We know more of the Kaiser than of any of these others, and we have known him over a much longer period. And yet our knowledge of him has never enabled us to forecast his actions with any certainty. British ministers and diplomatists, whose business it is to gauge, not only the muzzle-velocity of eminent characters, but also the forces of their recoil, never seem to have arrived at any definite conclusions with regard to this baffling personality. Whatever he did or did not do, they were always surprised by it, which gives us some measure of their capacity if not of his.
The Kaiser is pre-eminently a man of moods. At one time he is Henry the Fifth, at another Richard the Second. Upon occasions he appears as Hamlet, cursing fate which impels him to make a decision. Within the same hour he is Autolycus crying up his wares with an unfeigned cheerfulness. He is possessed by the demon of quick-change and restlessness. We learn on good authority that he possesses an almostincredible number of uniforms which he actually wears, and of royal residences which he occasionally inhabits. He clothes himself suitably for each brief occasion, and sleeps rarely, if reports can be believed, for more than two nights together under the same roof. He is like an American millionaire in his fondness for rapid and sudden journeys, and like a democratic politician in his passion for speech-making.
The phenomena of the moment—those which flicker upon the surface of things—engage his eager and vivacious interest. Upon such matters his commentaries are often apt and entertaining. But when he attempts to deal with deeper issues, and with the underlying principles and causes of human action, his utterances immediately lose the mind's attention and keep hold only of the ear's, by virtue of a certain resonance and blatancy. When the Kaiser discourses to us, as he often does, upon the profundities of politics, philosophy, and religion, he falls instantly into set forms, which express nothing that is living and real. He would have the world believe, and doubtless himself sincerely believes, that he has plunged, like a pearl-diver, into the deeps, and has returned thence laden with rich treasures of thought and experience. But in truth he has never visited this region at all, being of a nature far too buoyant for such enterprises. He has not found truth, but only remembered phrases.
The Kaiser is frequently upbraided for his charm of manner by people who have come under its influence and been misled. One of the commonest accusations against him is that of duplicity; but indeed it seems hardly more just to condemn him for duplicity than it would be to praise him for sincerity. He is a man dangerous to have dealings with, but thisis owing to the irresponsible effervescence of his ideas. At any given moment he probably means the greater part of what he says; but the image of one moment is swiftly expelled and obliterated by that of the next. The Kaiser's untrustworthiness arises not from duplicity, so much as from the quickness of his fancy, the shallowness of his judgment, and the shortness of his memory. That his communications frequently produce the same effects as duplicity, is due to the fact that he recognises no obligation either to stand by his word, or to correct the impression which his hasty assurances may have produced in the mind of his interlocutor. The statesman who is won over to-day by his advocacy of an English alliance, is astounded on the morrow to find him encouraging an English pogrom.[3]
THE IDEA OF ANTICHRIST
When a violent convulsion shakes the world people immediately begin to look about them for some mighty and malevolent character who can be held responsible for it. To the generations which knew them, Cromwell, Napoleon, and Bismarck all figured as Antichrist. But in regard to the policy which produced the present war, of what man can it be said truly, either that he controlled that policy, or that he brought about the results which he aimed at? Which of the great personages concerned possesses the sublime qualities of the spirit of evil?[4]
It is conceivable, though very unlikely, that behind the scenes there was some strong silent man who worked the others like puppets on a string; but among those who have made themselves known to us in the pages of White Papers and the like, there is none whose features bear the least resemblance to our conception of Antichrist; none who had firmcontrol of events, or even of himself. There is none of whom it is possible to say truly that he achieved the results at which he aimed.
It is clear that the war which the joint efforts of these great personages brought into existence was a monstrous birth, and that it filled those who were responsible for it with dismay, only a degree less than it shocked other people. For proof of this, it is unnecessary to look further than the miscalculations of the political kind which became recognised for such within a few weeks after war was declared.
[1] July 1911.
[2] Prussian policy appears to be modelled upon the human body. Just as man is endowed with a duality of certain organs—eyes, nostrils, lungs, kidneys, etc.—so Prussian policy appears to proceed upon the principle of a double diplomatic representation, two separate Foreign Office departments, etc., etc. It is no doubt an excellent plan to have a second string to your bow; but it is not yet clear how far this can be carried with advantage in delicate negotiations without destroying confidence in your sincerity.
[3] A labour leader, highly impressed by the spectacle, gave a vivid description of an equestrian parade through the streets of Berlin after the declaration of war—the Kaiser in helmet of gold, seated on his white charger, frowning terribly, in a kind of immobility, as if his features had been frozen into this dramatically appropriate expression—following behind him in a carriage the Crown Prince and Princess, all vivacity and smiles, and bows to this side and the other—a remarkable contrast!
It is interesting to contrast the ornate and flamboyant being whom we know as Kaiser Wilhelm the Second with Carlyle's famous description of the great Frederick:—
"A highly interesting lean little old man, of alert though slightly stooping figure; whose name among strangers was King Friedrich the Second, or Frederick the Great of Prussia, and at home among the common people, who much loved and esteemed him, wasVater Fritz,—Father Fred,—a name of familiarity which had not bred contempt in that instance. He is a King every inch of him, though without the trappings of a King. Presents himself in a Spartan simplicity of vesture; no crown but an old military cocked-hat,—generally old, or trampled and kneaded into absolutesoftness, if new;—no sceptre but one like Agamemnon's, a walking-stick cut from the woods, which serves also as a riding-stick (with which he hits the horse 'between the ears' say authors);—and for royal robes, a mere soldier's blue coat with red facings, coat likely to be old, and sure to have a good deal of Spanish snuff on the breast of it; rest of the apparel dim, unobtrusive in colour or cut, ending in high over-knee military boots, which may be brushed (and, I hope, kept soft with an underhand suspicion of oil), but are not permitted to be blackened or varnished; Day and Martin with their soot-pots forbidden to approach.
"The man is not of godlike physiognomy, any more than of imposing stature or costume; close-shut mouth with thin lips, prominent jaws and nose, receding brow, by no means of Olympian height; head, however, is of long form, and has superlative gray eyes in it. Not what is called a beautiful man; nor yet, by all appearance, what is called a happy. On the contrary, the face bears evidence of many sorrows, as they are termed, of much hard labour done in this world; and seems to anticipate nothing but more still coming. Quiet stoicism, capable enough of what joy there were, but not expecting any worth mention; great unconscious and some conscious pride, well tempered with a cheery mockery of humour,—are written on that old face; which carries its chin well forward, in spite of the slight stoop about the neck; snuffy nose rather flung into the air under its old cocked hat,—like an old snuffy lion on the watch; and such a pair of eyes as no man or lion or lynx of that century bore elsewhere, according to all the testimony we have."—Carlyle,History of Frederick the Great, Bk. I. chap. i.
[4] A friend who has been kind enough to read the proofs of this volume takes exception to the rating of Antichrist. The Devil, he maintains, is not at all a clever or profound spirit, though he is exceedingly industrious. The conception of him in the old Mystery Plays, where he figures as a kind of butt, whose elaborate and painfully constructed schemes are continually being upset owing to some ridiculous oversight, or by some trivial accident, is the true Satan; the Miltonic idea is a poetical myth, not in the least borne out by human experience.
In the world's play-house there are a number of prominent and well-placed seats, which the instinct of veneration among mankind insists on reserving for Super-men; and as mankind is never content unless the seats of the super-men are well filled, 'the Management'—in other words, the press, the publicists, and other manipulators of opinion—have to do the best they can to find super-men to sit in them. When that is impossible, it is customary to burnish up, fig out, and pass off various colourable substitutes whom it is thought, may be trusted to comport themselves with propriety until the curtain falls. But those resplendent creatures whom we know so well by sight and fame, and upon whom all eyes and opera-glasses are directed during theentr'-actes, are for the most part not super-men at all, but merely what, in the slang of the box-office, is known as 'paper.' Indeed there have been long periods, even generations, during which the supposed super-men have been wholly 'paper.'
Of course so long as the super-men substitutes have only to walk to their places, to bow, smile, frown, overawe, and be admired, everything goes safely enough. The audience is satisfied and the'management' rubs its hands. But if anything has to be done beyond this parade business, if the unexpected happens, if, for instance, there is an alarm of fire—in which case the example set by the super-creatures might be of inestimable assistance—the 'paper' element is certain to crumple up, according to the laws of its nature, being after all but dried pulp. Something of this kind appears to have happened in various great countries during the weeks which immediately preceded and followed the outbreak of war, and in none was the crumpling up of the supermen substitutes more noticeable than in Germany.
The thoroughness of the German race is no empty boast. All the world knows as much by experience in peace as well as war. Consequently, people had said to themselves: "However it may be with other nations, in Germany at all events the strings of foreign policy are firmly held in giant fingers." But as day succeeded day, unmasking one miscalculation after another, it became clear that there must have been at least as much 'paper' in the political high places of Germany as elsewhere.
Clearly, although this war was made in Germany, it did not at all follow the course which had been charted for it in the official forecasts. For the German bureaucracy and general staff had laid their plans to crush France at the first onset—to crush her till the bones stuck out through her skin. And they had reckoned to out-general Russia and roll back her multitudes, as yet unorganised—so at least it was conceived—in wave upon wave of encroaching defeat.
Having achieved these aims before the fall of the leaf, Germany would have gained thereby anotherdecade for the undisturbed development of wealth and world-power. Under Prussian direction the power of Austria would then be consolidated within her own dominions and throughout the Balkan Peninsula. At the end of this interval of vigorous recuperation, or possibly earlier, Germany would attack England, and England would fall an easy prey. For having stood aside from the former struggle she would be without allies. Her name would stink in the nostrils of Russia and France; and indeed to the whole world she would be recognised for what she was—a decadent and coward nation. Even her own children would blush for her dishonour.
That these were the main lines of the German forecast no man can doubt, who has watched and studied the development of events; and although it is as yet too early days to make sure that nothing of all this vast conception will ever be realised, much of it—the time-table at all events—has certainly miscarried for good and all.
THE TIME-TABLE MISCARRIES
According to German calculations England would stand aside; but England took part. Italy would help her allies; but Italy refused. Servia was a thing of naught; but Servia destroyed several army corps. Belgium would not count; and yet Belgium by her exertions counted, if for nothing more, for the loss of eight precious days, while by her sufferings she mobilised against the aggressor the condemnation of the whole world.
The Germans reckoned that the army of France was terrible only upon paper. Forty-five years of corrupt government and political peculation must, according to their calculations, have paralysed thegeneral staff and betrayed the national spirit. The sums voted for equipment, arms, and ammunition must assuredly have been spirited away, as under The Third Empire, into the pockets of ministers, senators, deputies, and contractors. The results of this régime would become apparent, as they had done in 1870, only in the present case sooner.
War was declared by the Third Napoleon at mid-July, by William the Second not until August 1; but Sedan or its equivalent would occur, nevertheless, in the first days of September, in 1914 as in 1870. In the former contest Paris fell at the end of six months; in this one, with the aid of howitzers, it would fall at the end of six weeks.
Unfortunately for this confident prediction, whatever may have been the deficiency in the French supplies, however dangerous the consequent hitches in mobilisation, things fell out quite differently. The spirit of the people of France, and the devotion of her soldiers, survived the misfeasances of the politicians, supposing indeed that such crimes had actually been committed.
It was a feature of Bismarck's diplomacy that he put a high value upon the good opinion of the world, and took the greatest pains to avoid its condemnation. In 1870, as we now know, he schemed successfully, to lure the government of Napoleon the Third into a declaration of war, thereby saddling the French government with the odium which attaches to peace-breakers.[1] But in the case of the present war,which, as it out-Bismarcked Bismarck in deliberate aggressiveness, stood all the more in need of a tactful introduction to the outside world, the precautions of that astute statesman were neglected or despised. From the beginning all neutral nations were resentful of German procedure, and after the devastation of Belgium and the destruction of Louvain, the spacious morality of the Young Turks alone was equal to the profession of friendship and admiration.
CRUELTIES IN BELGIUM
The objects which Germany sought to gain by the cruelties perpetrated, under orders, by her soldiers in Belgium and Northern France are clear enough. These objects were certainly of considerable value in a military as well as in a political sense. One wonders, however, if even Germany herself now considers them to have been worth the abhorrence and disgust which they have earned for her throughout the civilised world.
In nothing is the sham super-man more easily detected than in the confidence and self-complacency with which he pounces upon the immediate small advantage, regardless of the penalty he will have to pay in the future. By spreading death and devastation broadcast in Belgium the Germans hoped to attain three things, and it is not impossible that they have succeeded in attaining them all. They sought to secure their communications by putting the fear of death, and worse than death, into the hearts of the civil population. They sought to send the countryside fleeing terror-stricken before their advance, choking and cumbering the highways; than which nothing is ever more hampering to the operations of an army in retreat, or more depressing to its spirits. But chiefly they desired to set a ruthless object-lesson before theeyes of Holland, in order to show her the consequences of resistance; so that when it came to her turn to answer a summons to surrender she might have the good sense not to make a fuss. They desired in their dully-calculating, official minds that Holland might never forget the clouds of smoke, from burning villages and homesteads, which the August breezes carried far across her frontiers; the sights of horror, the tales of suffering and ruin which tens of thousands of starved, forlorn, and hurrying fugitives brought with them when they came seeking sanctuary in her territories. But if the Germans gained all this, and even if they gained in addition the loving admiration of the Young Turks, was it worth while to purchase these advantages at such a price? It seems a poor bargain to save your communications, if thereby you lose the good opinion of the whole world.
What is of most interest to ourselves, however, in the long list of miscalculations, is the confidence of Germany that Britain would remain neutral. For a variety of reasons which satisfied the able bureaucrats at Berlin, it was apparently taken for granted by them that we were determined to stand out; and indeed that we were in no position to come in even if we would. We conjecture that the reports of German ambassadors, councillors, consuls, and secret service agents must have been very certain and unanimous in this prediction.
According to the German theory, the British race, at home and abroad, was wholly immersed in gain, and in a kind of pseudo-philanthropy—in making money, and in paying blackmail to the working-classes in order to be allowed to go on making money.Our social legislation and our 'People's Budgets' were regarded in Germany with contempt, as sops and shams, wanting in thoroughness and tainted with hypocrisy.
English politicians, acting upon the advice of obliging financiers, had been engaged during recent years (so grossly was the situation misjudged by our neighbours) in imposing taxation which hit the trader, manufacturer, and country-gentleman as hard as possible; which also hit the working-class hard, though indirectly; but which left holes through which the financiers themselves—by virtue of their international connections and affiliations—could glide easily into comparative immunity.
From these faulty premisses, Germans concluded that Britain was held in leading-strings by certain sentimentalists who wanted vaguely to do good; and that these sentimentalists, again, were helped and guided by certain money-lenders and exploiters, who were all very much in favour of paying ransom out of other people's pockets. A nation which had come to this pass would be ready enough to sacrifice future interests—being blind to them—for the comforts of a present peace.
The Governments of the United Kingdom and the Dominions were largely influenced—so it was believed at Berlin—by crooks and cranks of various sorts, by speculators and 'speculatists,'[2] many of them of foreign origin or descent—who preached day in and day out the doctrine that war was an anachronism,vieux jeu, even an impossibility in the present situation of the world.
[2] 'Speculatists' was a term used by contemporary American writers to describe the eloquent theorists who played so large a part in the French Revolution.
The British Government appeared to treat these materially-minded visionaries with the highest favour. Their advice was constantly sought; they were recipients of the confidences of Ministers; they played the part of Lords Bountiful to the party organisations; they were loaded with titles, if not with honour. Their abhorrence of militarism knew no bounds, and to a large extent it seemed to German, and even to English eyes, as if they carried the Cabinet, the party-machine, and the press along with them.
'Militarism,' as used by these enthusiasts, was a comprehensive term. It covered with ridicule and disrepute even such things as preparation for the defence of the national existence. International law was solemnly recommended as a safer defence than battleships.
Better certainly, they allowed, if militarism could be rooted out in all countries; but at any rate England, the land of their birth or adoption, must be saved from the contamination of this brutalising idea. In their anxiety to discredit Continental exemplars they even went so far as to evolve an ingenious theory, that foreign nations which followed in the paths of militarism, did so at serious loss to themselves, but with wholly innocent intentions. More especially, they insisted, was this true in the case of Germany.
The Liberal party appeared to listen to these opinions with respect; Radicals hailed them with enthusiasm; while the Labour party was at one time so much impressed, as to propose through some of its more progressive spirits that, in the exceedingly unlikely event of a German landing, working-menshould continue steadily at their usual labours and pay no heed to the military operations of the invaders.
In Berlin, apparently, all this respect and enthusiasm for pacifism, together with the concrete proposals for putting its principles into practice, were taken at their face value. There at any rate it was confidently believed that the speculators and the 'speculatists' had succeeded in changing or erasing the spots of the English leopard.
ERRORS OF INFERENCE
But in order to arrive at such a conclusion as this the able German bureaucrats must have understood very little, one would think, of human nature in general, and of British human nature in particular. Clearly they built more hopes on our supposed conversion to pacifism than the foundations would stand. They were right, of course, in counting it a benefit to themselves that we were unprepared and unsuspicious of attack; that we had pared down our exiguous army and stinted our navy somewhat beyond the limits of prudence. They were foolish, however, not to perceive that if the British people found themselves confronted with the choice, between a war which they believed to be righteous, and a peace which they saw clearly would not only be wounding to their own honour but ruinous to their security, all their fine abstract convictions would go by the board; that party distinctions would then for the time being disappear, and the speculators and the 'speculatists' would be interned in the nethermost pit of national distrust.... In so far, therefore, as the Germans reckoned on our unpreparedness they were wise; but in counting upon British neutrality they were singularly wide of the mark.
One imagines that among the idealists of Berlin there must surely have been a few sceptics who did not altogether credit this wholesale conversion and quakerisation of the British race. But for these doubters, if indeed they existed, there were other considerations of a more practical kind which seemed to indicate that Britain must certainly stand aside.
The first and most important of these was the imminence of civil war in Ireland. If Prince Lichnowsky and Baron von Kuhlmann reported that this had become inevitable, small blame to their perspicacity! For in this their judgment only tallied with that of most people in the United Kingdom who had any knowledge of the true facts.
In March an incident occurred among the troops stationed in Ireland which must have given comfort at Berlin, even in greater measure than it caused disquiet at home. For it showed in a vivid flash the intrinsic dangers of the Irish situation, and the tension, almost to breaking-point, which existed between the civil authorities and the fighting services.
It also showed, what in the circumstances must have been peculiarly reassuring to the German Government, that our Navy and Army were under the charge of Ministers whose judgments were apt to be led captive by their tempers. Although the Secretary of State for War did not remain in office for many days to encourage the hearts of the general staff at Berlin, his important post was never filled. It was only occupied and kept warm by the Prime Minister, whose labours and responsibilities—according to the notions of the Germans, who are a painstaking and thorough people—were already enough for one man to undertake. Moreover, the FirstLord of the Admiralty had not resigned; and it was perhaps natural, looking at what had just happened, to conclude that he would be wholly incapable of the sound and swift decision by which a few months later he was destined to atone for his recent blunder.
THE DUBLIN RIOT
Moreover, although the Curragh incident, as it was called, had been patched over in a sort of way, the danger of civil war in Ireland had not diminished in the least by Midsummer. Indeed it had sensibly increased. During the interval large quantities of arms and ammunition had been imported by Ulstermen in defiance of the Government, and Nationalists were eagerly engaged in emulating their example. The emergency conference of the leaders of parties which the King, acting upon the desperate advice of his Ministers, had called together at Buckingham Palace ended in complete failure.
On Monday the 27th of July readers of the morning newspapers, looking anxiously for news of the Servian reply to the Austrian ultimatum, found their eyes distracted by even blacker headlines, which announced that a Scots regiment had fired on a Dublin mob.
How the bureaucrats of Berlin must have rubbed their hands and admired their own prescience! Civil war in Ireland had actually begun, and in the very nick of time! And this occurrence, no less dramatic than opportune, was a triumph not merely for German foresight but for German contrivance—like a good many other things, indeed, which have taken place of late. When the voyage of the good shipFanny, which in April carried arms to the coast of Antrim, comes to be written, and that of the anonymous yacht which sailed from German waters, transhipped itscargo in the channel, whence it was safely conveyed by another craft to Dublin Bay to kindle this blaze in July—when these narratives are set out by some future historian, as they deserve to be, but not until then, it will be known how zealously, benevolently, and impartially our loyal and kindly Teuton cousins forwarded and fomented the quarrel between Covenanter and Nationalist. What the German bureaucrats, however, with all their foresight, apparently did not in the least foresee, was that the wound which they had intentionally done so much to keep open, they would speedily be helping unintentionally to heal.
With regard to South Africa, German miscalculation and intrigue pursued a somewhat similar course, though with little better results. It was assumed that South Africa, having been fully incorporated in the Empire as a self-governing unit only twelve years earlier, and as the result of a prolonged and sanguinary war, must necessarily be bent on severing the British connection at the earliest opportunity. The Dutch, like the frogs in the fable, were imagined to be only awaiting a favourable moment to exchange the tyranny of King Log for the benevolent rule of King Stork.
In these forecasts, however, various considerations were overlooked. In the first place, the methods of incorporation pursued by the British in South Africa were as nearly as possible the opposite of those adopted by Prussia in Poland, in Schleswig-Holstein, and in Alsace-Lorraine. In many quarters there were doubtless bitter memories among the Dutch, and in some others disappointed ambition still ached;but these forces were not enough to plunge into serious civil war two races which, after nearly a century of strife and division, had but a few years before entered into a solemn and voluntary covenant to make a firm union, and dwell henceforth in peace one with another. What object could there be for Dutchmen to rise in rebellion against a government, which consisted almost exclusively of Dutch statesmen, and which had been put in office and was kept there by the popular vote?
MISTAKES AS TO DUTCH
What German intrigue and bribery could do it did. But Dutchmen whose recollections went back so far as twenty years were little likely to place excessive confidence in the incitements and professions of Berlin. They remembered with what busy intrigues Germany had in former times encouraged their ambitions, with what a rich bribery of promises she had urged them on to war, with what cold indifference, when war arose, she had left them to their fate. They also remembered how, when their aged President, an exiled and broken-hearted man, sought an interview with the great sovereign whose consideration for him in his more prosperous days had never lacked for warmth, he received for an answer, that Berlin was no place for people who had been beaten to come whining, and was turned from the door.
In India, as in South Africa, Germany entertained confident hopes of a successful rising. Had not the Crown Prince, a shrewd judge, visited there a few years earlier and formed his own estimate of the situation? Was there not a widely spread network of sedition covering the whole of our Eastern Empire, an incendiary press, and orators who openly counselledviolence and preached rebellion? Had not riots been increasing rapidly in gravity and number? Had not assassins been actively pursuing their trade? Had not a ship-load of Indians just been refused admission to Canada, thereby causing a not unnatural outburst of indignation?
How far German statesmen had merely foreseen these things, how far they had actually contrived them, we are as yet in ignorance; but judging by what has happened in other places—in Ireland, South Africa, Belgium, and France—it would surprise no one to learn that the bombs which were thrown at the Viceroy and his wife with tragic consequences owed something to German teaching. It is unlikely that German emissaries had been less active in fomenting unrest in India than elsewhere among the subjects of nations with which they were ostensibly at peace; while the fact that the Crown Prince had but recently enjoyed the hospitality of the Viceregal Court was only a sentimental consideration unworthy of the attention of super-men.
Moreover, it had for long been abundantly clear, ona priorigrounds, to thinkers like Treitschke and Bernhardi that India was already ripe for rebellion on a grand scale. There are but two things which affect the Indian mind with awe and submission—a sublime philosophy and a genius for war. The English had never been philosophers, and they had ceased to be warriors. How, then, could a race which worshipped only soldiers and sages be expected to reverence and obey a garrison of clerks and shopkeepers? A war between England and Germany would provide an opportunity for making an end for ever of the British Raj.
MISTAKES AS TO DOMINIONS
The self-governing Dominions were believed to be affected with the same decadent spirit and fantastic illusions as their Mother Country; only with them these cankers had spread more widely, were more logically followed out in practice, and less tempered and restrained by aristocratic tradition. Their eloquent outpourings of devotion and cohesion were in reality quite valueless; merely what in their own slang is known as 'hot air.' They hated militarism in theory and practice, and they loved making money with at least an equal fervour. Consequently, it was absurd to suppose that their professions of loyalty would stand the strain of a war, by which not only their national exchequers, but the whole mass of the people must inevitably be impoverished, in which the manhood of the Dominions would be called on for military service, and their defenceless territories placed in danger of invasion.
It was incredible to the wise men at Berlin that the timid but clear minds of English Statesmen had not appreciated these obvious facts. War, therefore, would be avoided as long as possible. And when at a later date, war was forced by Germany upon the pusillanimous islanders, the Dominions would immediately discern various highly moral pleas for standing aloof. Germany, honouring these pleas for the time being with a mock respect, would defer devouring the Dominions until she had digested the more serious meal.
It will be seen from all this how good the grounds were on which the best-informed and most efficient bureaucracy in the world decided that the British Empire would remain neutral in the present war.Looked at from the strictly intellectual standpoint, the reasons which satisfied German Statesmen with regard to Britain's neutrality were overwhelming, and might well have convinced others, of a similar outlook and training, who had no personal interest whatsoever in coming to one conclusion rather than another.
None the less the judgment of the Kaiser and his Ministers was not only bad, but inexcusably bad. We expect more from statesmen than that they should arrive at logical conclusions. Logic in such cases is nothing; all that matters is to be right; but unless instinct rules and reason serves, right judgment will rarely be arrived at in such matters as these. If a man cannot feel as well as reason, if he cannot gauge the forces which are at work among the nations by some kind of second-sight, he has no title to set up his bills as a statesman. It is incredible that Lincoln, Cavour, or Bismarck would ever have blundered into such a war as this, under the delusion that Britain could remain neutral even if she would. Nor would any of these three have been so far out in his reckoning as to believe, that the immediate effect of such a war, if Britain joined in it, would be the disruption of her empire. They might have calculated that in the event of the war being prolonged and disastrous to England, disintegration would in the end come about; but without stopping to reason the matter out, they would have known by instinct, that the first effect produced by such a war would be a consolidation and knitting together of the loose Imperial fabric, and a suspension, or at least a diminution, of internal differences.
[1] British public opinion in regard to that war was divided roughly according to party lines, the Conservatives favouring France on sentimental grounds, the Liberals favouring Germany as a highly-educated, peace-loving people who had been wantonly attacked.
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,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 characterswere 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, schemedfor 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—Heavenknows 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 neversee 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,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. Nextto 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 ofbeing 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]
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,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 outsideobservers; 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 Peaceparty, 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 ofmind. 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.
CHRISTIAN: Met you with nothing else in that Valley?
FAITHFUL: Yes, I met withShame. But of all the Men I met with in my Pilgrimage, he I think bears the wrong name: ... this boldfacedShame, would never have done.
CHRISTIAN: Why, what did he say to you?
FAITHFUL: What! Why he objected against Religion itself; he said it was a pitiful low sneaking business for a Man to mind Religion; he said that a tender conscience was an unmanly thing, and that for a Man to watch over his words and ways, so as to tye up himself from that hectoring liberty that the brave spirits of the times accustom themselves unto, would make me the Ridicule of the times.
He objected also, that but few of the Mighty, Rich, or Wise, were ever of my opinion; nor any of them, neither, before they were perswaded to be Fools, and to be of a voluntary fondness to venture the loss of all,for no body else knows what.
Yea, he did hold me to it at that rate also about a great many more things than here I relate; as, that it was ashame... to ask my neighbour forgiveness for petty faults, or to make restitution where I had taken from any. He said also that Religion made a man grow strange to the great because of a few vices (which he called by finer names)....
The Pilgrim's Progress.
All nations dream—some more than others; while some are more ready than others to follow their dreams into action. Nor does the prevalence, or even the intensity, of these national dreams seem to bear any fixed relation to the strength of will which seeks to turn them into achievement.
After 1789 there was a great deal of dreaming among the nations of Europe. At the beginning of it all was revolutionary France, who dreamed of offering freedom to all mankind. A few years later, an altogether different France was dreaming furiously of glory for her own arms. In the end it was still France who dreamed; and this time she sought to impose the blessings of peace, order, and uniformity upon the whole world. Her first dream was realised in part, the second wholly; but the third ended in ruin.
Following upon this momentous failure came a short period when the exhausted nations slept much too soundly to dream dreams. During this epoch Europe was parcelled out artificially, like a patch-work quilt, by practical and unimaginative diplomatists, anxious certainly to take securities for a lastingpeace, but still more anxious to bolster up the ancient dynasties.
Against their arbitrary expedients there was soon a strong reaction, and dreaming began once more among the nations, as they turned in their sleep, and tried to stretch their hampered limbs. At the beginning their dreaming was of a mild and somewhat futile type. It called itself 'liberalism'—a name coined upon the continent of Europe. It aimed by methods of peaceful persuasion, at reaching the double goal of nationality as the ideal unit of the state, and popular representation as the ideal system of government. Then the seams of the patchwork, which had been put together with so much labour at Vienna[1] and Aix-la-Chapelle,[2] began to gape. Greece struggled with some success to free herself from the Turk,[3] and Belgium broke away from Holland,[4] as at a much later date Norway severed her union with Sweden.[5] In 1848 there were revolutions all over Europe, the objects of which were the setting up of parliamentary systems. In all directions it seemed as if the dynastic stitches were coming undone. Italy dreamed of union and finally achieved it,[6] expelling the Austrian encroachers—though not by peaceful persuasion—and disordering still further the neatly sewn handiwork of Talleyrand, Metternich, and Castlereagh. Finally, the Balkans began to dream of Slav destinies, unrealisable either under the auspices of the Sublime Porte or in tutelage to the Habsburgs.[7]
MAKING OF THE GERMAN UNION
But of all the nations which have dreamed since days long before Napoleon, none has dreamed morenobly or more persistently than Germany. For the first half of the nineteenth century it seemed as if the Germans were satisfied to behold a vision without attempting to turn it into a reality. Their aspirations issued in no effective action. They dreamed of union between their many kingdoms, principalities, and duchies, and of building up a firm empire against which all enemies would beat in vain; but until 1864 they had gone but a few steps towards the achievement of this end.
Then within a period of seven years, Prussia, the most powerful of the German states, planned, provoked, and carried to a successful issue three wars of aggression. By a series of swift strokes, the genius of Bismarck snatched Schleswig-Holstein from the Danes, beat down the pretensions of Austria to the leadership of the Teutonic races, and wrested the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine from France. When Denmark was invaded by Germanic armies in February 1864, the vision of unity seemed as remote as ever; by January 1871 it was fully achieved. When at Versailles, in the Hall of Mirrors, in the stately palace of the Bourbons, King William accepted from the hands of his peers—the sovereign rulers of Germany—an imperial crown, the dream of centuries was fulfilled.
Austria, indeed, stood aloof; but both by reason of her geographical situation and the heterogeneous ancestry of her people that was a matter only of small account. Union was, for all practical purposes complete. And what made the achievement all the more marvellous was the fact, that the vision had been realised by methods which had no place in the gentle speculations of those, who had cherished thehope of unity with the most fervent loyalty. It had been accomplished by the Prussians, who of all races between the Alps and the Baltic, between the mountain barriers of Burgundy and the Polish Marshes, are the least German in blood,[8] and who of all Germans dream the least. It had been carried through, not by peaceful persuasion, nor on any principles of Liberalism, nor in any of the ways foreseen by the philosophers and poets who had beheld visions of the millennium. Union was the triumph of craft and calculation, courage and resolve, 'blood and iron.'
The world in general, whose thoughts at this time were much more congenially occupied with International Exhibitions, and Peace Societies, and the ideals of Manchester statesmanship, was inclined to regard the whole of this series of events as an anachronism—as the belated offspring of 'militarism' and 'feudalism.' These were well known to be both in their dotage; they could not possibly survive for many years. What had happened, therefore, did not startle mankind simply because the nature of it was not understood. The spirit of the age, wholly possessed, as it was, by an opposite set of ideas, was unable to comprehend, to believe in, or even to consider with patience, phenomena which, according to prevailing theories, had no reasonable basis of existence.
In some quarters, indeed, efforts were made to gloss over the proceedings of Prince Bismarck, and to fit them into the fashionable theory of a universe, flowing with the milk of human kindness and thehoney of material prosperity. It was urged that the Germans were a people, pure in their morals, industrious in their habits, the pioneers of higher education and domestic economy. For the most part, British and American public opinion was inclined to regard these various occurrences and conquests as a mediaeval masquerade, in rather doubtful taste, but of no particular significance and involving no serious consequences. Even in that enlightened age, however, there were still a few superstitious persons who saw ghosts. To their eyes the shade of Richard Cobden seemed in some danger of being eclipsed in the near future by that of Niccolo Machiavelli; though the former had died in great honour and prestige only a few years earlier, while the latter had been dead, discredited, and disavowed for almost as many centuries.