were awaiting us; a great crowd had gathered to give us welcome. We went, with these two friends, to the Hotel Atlantic, as usual. Little Pfordte received us at the door. He was one of the curiosities of Hamburg, as the mouse in the Marienkirche is a curiosity of Lübeck. Just as every apprentice who went to Lübeck was supposed to have had a look at the mouse, whoever, in the good old days, visited Hamburg, was told to make the acquaintance of Pfordte since, in this most gastronomic of German cities, he supremely represented the art to which Brillat-Savarin devotes his Physiologie du Goût, and Karl Friedrich von Rumohr his Spirit of the Culinary Muse. Of Pfordte, as of the dwarf Perkeo on the Heidelberg cask, in Scheffel’s song, it could be said that, though great in wit he was small in inches. He had come as a penniless boy from Wittenberge, to finish his days in Hamburg as a high authority in his trade. He served us with a choice but brief repast which did full justice to his saying that in Hamburg we dine, whereas, in other towns they eat. To clear myself of all suspicion of bragging, I must add that I lay no claim to being a gourmet. I eat, as a rule, whatever is set before me without really noticing it much. This, of course, Herr Pfordte could only deplore, though he kindly assured me that even my gastronomic deficiencies did not in the least detract from his deep admiration of my policy.

With my Hamburg friends I sat on until well after midnight, exchanging impressions, thoughts, and also, alas, anxieties. Ballin regretted most of all that I had been prevented from reaching an understanding, on the tempo of naval construction, with England. His resourceful brain was already at work on a new project. A meeting must be arranged during the summer in Switzerland—at Mürren or Engelberg—between the heads of the German and British navies, Tirpitz and Lord Fisher, at which they could strive for the friendly solution of their difficulties. Ballin, rightly I thought, proceeded on the assumption that Tirpitz, whose constant itch it was to dabble in politics, though not always with the happiest results, would be likely to show a more conciliatory spirit if he were given sole power to negotiate and not forced to confine himself to criticism. Ballin supposed that diplomatic laurels would also not displease the English admiral. In the summer of 1909 he did, in fact, use all his influence to win over the two sovereigns to his project. Edward VII approved his suggestions and promised to persuade Lord Fisher in this sense. When, on August 3, 1909, William II returned from his trip to the North, Ballin went to meet him at Swinemünde. The Emperor, whom Ballin could influence, and who always welcomed a fresh idea, especially if he considered it original, consented at once, and summoned Bethmann-Hollweg, who had also come to Swinemünde to meet him. But when Ballin developed his suggestion in the presence of the new Imperial Chancellor, the latter pulled a very long face, and answered sulkily, "I respectfully protest against this suggestion. I had considered as my particular province and the principal object of all my efforts, the establishment of confidential and really friendly relations with England. In Your Majesty’s absence I have been studying the matter an fond, with all the documents. It is my especial field and I cannot allow it to be encroached upon. Bethmann, concluded Ballin, in the account he gave me of the incident, when we met not long afterwards, looked so ill-humoured that the Emperor, who cannot bear to have discontented faces about him, let the whole matter drop and said, when the Chancellor left, ‘You saw how vexed he was. After all, I can’t begin the Bethmann-Hollweg epoch with a row, now that the Bülow epoch has just ended with one.’"

Next morning we descended the Elbe on the splendid Victoria-Louise, one of the largest Hamburg-America liners. The excellent Ballin came with us as far as Cuxhaven. Via Altona we passed the Donnersburg, where the Imperial couple had stayed for the manœuvres of 1904, there to receive the news of the Crown Prince’s betrothal; then on, past Oevelgönne, where old sea captains, sitting before their quaint little houses, spy out upon each passing ship, scour her from end to end through their telescopes, and sadly evoke sea memories. We passed the country house in which I was born, at Flottbek. It stands on the Flottbek Chaussée which, with reason, Detlev von Liliencron once called the most beautiful road in Germany. This poet, our neighbour and friend, had died, to our deep regret, at about the time of my resignation. The Chaussée was thronged with people, who greeted us with Hoch and Hurrah. The finely pointed spire of the church of Nienstedten came into view—the church in which I was baptized, by a worthy old pastor of seventy, long since gone to his reward. He rests close by the gates of the churchyard in which I too shall sleep my last sleep. Baptizer and baptized will arise and stand face to face on the last great day of resurrection. We passed the picturesque old houses which jut out over the river at Blankenese, sometimes compared to Sorrento for its beauty and, after its fashion, no whit less beautiful in my eyes. Schulau, Wedel, Glückstadt drifted by; the Elbe grew ever broader, ever mightier. To the right Brunsbüttel, from which, ten years before, I had set out with the Imperial couple for England: to the left, Cuxhaven, and then, at last, the sea—thalassa—the eternal, which Xenophon’s hoplites saluted on their return from the Euphrates, with shouts of triumph, from Paphlagonian heights; the sea which, in the words of Gerhart Hauptmann, the one true German poet of today, has tumbled for countless ages its blind water masses, sightless as the never-ending centuries.

At Cuxhaven we changed our boat. A small steamer took us on to Norderney. A slim volume, presented to me not long before by Rosen, the Councillor of Legation, had served as my reading on the journey: The Maxims of Omar Kháyyám, that tent-maker, who made it his boast that he had woven the tents of philosophy rather than the homes of shepherd nomads. He lived at the dawn of the twelfth century, at Nishapur, in northeast Persia. Rosen, his German translator, had been one of my best colleagues at the Foreign Office. He was born in Jerusalem, where his father had been consul in Bismarck’s time. From his boyhood up he had had a thorough knowledge of the East, had taught Persian and Hindustani in the University School of Oriental Languages in Berlin, and served as consul in Beyruth, Bagdad, and Teheran. For some years he had lived with Lord Dufferin, the English Ambassador at St. Petersburg, Constantinople, Rome, and Paris, Governor-general of Canada, and subsequent Viceroy of India. Rosen had accompanied him to India where, in contact with this distinguished statesman, he could extend and sharpen his political sense, and learn the art of ruling men. He had rendered me many services during my chancellorship: first, in 1905, as the head of a mission in Abyssinia, where he concluded a commercial treaty which proved of the greatest advantage to Germany; then in Paris, on the eve of the Algeciras conference, as negotiator with Rouvier, and finally as Minister at Tangier. He had translated the tent-maker’s maxims in the saddle, as he journeyed here and there, up and down the caravan tracks of Persia. I may add that, after my time, he did further excellent service as a Minister, in Bucharest, Lisbon, and at the Hague. At Bucharest he enjoyed the particular favour of King Carol, who was delighted with his perfect manners, his wide culture, and intelligence. At Lisbon, that English annex, where he found himself dépaysé in 1914, he obtained all that was possible by temporizing. As Minister at the Hague he witnessed the Imperial flight to Holland and, in one of the most difficult situations for any Imperial representative, gave proof of great character and tact. His perfect French and equally perfect English, no less than his natural distinction and thorough knowledge of the world, made of him an excellent Foreign Minister. He obtained this post in the May of 1921, in the Wirth. Cabinet, but could not long agree with his Chancellor. Here are the first quatrains found in Omar Kháyyám, which I had taken to read on the journey:

Und lebtest du dreihundert Jahr und drüber noch hinaus,

Aus dieser Karawanserei musst du einst doch hinaus.

Ob du ein stolzer Königwarst oder ob bettelarm

Das kommt an jenem letzten Tag aufs sdbe doch hinaus.

Nimm an, dein Leben sei ganz nach Wunsch gewesen—was dann?

Und wenn das Lebensbuch nun ausgelesen—was dann?

Nimm an, du lebtest in Freuden hundert Jahr -

Nimm meinethalb an, es seien zweihundert gewesen—was dann?{2}

It was the same eternal truth to which Bismarck, as Minister to the Frankfurt Diet, gives another form, in a letter to his wife, whom he reassures concerning a painful incident: At eleven, the actor says the curtain will fall; after nine o’clock everything will be over.

We arrived at Norderney on the afternoon of July 21st in brilliant sunshine. The whole island had turned out to greet us: both summer visitors and inhabitants cheered us a welcome at the landing stage. The burgomaster delivered a friendly speech. On resigning I had registered an oath never to make any more speeches; for the last twelve years I had been forced to make far too many.

Weil viel Reden ungesund,

Gab Natur uns einen Mund.

Mit dem einen Maule schon

Schwatzt zu viel der Erdensohn.{3}

But the plain, friendly words of the burgomaster, the cordial welcome of all the good sailors and fisher folk, moved me so much that I forswore myself. I thanked them all for their welcome and told them briefly that I saw in their kindness to me a part of the national idea which I had done my best to serve, truly and faithfully. The national idea, I continued, was personified in the Hohenzollern dynasty, which had pointed out its way to the German people, from the days of the Great Elector to the Great King, whom Norderney then already served, and from the Great King on, to our good old Emperor. Our present Sovereign, I added, also served the national idea, with a generous heart and the very best intentions. For so long as Kaiser and Nation are at one, we can look out in confidence to the future. If here at Norderney, as elsewhere, my resignation could bring me such a harvest of sympathy, it must be because my sole and cherished aim had been the welfare of my country, the welfare of the State and of the dynasty, indissolubly linked to one another. Whatever served, whatever was a necessity to the nation, was equally a necessity to the Crown. This speech, like my previous interview with Eckardt, was made to prevent people’s attributing my resignation to the Emperor, since that, in view of the November crisis, and of the many incidents which led up to it, would certainly have damaged the Crown and dynasty.

At Norderney I found a heap of letters and addresses. To answer them all was the work of my mornings for several weeks. It made my afternoons seem all the pleasanter, when I could go for long rides along the shore, could watch the waves, and dream, before the eternal ebb and flow, on the chances of human life, the lives of nations. If here I mention these addresses, it is not from any petty vanity or wish to insist on having been in the right. A normal man has grown beyond all that by the time he reaches the age of the psalmist: he has had too many chances of learning the truth of the saying: Vanitas, vanitatum, vanitas. I merely wish to point out that many patriots, many cultivated people in all circles, could judge my policy more clearly than purblind Conservative chiefs, more rightly than vindictive Centre leaders, and did not, as so frequently happens in Germany, adopt without thought or discussion the narrow, petty notions of their party.

CHAPTER II

The Political Situation when I Retired—Last Conversations with Bethmann-Hollweg—Last Sitting of the Prussian State Ministry—Details of Bethmann’s Taking Office.

I HAVE already said that I did not vacate the Chancellor’s palace without some anxiety for the future. Why should forebodings, as a rule quite alien to my nature, have filled my mind as I left the Hohenzollern, when my resignation had been accomplished, or on saying farewell to Berlin a few days later? I have never been inclined to hypochondria. Nil desperandum is an ancient device of the Bülows. It was engraved on the official seal of my great-uncle and godfather, Karl von Bülow, a staunch and die-hard native of Altmecklenburg. As Vice Director of the Chancellery and Grand Ducal Chamberlain of Mecklenburg-Schwerin he had stoutly upheld the old constitution. With all his old-fashioned notions in politics he was a man of abounding freshness and energy. Now‘s the time to hold on at all costs, was his attitude after every setback. Why had I felt so moved, so shaken almost, at receiving from some person unknown, on the night before I left Berlin, a melancholy poem by the dead poet, Ernst von Wildenbruch, composed soon after Bismarck’s resignation, and which read as follows:

Wenn ich an Deutschland denke, tut mir die Seele weh,

Weil ich ringsum um Deutschland die vielen Feinde seh.

Mir ist zur Nacht die Ruhe des Schlafes dann zerstört,

Weil stets mein Ohr das Flüstern und böses Raunen hart,

Mit dem sie sich bereden zu Anschlag und zu Rat,

Um Deutschland zu verderben durch eine schwere Tat.

Dann kehren die Gedanken bei ferner Zukunft ein

Und fragen: Wird denn jemals das Deutschland nicht mehr sein?

Und wenn ich also denke, wird mir so weh, so schwer,

Wie wär die Welt, die reiche, alsdann so arm und leer!{4}

My fears did not concern the German people which, properly guided and shown any high and noble ideal, has always in reserve within itself the most abounding stores of strength and energy. That had been fully shown by the elections of 1907. Nor was I anxious for our army, the bravest, best disciplined in the world, the army most capable of resistance, from the fine old Haeseler and the gallant Bock von Polach, down to the last musketeer. My anxious thoughts were all for the Kaiser, though, at the same time, I mistrusted my successor. William II was as incapable of determining and controlling our peace-time policy, as of military leadership, if ever it should come to war. That, in both these fields, he should so have overrated his capacity was, alas, a further proof of his lack of judgment. In a fit of arrogance he had said to Count Alfred Waldersee—the Count himself had told me of the incident—when relieving him of his post as Chief of the General Staff, to shelve him then, as general in command at Altona, that he, the Emperor, had no need of any Chief of Staff. In war he would make his own decisions; would lead his army, as Frederick the Great had done before him. For peace time all he needed was a secretary. In reality, even in peace time, not to mention any possible war, he stood in utter need of a mentor, councillor, and friend; of a man who would be continually at his post, who could understand how to deal with him; of a representative who could always be trusted to see things straight.

Was Bethmann-Hollweg the right choice? Partly because, a few weeks previously, at our last talk on board the Hohenzollern I had advised the Emperor against him, I considered it doubly my duty to initiate him now, as fully as possible, into home and, above all, foreign affairs. Loebell had never concealed from me the fact that Bethmann was mistrustful and inflamed against me. Valentini had told my successor that I had shown no enthusiasm at his appointment. I had sent a signed copy of my portrait with a few friendly words of dedication to every other Minister and State Secretary. Why not to Bethmann? Loebell, as he repeated all this, was holding a small photograph of myself. He begged me to avoid misunderstandings which might be to the detriment of the State and, so as to ease from the outset any friction between myself and the ruffled, hypersensitive Bethmann, to sign it To my welcome successor. I did as this faithful colleague suggested and am very glad to think that I did so, since today my conscience is quite clear when I consider my relationship with Bethmann.

Loebell was the old and intimate friend of both Bethmann-Hollweg and Valentini: later he regretted bitterly the high opinions he had held of them. The excellent Frau von Loebell told me in 1915 or 1916 that the thought of how he had constantly defended them and taken their part against myself had since caused her husband sleepless nights. Here I may add that, in the end, Loebell and Bethmann became completely estranged. In 1917, at the time of the July crisis, Loebell, then Prussian Minister of the Interior, advised the Kaiser to change his Chancellor, since Bethmann, both in foreign and home affairs, had proved himself entirely insufficient, and was, in any case, used up. The change, he had said, must be made before the announcement of Prussian electoral reform, since one should not pour new wine into old bottles. Bethmann mentions this in his heavy Memoirs, where his tone towards Loebell is most unfriendly and aggrieved.

That peculiar, hypersensitive spirit which had always been a part of Bethmann’s nature was revealed most clearly in the last conversation we had together, on the eve of my departure from Berlin, July 17, 1909. My account of this will follow the rough notes which I jotted down almost at once. In the first of these I began by showing the new Chancellor that our position in the world, to all appearances a brilliant one, was, in actual fact, much better in every way than it had been since Bismarck retired. But the uttermost prudence and circumspection were still as necessary as ever. Geographically our position was always perilous. The terrain which diplomacy must tread abounded in snares and pitfalls—was undermined even. I was convinced that war was not inevitable. For the twelve years in which I had held office we had avoided it with flying colours, and before me for almost three decades, in spite of an occasional crisis and several really serious incidents. Peace must, and could, be maintained. We had nothing at all to gain from war and everything to hope from peace, since time was working on our side. But we should have to go warily and skilfully. It was a question de ne pas prêter le flanc. Bethmann answered that I had won my best successes—Tangier and Bosnia—more by daring. With Tangier I had gained a mortgage on Morocco and, above all, brought down Delcassé, the craftiest and most dangerous of our adversaries. With my gallant handling of the Bosnian crisis, the finale of my political career, I had scored and finished in really brilliant fashion. I countered with the very words I had previously used to the Emperor "Ne his in idem! This was enough to make Bethmann feel a little hurt. He hoped, in a ruffled voice, that even he might one day score a success on the same terrain over which I had moved with such agility. At which I cited: Non cuivis homini contingit adire Carinthum."

This seemed a most unfortunate quotation. The worthy Doctor Schmidt of Neu-Strelitz, the head of the Carolineum grammar school there, had been perfectly right forty-five years before, in warning the fifth-form boy, Bernhard von Bülow, against too many quotations and adjuring him to the careful weeding out and further selection of those he used. This line from Horace’s Epistles I had better have kept to myself. Bethmann, the ex-alumnus, nay "primus omnium of Schulpforta, was only too susceptibly aware exactly what the quotation implied. Visibly ruffled, he digressed into copious protests that he knew he lacked special training as a diplomat. But he trusted that, with patience and hard work, these defects of training might be remedied. I shall soon get the hang of foreign policy," he told me twice, with a kind of pathos.

I should not have considered it right to allow this talk with my successor to degenerate into personal dispute, and therefore kept it strictly academic. But I seized on the phrase to get the hang of , and affirmed that it was quite impossible to get the hang of foreign policy overnight. An administrative official, transferred from Trarbach to Aurich, might reasonably hope to get the hang of the ins and outs of East Frisian peat-cutting, as quickly and successfully as, already, he had mastered the needs of a wine-producing country in Mosel. But foreign affairs were not a science and still less were they a branch of ethics. They were an art, in which success is not to be gained either by good intentions or diligence, but simply by the use of a special gift, presupposing flair, tact, and intuition. I added that I should always be most ready to give both advice and loyal support to a colleague of so many years’ standing as Bethmann. Whenever, and in whatever circumstances, he considered it advisable to do so, he could come to me in the fullest confidence. He could be in no doubts of my patriotism, and since, from the bottom of my heart, I desired my country’s fame and prosperity, security and prolonged well-being, I wished him too, in all sincerity, the best of good fortune while in office. He acknowledged this with a stiff, very dignified, little bow. I had glimpsed an abyss of thin-skinned self-esteem.

Nor did Bethmann, in actual fact, once ask me to advise, after retirement, on any situation confronting him. Never—literally never—either directly or indirectly, did he consult me: not even in the summer of 1914, when embarking on that disastrous series of steps begun by the ultimatum to Serbia, nor throughout the mortal crisis provoked by it. Not once during the whole World War did he ask what I thought of the position nor what I felt might be the possibilities of peace. The most he did was to make uneasy enquiries of where I lived and my associates. When he made his fatal decision to re-establish Poland, he had not troubled to get my view of it, still less had he given me any chance of warning him against this crazy project, in the names of Frederick the Great and of Prince Bismarck. In this last, or rather penultimate talk on policy, before I laid aside my office, I refused to let his touchy ill humour prevent my advising caution with Russia, as gravely as I had already warned the Emperor. Russia was the key to the world position. For so long as we were at peace with Russia, neither France, nor in particular England, would dare attack us. And apart from a clear and firm Prussian policy in the Eastern Marches—our relations with Russia would depend both on our handling of the Dardanelles question and on our skill in holding the balance even between Russian and Austrian interests in the Balkans. Never forget that the Dardanelles are a red-hot cinder. Remember Prince Bismarck’s example of how to deal with it in such a way as to prevent either Austria being overrun and sacrificed, or ourselves entangled in conflict with Russia by her government. Such conflict could have no good results. Thirteen years before poor Walter Rathenau cried "Pace! at the Genoa Conference I left my successor, Bethmann, with the word Pax" on my lips.

Another long interview followed in which we discussed relations with England. Remembering the sensitiveness which Bethmann had betrayed at our last talk I opened this second conversation with a direct and friendly appeal. I said to him, in the pleasantest tone, carefully avoiding any hint of instruction:

"My dear Bethmann, unlike myself, you didn’t spend your best years abroad. You have never made a personal study of the position in Austria and France, in England, Italy, and Russia, in Hungary, Greece, and Roumania. With our administration, on the other hand, you are far better acquainted than I am. You are a brilliant jurist and, in spite of fairly hopeful beginnings, I never succeeded in becoming one. But, unlike myself, you did not grow up in a house of diplomats, and you have not been forced to knock about the world as I have. You are not in touch with almost every—I might say every—European sovereign and most European Ministers. Nor are you on terms of personal friendship with the leading statesmen in many countries. I have no desire to force myself upon you. I by no means yearn for political activity. ‘J’en ai pardessus la tête,’ and am delighted to be allowed to rest at last. I am almost inclined to inscribe over the Villa Malta porticoes the lines which Lord Brougham, that famous English statesman, whom in other things I should not suggest as a model, set above the doors of his villa at Cannes:

Inveni portum, spes et fortuna valete!

Sat me ludistis, ludite nunc alios.

But to you I can only repeat that I am always at your disposal in any contingency.

The cordial tone in which I spoke seemed to make some impression on Bethmann. His face became more good-natured.

This second conversation developed along quite amicable lines. I advised him to achieve as soon as possible the agreement I had begun with England, on the tempo of naval construction. He would find it far easier than I had done to collaborate with the Emperor in this matter. He had still the attraction of novelty to his Sovereign, whereas, in the eyes of the All Highest, I had become a stale back number. But he must not yield to the illusion that Anglo-German relationships were susceptible of being shifted overnight onto the plane of ungrudging, fully confident intimacy. What could be gained was the certainty that the position with England would not get worse, that it would remain normal and correct. To hope for anything better would be to ignore traditional English policy. England had, for centuries, shown mistrust of any other Power in the ascendant, politically or even economically, and, in certain cases, she had been hostile. Spain, Holland, France, and Russia, had all, one after another, had this experience. Our unexampled economic rise, our position of great political strength, our lightning progress in commerce and industry in particular were today England’s chief preoccupation, her subject of close attention and hard thought. That did not of necessity mean that war with England was approaching. Nothing need be considered as inevitable. But we must see to it that relations with England did not grow worse, and this, with tact and foresight, could be managed. King Edward was not bellicose, although very inconvenient politically. He would deliver no surprise attack. Nor was he going to live for ever. At our last meeting I had been struck by the look of illness in his face, his thick neck, his heavy footsteps. His presumptive heir, the present Prince of Wales, was a very calm, phlegmatic gentleman, far easier to get on with than Monsieur son père. We were already so formidable at sea that England would find it inadvisable to pick any needless quarrel with us. But we must never forget that, as the world stood, a serious European conflict might lead on to universal war, with all its incalculable consequences.

"Any major conflict [I said to Bethmann] would mean that we must fight for life or death. It would imply the most monstrous stakes. We have nothing at all to gain from war. An attempt to force the Danes, the Swiss, the Dutch, or the Belgians onto our side is only conceivable to a madman. An extension of the Empire towards Eastern Europe would be a not less dubious undertaking. We have far too many Poles within our frontiers as it is! Don’t let us force on naval construction. And especially not the construction of battleships. That above all! Please take to heart the things I said to Tirpitz, in those last serious letters I exchanged with him on the subject of too lopsided a naval policy, a policy which can only concentrate on more and more new armoured craft and dreadnoughts. I wrote to him most gravely and emphatically. You will find all my warnings and suggestions, reports and memoranda, in the archives. Already Bismarck, as Tirpitz himself once told me, considered it wrong to concentrate exclusively on the bigger types of armour-plated ship. It would be far better if we developed our submarine strength—the U-boat. And on the other hand, we should certainly see to it, with no misplaced haggling over pence, that our land armament is flawless; that we surpass the French in this respect or, in any case, remain quite level with them. France is, and remains, the disturbing factor in Europe. But in the end the French, for all their magnificent patriotism, will find their three years’ service hard to bear. On the day when France decides to lay down this unnatural burden of armament and perceives that she can never get beyond us, the possibility of many years’ peace will be to hand. Don’t ever let yourself be disturbed by stupid talk about our ‘zigzag’ policy. When Odysseus steered his lucky course between