PREFACE

IT HAS BEEN MY desire to make this survey of the modern political history of Germany something more than a compendium of facts or a work of reference, and the public which I have had in mind in writing it is less the limited circle of scholars and students than those “general readers,” the number of whom, one may believe, is steadily increasing, who wish to form their opinions on foreign politics independently, intelligently, and therefore on adequate information.

Inasmuch as my chief concern is with the German Empire as established in 1867-1871, only so much attention has been given to the earlier phases of the national unity movement as seemed needful in order to make the later developments intelligible. Hence in dealing with the first half of last century I have concentrated attention upon capital events and tendencies, and in referring to the actors in these have refrained from dragging out of obscurity and oblivion personalities and reputations which, tried by the test of time, have proved to have had significance only for their own day, or even for their own narrow political circles.

Rightly or wrongly, I have not written this History impersonally, nor have I tried so to write it. Had I adhered more faithfully to conventional forms, the work of writing it would have lost half its interest for me, and it may be that the result for the reader would have been less helpful. I shall be satisfied if it should be held that I have succeeded in preserving the mean between a colourless formalism and excessive subjectivity. It has also seemed to me natural to give special prominence to points of contact with my own country, yet without writing from the British standpoint, and this inclination I have not unduly restrained.

In discharging my task, an old reflection has repeatedly returned to me: How comes it that in normal conditions German politics make so slight an appeal to the outside world? Why does German political life at any time so little interest observers in this country in particular? The reason lies, I think, in the fact that the German political system encourages in—almost one might say, imposes upon—the nation in general an attitude of quiescence and inertia. In German parliamentary life there is no serious struggle; such struggles as do occur are histrionic and unreal, since the combatants engaged in them know in advance that they can seldom lead to practical results. This would appear to be an inevitable consequence of constitutions under which the work of government is the business and the rightful prerogative of a small handful of men, set above and apart from the rest of the nation. The effect of this arrangement is that parliamentary politicians are as a rule little more than supernumeraries, performing more or less mutely their unimportant parts in the background of the stage, while to the people at large is assigned merely the right to look on. It is a fact of profound significance that during nearly the whole of the thirty years from 1860 to 1890 a single figure dominated German political life. How many of Bismarck’s political contemporaries seriously count in the history of their country? How many have left any lasting impression, or any impression at all, upon the political thought and movements of their time?

Although it has necessarily been treated very summarily, I confess that the first half of the period covered by my survey has attracted me more than the second. For Germany the years following 1860, marking the maturity of the unity movement, are naturally the palmy era—the Glanzzeit—of their country’s modern annals. An outsider may be forgiven the avowal that to him the most sympathetic part of the history of that movement is that dating from Prussia’s fall at Jena to the middle of the century. The immediate results of the unity struggle during that epoch were small; the efforts of the nationalists and constitutionalists alike were requited by manifold disappointments, reverses, and disillusionments. None the less, it was a time of intense moral earnestness and persistent upward striving; in it the political idealism of the German nation reached its zenith; never before or since did that nation in general reach a higher elevation of spirit. It is customary to judge the episode of the ill-fated Frankfort National Assembly in particular as amongst the most humiliating in the history of national unity: I prefer to regard it as one of the few epical incidents of that history. The story is an epic of failure, it is true, yet of a failure more heroic and honourable than many brilliant successes.

Naturally a large part of this History is occupied with events in which Germany’s most distinguished statesman and son played a leading and determining part. In recording these events, and later in estimating Bismarck’s character, I have not hesitated to speak the whole truth as I know it. It were doing an ill-service to the fame of that great man to pretend that all the motives and acts of his public life were above reproach. The comfortable doctrine of the literary panegyrist, that history and biography should be written politely, and that of the dead no harsh word should be spoken, is responsible for much misrepresentation of fact and perversion of opinion, not least in Germany, as those best know who have had occasion to study German sources. Some of the most pretentious German histories of the new Empire are not histories at all, but political tracts written for the greater glorification of the Empire’s rulers and its chief builder. In their pages one looks in vain for healthy, independent criticism, or even for a straightforward, unvarnished statement of facts. Nowhere is there so much talk of the “historical sense” as in Germany, yet no writers exhibit less trace of this admirable gift than the authors of these euphonic productions.

Let the doctrine that Sovereigns, Governments, and popular statesmen cannot err be left to the historians of the country in which it has originated. There were times when Bismarck, who was no moral coward, was utterly straightforward and unsparingly candid with himself. There is no justification whatever for falling behind him in the honesty that looks facts fairly in the face and calls wrong things by their right names. The only condition is that nothing in his deflections from strict rectitude should be exaggerated, and that nothing should be set down against him in malice. “I leave it all to history,” were the words which he once addressed to myself, at the close of a long conversation in which he had discussed not a few episodes of his political career. “And history,” I rejoined, “will tell the truth.” Still I see the grave face which was turned to me as he repeated the words—“Yes, history will tell the truth.” And when the truth has all been told, with no attempt to hide his shortcomings, the magnitude of his achievements will remain undiminished and the lustre of his reputation undimmed. Greatness was the mark of the man, and it was inevitable that this attribute should be conspicuous in his faults as in his virtues, though it is but just to remember that even the faults were those of a passionate and unselfish patriotism, of which the worst that can be said is that it was insufficiently discriminating in its choice of means.

None the less, Bismarck’s career offers a fascinating study for the casuist. In judging the policies and acts by which great national movements and events have been consummated, how far is it true, or is it true at all, that the end sanctifies the means and that success is its own justification? Is the consoling thought permissible that History is merely a secular name for Providence, or is it only, in Lord Acton’s words, “the conscience of mankind”—conscience, that broken light of the human soul, that unstable guide of human action, so capricious in its judgments, so variable in its perceptions of right and wrong? Such questions almost inevitably force themselves upon the mind which has occupied itself closely with the part played by Bismarck in the story of German unity. Little more than half a century ago the German races were still disunited; they neither formed a nation nor had they any immediate hope of becoming such. The age-long aspirations after unity had hitherto been frustrated by particularist jealousies, the factions of parties, the short-sightedness of Sovereigns; above all, by obscurity of purpose and uncertainty as to the means by which unity might be attained. Different lines of advance had been followed, but always without success. Were the ways already tried wrong, was it necessary to discard them altogether, because they had hitherto failed to lead to the desired goal? In the making of States and nations need the builders work to a time-limit?

But now a statesman comes forward who is at least perfectly clear as to his aims. With an iron resolution and a matchless concentration of purpose he overbears opposition, moulds to his own ends the plastic wills of weaker men, and marches forward with undeviating steps to his objective. In so doing he arrogantly defies the accepted norms of public probity, and, extolling force as the master-key to State policy, makes wars with cold deliberation and glories in the act. Unity is achieved; the nation finds itself; and the world applauds. Is success, then, the seal that ratifies and closes the transaction? Is applause the last word? If not, how many issues in the lives of nations remain open, still awaiting the judge’s summing up and the jury’s verdict!

It is true that not a few of the violent convulsions recorded by...