CHAPTER VI: ROME, 1910-1911
All the Ambassadors within reach of home were summoned to England for the funeral. The ceremony at Windsor to which we were invited was profoundly impressive. Vast crowds had assembled in London to see the procession, and there were 30,000 troops on duty. But, as a Canadian Minister observed to me, "this people has discipline by instinct, and does not need to be drilled." A few days later the ceremony of kissing hands on reappointment by King George took place. His speeches and letters at this grave moment had been admirable, and the strong sentiment of loyalty which exceptional occasions bring into striking evidence possessed the country. For a moment it almost seemed justifiable to hope that the bitter party animosities which had troubled the last weeks of King Edward's life might yield to a spirit of conciliation. But such a miracle could only be effected by the lever of national danger in 1914.
Kitchener was staying with my old friend Pan Ralli, and I dined
with them alone. K., who had just returned home after the expiry
of his Indian command and his visits to Australia and Japan, had
grown far more genial, and looked ten years younger than when
I last saw him. He was interesting on the subject of Japan and
the education of patriotism instituted by that eminently practical
nation. I was careful to avoid the question of his duel with the
Viceroy, the more so as I believed Curzon's view to have been
sound. When the possibility of K.'s appointment to the chief command
in India was being discussed, a rumour had reached us in Egypt
that the Viceroy did not favour his candidature. Though I attached
little importance to it, I wrote to Curzon, with whom I kept up
a fairly regular correspondence, telling him of the rumour and
dwelling on the many virtues of the big soldier with whom I had
been for so many years in constant touch. Curzon replied that
of all the strange stories which found circulation in a land with
such an inexhaustible capacity for the invention of fable, none
had surprised him more than this entirely baseless report. And
yet the advent of a second strong man was responsible for the
one incident which clouded the success of a brilliant vice-royalty.
It was, I believe, a bitter disappointment to Kitchener that he
did not himself return to India as Governor-General.
During this visit to England I acquired the Onyx, a
yawl of some eighty tons, which started for Naples as soon as
she could be commissioned in charge of Captain Cooke, a very experienced
navigator who was familiar with every corner of the Red Sea, where
he had for seven years commanded a big steamship belonging to
the Turkish Tobacco Regie in waters where smuggling is an honourable
occupation.
Many months before Lord Rosebery had munificently offered;
his beautiful villa at Posillipo with all its contents as a gift
to His Majesty's Government, to be used as a summer Embassy, and
the offer had been accepted. The legal business connected with
the transfer of the property had fortunately been completed in
time for us to go to Naples in July. When I wrote to express to
my former chief, who had in early days given me my first opportunity,
my sense of the great debt which we owed him, he was good enough
to say that he had long cherished the idea of carrying out this
scheme at the end of his life, but that he had been moved to anticipate
the bequest by the fact that there was then an Ambassador at Rome
who would really care for it. We never ceased to think of him
with gratitude, and I believe the life among the ilex groves and
orange orchards on the most beautiful of gulfs was not less appreciated
by the staff who accompanied us than it was by my family, who
owe the happiest years of their childhood to the summers they
spent there.
The property had once belonged to the Conte d'Aquila, an uncle
of the last King of Naples. A shallow bay from which the ground
rises not too steeply is sheltered by a long stone breakwater
open at either end. A sea wall protects the garden front, beneath
which there is a very small area of sand, and a little pier runs
out into the ideal bathing enclosure to a depth just sufficient
for a head dive. The yacht, however, which had made a good passage
out, could not enter the little harbour where the water is rarely
more than five or six feet deep. It is evident that there has
been a subsidence of the land here or a rising of the sea, for
beyond the breakwater on a calm day you can trace walls and steps
cut in the rocks. The site of the ancient Baia is some fifteen
feet below water level. There are on the estate three houses,
two of which contain interesting historical pictures.
In one of these, the highest above the sea, my wife and I established
ourselves, keeping one or two rooms free for visitors. The largest
house lower down contained the chancery, the offices and the dining-room,
with bedrooms for some of the secretaries and the children, who
generally preferred to sleep under the stars on one of the wide
terraces. A third smaller house on the sea-front was available
for a married secretary, if there should be one. Two of the staff
by turns remained in Rome, and I went up myself once a week. Thus
a succession of summers passed very happily until the outbreak
of the Great War, when all pleasant things ceased perforce.
Our departure had been a little delayed, as an operation for
extracting the appendix had been performed on my youngest daughter.
As it was done under favourable conditions, she was well enough
to be transferred to Naples within three weeks, having made a
rapid recovery in all respects but one. The surface of the wound
refused to heal. Week after week the daily dressings by a skilled
nurse were continued, and the prolonged inaction in the hot weather
became extremely trying. My wife and I then determined to try
a bold experiment. We took her to the seashore, where the air
was perfectly pure, and exposed the wound for a few minutes to
the southern sun. It appeared almost visibly to cicatrize, and
in two days Apollo Soter had completed the cure.
Save for the perennial Cretan trouble and difficulties which
arose in negotiating an agreement for our participation in the
Turin International Exhibition of 1911, the summer was relatively
uneventful. I took several short cruises in the Onyx and
studied the problems of navigation in the gulf under the able
tuition of Captain Cooke. The latter was firmly convinced of the
presence of sharks in these waters, and strongly protested against
our anxiety to go overboard in the open sea, a habit I had always
followed without misgiving when sailing in Greek waters. Sharks
are indeed common enough off Alexandria, and one day in the gulf
he pointed out to me an ominous fin on the surface of the water
near the yawl. Small whales may be seen not unfrequently spouting
in the bay.
Among our visitors that first summer was the German Ambassador
who sailed with us to Baia and Procida. I was impressed on that
occasion, when we were discussing the rather startling Austrian
project to lay down four Dreadnoughts, with the emphatic view
he took of the necessity of making some further effort to cheek
the disastrous spirit of competition in naval construction. He
admitted that it was obvious that whatever Germany might do Great
Britain would inevitably have to outbid her, and he felt the time
had arrived to renounce an emulation which was becoming ruinous.
I suggested that we had made certain advances in that direction,
but had not received much encouragement. He replied that he believed
Germany would at that time have been disposed to reconsider the
question. Had public affairs in Germany really been controlled
by men like the actual Chancellor and Jagow, who was before long
to become Minister for Foreign Affairs, events might have taken
a different turn. But their counsels of moderation were impotent
to counteract the influence of the militant group.
In the first volume of these memoirs I referred to the steps
which were taken in 1886 to save the graves of Keats and Severn,
and to maintain unaltered the aspect of the tower where Trelawney
laid the ashes of Shelley.[Vol. I, pp. 154, 261.] In the course
of this summer I endeavoured once more to ensure the preservation
of the old non-Catholic burial-ground by the gate of St. Paul.
A gap had been opened at that time in the Aurelian wall, which
bounds both the old and the new cemetery, for the passage of a
road and tram-line which, after five and twenty years, had never
been constructed. It had been blocked to secure the octroi zone
with a hoarding which was very unsightly. Meanwhile the expropriation
of the old cemetery under a municipal development project had
only remained in abeyance, and was still liable to be enforced.
By this time the octroi zone had been extended a mile beyond the
walls, and no one was interested in maintaining the wooden barrier
which was falling into decay. I begged my friend the Syndic, Ernesto
Nathan, who was always most helpful and considerate, to look over
the ground with me, and consider if some plan could not be devised
to improve upon these provisional conditions. Nathan, after examining
the question, proposed a most welcome solution. The direction
of the tramway would be diverted to a line which now appeared
more practical, and the strip of land belonging to the city which
separates the two cemeteries could then be annexed to them. The
gap in the wall would be closed by an adequate iron grill. As
the German Embassy had always been in charge of the cemeteries
on behalf of the non-Catholic states, in virtue of an original
cession of land by the Papal Government to the von Humboldt family,
I referred the matter to Jagow, who cordially approved of the
scheme. The only condition imposed was that a suitable railing
should be erected to divide the old cemetery from the area immediately
contiguous to the pyramid of Caius Cestius, which would remain
under municipal control. No title-deeds to the property existed,
but the city of Rome claimed that its rights had never been alienated.
On the other hand the municipality would give an assurance that
there should be no disturbance so long as the site remained a
cemetery. I then hoped and believed that one of the most beautiful
spots in Rome would thus be definitely guaranteed against desecration
and change. The war, however, intervened before effect had been
given to the project and, after the withdrawal of the German Embassy,
a committee representing the non-Catholic states was appointed
to manage the cemeteries. But the arrangement which Nathan had
proposed at my suggestion remained a basis for subsequent agreements.
The cholera appeared at Naples in August. It was competently
managed, and though there were many cases in the city and a certain
number at Posillipo, it never assumed alarming proportions. We
observed the usual precautions, and the interdiction of raw fruit
during the peach and fig season was a source of considerable grievance
to the junior members of the family. In September they went back
to Rome, whence my eldest son returned to Eton while the younger
ones departed in a group for Hamburg, where they were to attend
German classes or schools under the supervision of a kindly but
in their eyes rather formidable lady who assumed the brevet rank
of an aunt. My wife and I sailed north to Gaeta and Porto d'Anzio.
We had contemplated a visit to Elba. But a telegram recalled us
in haste to Rome, as new difficulties had arisen over the contract
for the Turin Exhibition. George Curzon spent a little time with
us at the Embassy, after which he and I went together to Florence
and Bologna. The ex-Viceroy was in his best out-of-school humour,
and we enjoyed ourselves immensely. He went on to London, but
I had still an official duty to perform before I could avail myself
of a few weeks' leave from Italy.
Verona, which nearly half a century earlier had dedicated a
monument to Dante, a guest after his exile at the well-furnished
Court of Can Grande della Scala, proposed also to do similar honour
to the English poet whose genius had made the venerable city the
scene of an immortal tragedy and comedy. I was invited to be present
at the unveiling of the Memorial executed by the sculptor, Renato
Cattini, a pedestal or Herm surmounted by a bust of Shakespeare,
and ornamented round the base with reliefs representing the principal
characters of his dramas. It was placed beside the portico which
shelters the legendary tomb of Juliet.
Both Luzzatti, the President of the Council, and San Giuliano
came to Verona, where we were the guests of the Municipality.
In the morning the Prime Minister laid the foundation-stone of
the first edifice in an extensive group of workmen's dwellings
to be constructed by the city. In the afternoon we proceeded to
Juliet's tomb, an old sarcophagus of ample dimensions. Whether
or not it ever contained the ashes of the gentle Capulet long
tradition and an ambience of peculiar charm make those who visit
the spot conscious of a pervading anima loci. I noticed
that the stone coffin was full of visiting cards, mostly of pilgrims
from the other side of the Atlantic. After the monument had been
formally consigned by the responsible committee to the Syndic
we passed on into a large hall, where the notables of the city
were assembled, and I was invited to pronounce the first oration.
Having anticipated such an invitation, and realizing that I must
respond to it in Italian, I had prepared an address in which I
dwelt upon the debt of English literature to Italy and the constant
association of our poets with the land of romance from Chaucer
down to the great Victorians. Happily I was able to speak for
twenty minutes or more without referring to my notes. San Giuliano,
who afterwards confessed to me that he was rather a heretic about
Shakespeare, was no less felicitous on that account in matter
or in manner. The official panegyric of the poet was then pronounced
by a popular orator, Innocenzo Cappa. A banquet with more speeches
was followed by a concert of music from the various operas composed
on Shakespearean themes. Verona had offered us a memorable day.
Late as was the hour at which we were released, I still found
time to wander through the shadowy palace courts still eloquent
of the age of the despots, past the moonlit tombs of the Scaligeri
and across the incomparable market-place, returning to the Londres
for a very few hours' sleep before catching the early train for
Rome.
It was appropriate that one of my first experiences after reaching
England was an expedition to the Roman wall which we made with
the Ridleys from Blagdon, whence we passed on to the Middle Ages
at Lumley. Feeling in England was running very high over the question
of tariff reform. A general election left the position much as
it was before. It was a novel experience to find Cromer actively
engaged in promoting an eleventh-hour referendum, the purport
of which more than half the voters did not clearly understand.
But these matters and the anti-ducal philippics of Mr. Lloyd George
which added a new word to the language, were matters outside my
province, and I was quite ready to leave the overcharged atmosphere
at home and reassemble our family at Rome for the end of December.
Soon after the New Year I spent a delightful morning on the
seashore near Ostia, shooting with the King of Italy. Both during
the drive down and while we were waiting at our station for the
driven boars conversation regarding the international situation
ranged over practically the whole area of Europe and beyond it
into Asia. Nothing escaped the vigilant observation of the King,
whose views, expressed with complete detachment, were as interesting
as his conclusions were sound. While scrupulously respecting his
confidence, it seems legitimate to recall the high testimony which
a reference to the Balkans led him to pay to King Peter of Serbia,
whom His Majesty knew intimately. There were, he said, few men
for whom he had a higher regard. He had been much misjudged and
had had a troubled life. But he had always remained upright and
honourable. He had set up higher standards than had prevailed
before in a country which, though still lacking in most resources,
had never been so prosperous as under his guidance. The Crown
Prince was also highly gifted and full of promise. One of the
duties which I set before myself in preparing these recollections
was to miss no occasion which presented itself of doing justice
to men whose character or services have met with less recognition
than they seemed to me to merit. In view of the qualities which
the little Serbian nation displayed in its hour of trial, it seems
only just that due credit should be given to a King who strove
to instil a sense of dignity and obligation into a rugged and
still primitive people.
Among the many pleasant things which Rome could offer at this
time were the opportunity for discussing political, historical
and social questions with so able and willing a talker as Prince
Bülow, who, now that he had ceased to be a functionary of
State and had become a man of leisure, had no longer reason to
be reticent, and who seemed to me to be mentally grouping the
results of his long experience of public life. We foregathered
constantly through the pre-war years during the winter and. spring
months at the Villa Malta on the Pincian hill, which he had acquired
some time before his retirement. I had first met him many years
earlier at the Neues Palais at Potsdam, when, he was a comparatively
junior diplomatist. That he was the son-in-law of our old friend,
Donna Laura Minghetti, constituted a more recent link. Princess
Bülow had inherited not a little of her mother's compelling
charm. Our relations quickly became very friendly. It is rare
among Prussians to appear so successfully cosmopolitan as Bülow
had become. His manner was cordial and intimate. His erudition
was exceptional, and his exposition of whatever matter engaged
his conversation lucid and entertaining.
In former years I had repeatedly felt that Bülow's public
policy towards my country had been mistaken, and on one occasion
he almost allowed me to see that he thought so himself. I was
therefore interested to find that the ex-Chancellor, when free
to express his own personal views, was more disposed to do us
justice than he had been when the moods of an unconciliatory Reichstag
had to be humoured. For instance, he :observed one day that nothing
had been more remarkable or admirable in history than the pacification
of South Africa, and the confidence which the British people had
displayed in the ultimate results of liberty and magnanimity.
This led him on to make a generalization, which is no doubt sound,
that the best qualities of the British people are displayed under
a régime of liberty, whereas his own people were only at
their best when contained and directed by discipline.
Only twice, so far as I remember, did we discuss matters having
any possible relation to the eventuality of war. On the first
occasion I was certainly responsible, as I was anxious to elicit
from him the real view which he held regarding the relations between
our countries and the apparent increase of antagonism manifested
during his administration. As we were walking round the Embassy
garden one day early in 1911 after luncheon, I exposed to him
a favourite theory of mine that most of the great struggles in
history, whatever their ostensible cause may have been, were really
due to the ambition of successive nations, when they grew powerful
and developed their economic resources, to control the trade routes
of the east.
An historical retrospect might even be carried back to the
brief period when Solomon was in all his glory or to the Achaian
struggle with Troy for the overland portage to the Black Sea.
But it would suffice to begin with the long rivalry between Greek
and Persian. Then the Carthaginians established a monopoly which
Rome expanding imperially was bound to contest. The Roman dominance
passed to Constantinople, which held the northern gateway to the
East. The southern roads through Egypt or Syria and the Red Sea
were eventually closed to traffic by the rise of Islam. The northern
route by the Black Sea and the Caspian alone remained available
for traffic, and the great emporium on the Bosphorus became ever
richer, passing on the products of Asia to the Hanseatic cities
in the north and west. Venice, the chief distributor of merchandise
in the Mediterranean, grew wealthy, and developing sea power sought
to exclude all her rivals. In the thirteenth century she attacked
Constantinople with the assistance of Franks and Flemings adroitly
diverted from their goal as crusaders. The Frankish and then the
restored Greek Empires were short-lived, and finally Islam closed
all the doors. But with the expansion of Portugal and of Spain
the new trade route to the East round the Cape was exploited,
and in the following centuries the rivalry of the nations manifested
itself on the high seas. France in due course made a bid for the
Eastern trade. Napoleon aimed at re-opening the southern gate
through Egypt and holding the key himself. Great Britain contested
the mastery of both the overland and the ocean route, and by her
sea-power prevailed. Did not the recent great commercial and economic
expansion of Germany give reason to fear that, even though it
might be against the desire of moderate elements on both sides,
such an antagonism would inevitably divide our two countries ?
Bülow said that his earlier conclusions, based upon historical
studies, had led him to believe that certain forces, involuntary
inasmuch as their action was unperceived, compelled nations into
certain courses, and that their destinies were governed rather
by circumstance than by the informing influence of individual
personalities however highly placed. On the other hand, when he
contemplated the achievement of Bismarck and gave full consideration
to the unpromising elements with which he had had to deal, he
could not help admitting that a man of genius could force the
hand of circumstance. At the same time such exceptions were rare,
and generally he held to his former conclusion, namely, that nations
were, at most half-consciously, impelled to move on certain destined
courses. In the main there was much justification for the theory
I had advanced. But there were forces working on the other side
in the case of our two nations. In commerce they were mutually
interdependent to a considerable extent. Great Britain had never
shut the door to others, and Germans succeeded nowhere so well
as in British colonies.
I then put a further question. Might not another factor of
conciliation be found in the opening of the Panama Canal which
would draw a fairly large proportion of sea-borne trade into another
channel? He admitted the possibility, but would not commit himself
to any more definite opinion regarding the elimination of rivalry.
The conversation closed with a counsel of perfection easier to
formulate than to apply. The aim of statesmen should be to make
both countries realize that the rivalry which had become apparent
was not due to ill-will or deliberate machination, but rather
to forces beyond human control. We should each cease to attribute
to the other malignity of motive, and fix our attention on common
interests.
The second reference occurred more than a twelvemonth later.
Bülow observed to me that he was gradually coming round to
the belief that there would be no more great European wars. The
nations had become economically so dependent on one another and
the interruption of their economic relations would be so disastrous
that such wars were becoming inconceivable. The same thing has
been said and honestly believed by many others. But what impressed
me on this occasion was that Bülow went on to add with a
conscious smile that the dread of war would nevertheless be turned
to account and would serve for purposes of intimidation.
It was precisely this lever which Germany with her immense
military resources abused. The clank of "shining armour,"
the clenching of "mailed fists" and the vauntings of
the war-lord stimulated, by a process of suggestion, an impulse
which she could hardly if she wished have resisted and ended at
a critical moment by carrying her over the verge.
The fiftieth anniversary of Italian Unity which had come round
in this year 1911 was to be commemorated not only by the Industrial
Exhibition at Turin but also by historical, archaeological and
artistic exhibitions in Rome, as well as by the opening of the
National Monument under the northern slope of the Capitoline hill,
which had been for so many years under construction. Our pavilion
at Turin, arranged under the direction of Mr. Wintour, whose differences
with the Committee continued to give me ample scope for a judicious
exercise of the art of conciliation, was well worthy of the occasion.
The display of fine British porcelain, especially the contributions
of Pilkington and Bernard Moore, was greatly appreciated in Italy.
Unfortunately, there was a slight recrudescence of the cholera
epidemic of the previous year, sufficient to frighten visitors
away, and that and the late opening, when the weather was already
hot, seriously affected the attendance, especially in Rome, whence
the average visitor withdraws in May.
This was greatly to be regretted, as the Roman Exhibition had
a unique character, and was exceptionally interesting. Financially
I fear it was a disaster. Artistically it was a triumph, which
reflected great credit on the organizers, at the head of whom
was my old friend, Count San Martino, who added to his merits
by bringing a beautiful young bride to Rome for the occasion.
In the great vaulted chambers of the baths of Diocletian reproductions
of the most conspicuous monuments of the Roman Empire surviving
in other parts of Europe or in North Africa had been assembled.
The historical and ethnographical section beyond the Tiber had
a number of pavilions contributed by the various regions of Italy,
which were not slavish copies of existing buildings, but were
carried out in the architectural spirit predominating in the various
states out of which a united Italy had been formed at the characteristic
moment of their apogee. Piedmont, Lombardy, Venetia, Romagna,
Tuscany and Naples were accordingly represented by a series of
edifices ranging from the feudal fortress to the baroque palace.
The slopes of the Valle Giulia, which lies between the park
of the old Borghese Villa and the hills which skirt the Flaminian
road, were devoted to the art galleries of the various nations.
The British pavilion, designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens, was an adaptation
of the upper story of St. Paul's. Sir Isidore Spielman with an
energetic committee had succeeded in bringing together a really
remarkable and representative collection of British pictures by
dead and living painters. Relatively few Italians had till then
had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the achievements
of British art in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and
our contribution to the Exhibition of 1911 was something of a
revelation to them. Burne-Jones's Mirror of Venus and the work
of the pre-Raphaelite School generally excited much interest.
The great portrait of the McNab, which is perhaps Raeburn's masterpiece,
then shown for the first time, certainly aroused their enthusiasm.
No invitations to the commemoration were addressed to foreign
Courts. They would have placed Catholic sovereigns in a difficult
position. But the sympathy which our country had consistently
displayed for Italy during her struggle for liberty made it appropriate
that we should take a prominent part in the celebration, and the
Duke of Connaught was to have represented the King at the inauguration
on the 21st of April, the legendary birthday of Rome. But the
health of His Royal Highness compelled him to renounce the journey,
and his place was taken by Prince Arthur, who was the guest of
the King of Italy. We had an official dinner in his honour at
the Embassy, and an afternoon reception in the garden, for which
my wife had organized a series of dances in costume on the lawn,
of which the prettiest was a Greek movement led by our eldest
daughter, who had been trained by the Danish expert Fröken
Bilsted.
Of more permanent interest to record is the important sequel
to our participation in the Exhibition. My good friend Nathan
the Syndic who, as the pupil of Mazzini, was often accused of
an anti-clerical and republican bias, but was really one of the
most public-spirited and kindliest of men, expressed to me the
hope that our pavilion might be allowed to remain as a permanent
head-quarters for Exhibitions of art, in which case the area on
which it stood would be conceded to us by the Municipality, if
not in fee---simple at any rate on a perpetual lease at a peppercorn
rent. The same offer would be made to the other nations which
had been represented. I accordingly suggested to him a scheme
which appeared to me more practical and comprehensive, and which
did not exclude his idea of occasional exhibitions.
The Commissioners of the London Exhibition of 1851, inspired
by their Chairman, Lord Esher, had not long before resolved to
found travelling scholarships for an architect, a painter and
a sculptor, and the British School at Rome, the province of which
had hitherto been restricted to historical and archaeological
research, had been approached with a view to expanding its activities
so as to include also the fine arts under the existing organization.
I therefore suggested to the Syndic that the area in question
should be offered to the British School, which was rather cramped
in its actual domicile, and should become its permanent seat.
Nathan readily assented, and obtained the cordial agreement of
the Municipality. The land was then handed over to three trustees---Prince
Arthur of Connaught, Lord Esher, and myself.
The pavilion had been erected by Messrs. Humphreys under conditions
which made the actual material their property at the end of the
Exhibition, when its demolition had been contemplated. But the
head of the firm, Colonel CharIton Humphreys, munificently offered
to present the building to the Commissioners. In the end it had
to be rebuilt, inasmuch as the original modest scheme now received
a wider extension, and studios as well as accommodation had to
be provided for a much larger number of students holding additional
scholarships founded by the Royal Academy and other bodies. A
scholarship for a young architect from South Africa was generously
endowed by Mr. Herbert Baker. It was, and still is, my hope that
some day all the Dominions will be represented at the British
School at Rome, which should then become a postgraduate college
where selected students of art and archaeology from all parts
of the Empire could exchange ideas and mutually stimulate enthusiasm
during a couple of years under ideal conditions and surroundings.
The cost of the construction of the new building was borne by
the Commissioners of the Exhibition of 1851, but the studio wing
was added by Mrs. Abbey as a memorial to her distinguished husband.
A constitution was drawn up and a Royal Charter was conferred
on the British School which had the benefit of the zeal and experience
of Dr. Thomas Ashby and Mrs. Arthur Strong as its first Director
and Assistant Director. Almost simultaneously the new American
School at Rome was opened under the inspiring management of the
late Mr. Benedict Carter, with similar facilities for architects
and artists, and cordial relations were established between the
two institutions.
I had long promised a visit to the Brasseys, who spent a month
every spring on their mining estates in Sardinia. But just as
we were about to start my wife was summoned home on account of
her mother's failing health, so that I went alone. Not long after
my arrival at their comfortable house among the hills a telegram
followed me announcing the death of my mother-in-law. Her youngest
son, Murray Guthrie, had died after a long illness barely a fortnight
before. Sardinia , where I could only remain three or four days,
was in early May a paradise of wild flowers. The dark macchia
jungle looked as though snow-sprinkled with the white stars of
the cystus. There were wild peonies, stocks, and lavender. The
curious Pancration lily with its fretted white blooms grew in
the folds of the hill near Ingertosu. There were slopes steel
blue with rosemary and rocks carpeted with the mesymbrianthemum
in full. flower. That good fellow with the unfinished manner and
the warmest of hearts whom we loved as Tab Brassey had been, here
as everywhere, active in endeavouring to improve the lot of his
fellowman. The cottages built for the workmen at the Brassey Mines
were solid and comfortable, and every year he and Lady Idina offered
a number of prizes for the cleanest and smartest houses and for
the best-kept gardens. There was eager competition to win them.
Sardinia, with customs and traditions and almost a language of
its own, is remote from contact with the march of progress. I
felt proud of my countryman who was thus endeavouring to humanize
its primitive sons.
Soon after my return Prince Bülow called to condole. Our
conversation had drifted into a philosophic vein. We were discussing
the law of compensation and whether, as I argued, in spite of
all appearances, one man is really much happier than another,
the jaded rich man than the poor man with an intenser capacity
for enjoying his simpler pleasures, the successful man than the
unambitious. This train of thought led him to relate an interesting
anecdote about Bismarck, which I gathered he had learned directly
from Holstein, who alone could have told it. The latter, who was
returning in the train with Bismarck from Vienna to Berlin after
the signature of the Treaty of Alliance, when the old Chancellor
appeared to be at the zenith of his success and fame, found him
extremely depressed, and only disposed to dwell upon the vanity
of human ambitions. He suggested to his chief that, having accomplished
all that lay behind him, he if anyone was entitled to feel himself
a happy man. Bismarck replied that he could not honestly remember
having been happy for more than three days in all his life, which
had been one unceasing struggle. He had been constantly assailed
by envy, hatred, and malice, and worse still thwarted by the folly
and imbecility of man. He had achieved. Yes. But at what a cost!
He had made three great wars, and he was conscious of having directly
occasioned an infinite amount of human suffering. Looking back
over life Bülow himself was convinced that real happiness
was only to be found in its unselfish pleasures, in great thoughts,
great art, in beautiful nature, and in affection, when not overshadowed
by the dread of severance. Remembering such genial and intimate
intercourse in the years before the war I feel the more strongly
the grimness of circumstance which in 1915 brought me into direct
conflict with a friend who became a formidable antagonist. Even
if in the past Prince Bülow as Chancellor had in relations
with my country rejected a great opportunity for improving them,
I believe that in 1914 all his influence would have been exerted
to avert the catastrophe. Afterwards in a position of great difficulty
he did his best to uphold his country's interests, and had he
succeeded in ensuring the neutrality of Italy the consequences
for us at that stage of the conflict would have been graver than
I should care to contemplate. But I could not feel any personal
sense of resentment on account of efforts which added seriously
to my anxieties, and I had no reason to reproach him with any
action which was disloyal in time of war.
The unveiling in May of the statue of the Liberator King on
the National Monument was very impressive. Conspicuous on the
platform were the survivors of the Garibaldians in their red shirts,
and among them nine British members of the legion which had landed
at Milazzo. Six thousand Mayors from all parts of the country
were present, and it was reported that a hundred and fifty thousand
people had come into the city by train. There were obvious reasons
for some misgiving lest such a ceremony in Rome might provoke
an incident. Deputations had in fact arrived from every region
comprehended in a very wide interpretation of "unredeemed
Italy." But the police had impounded their banners and all
inopportune manifestations were prevented. The official arrangements
were worthy of the occasion.
I confess to a certain feeling of irritation when I hear my
countrymen as well as other visitors to Rome speaking of the Monument
in terms of depreciation. The principal exception taken to it
seems to be that it masks the venerable Capitol and emphasizes
an unwelcome contrast between the old and the new in an area of
unique historical association. Architecturally, it is finely conceived,
and it only needs the patina bestowed by the great artist Time
to bring it into harmony with its surroundings. It recalls the
stately buildings of Imperial Rome, of which we have little left
to-day but the concrete foundations, and such fragments of marble
structure or facing as have escaped the ravages of the church
builders or the disintegration of the limekiln. There may be details
which an expert would be justified in criticizing, but I have
seen few national or public monuments in other countries to compare
with it in nobility of proportion. It faces the newer Rome in
the Campus Martius, and separates it from the Rome of antiquity.
Almost opposite, but a little to the left, stands the Palazzo
Venezia, where the Austro-Hungarian Embassies had their offices,
and still farther to the left is the vast church of the Gésu.
There was a moment of hushed silence in the crowd when the
King drew the cord and released the draperies concealing the statue.
Then Giolitti, the Prime Minister, stepped into the centre of
the platform and began his speech in a clear and resonant voice.
He had only pronounced the first few sentences when the loud bells
of the neighbouring Gésu church began to ring, as it seemed
almost defiantly, and drowned his voice in their clangour. It
was Whit-Sunday morning, and probably in the natural order of
things that the bells should ring at 9.15 unless instructions
had been given to defer for half an hour this interruption to
a national ceremony. Giolitti displayed perfect nerve, and continued
his address. Had he even turned his head towards the bells or
made the slightest gesture of protest, the mercurial masses in
the piazza below might have responded by some untoward demonstration.
The bells only ceased to peal in time for the final peroration.
We were summoned to London in June for the coronation. With
the opening of summer I was able to report all well at my post,
though I could not help expressing some preoccupation at the rising
tide of irritation with Turkey, provoked by a number of incidents
which there seemed to be little disposition in Italy to minimize.
I have not seen a coronation in any other country. But it would
be impossible to conceive a more beautiful and more deeply impressive
ceremony than that which we were privileged to attend in the perfect
setting of the Abbey. We were in our places soon after eight in
the morning, and did not get away till three. But there was so
much to interest and so many friends round us in the north transept
that the time never seemed to drag. Memorable also was the royal
progress round the city with its escorts of troopers from the
Dominions and the Colonies. It was of happy omen that Botha should
have been enthusiastically cheered. The great naval review at
Spithead, to which my son from Eton was allowed to accompany me
in place of my wife, we saw from the Plassy, which was chartered
by the Admiralty for the diplomatists and distinguished guests.
Among the foreign ships present on that occasion was the new German
battle-cruiser, the Goeben, which three years later was
to play a decisive part immediately after the outbreak of the
Great War. Coming directly from a country where discipline is
rather contrary to the individualist spirit of the people, I was
greatly struck with the perfect order and good nature of the vast
crowds which had assembled for the coronation. An old German acquaintance
on board the Plassy observed to me that the British had
in these days shown themselves to be ein edles Volk.
On the 1st of July 1911, the German Ambassador in Rome went
to the Italian Foreign Office to announce to San Giuliano that
the cruiser Panther had been sent to Agadir. The alleged
reason for this step, the protection of German firms in the south
of Morocco, was naturally received with considerable scepticism.
It was not till nearly two years afterwards on the recurrence
of the same date that San Giuliano admitted to me that on Jagow's
leaving his room he called in Prince Scalea , the Under-Secretary
of State, and, taking out his watch, which marked five minutes
to midday, observed to him that from that moment the question
of Tripoli had entered on an active phase. Thereafter the process
of preparing public opinion for what was to take place at the
end of September began.
The dispatch of the Panther, that new disturbing move
on the European chessboard, following a practical collapse of
the Franco-German understanding of 1909, occurred just four days
after the assumption of the premiership in France by M. Caillaux,
with whom the German Government had hopes of concluding a financial
and perhaps eventually also a political understanding. Without
any special information which was not available to every observer,
I formed the opinion that this measure was not intended to be
an act of deliberate provocation to France so much as a reminder
to the French Chamber of the advantage of concluding an arrangement
which would compensate Germany for an eventual French Protectorate
over Morocco. If so the miscalculation was grave, and it had the
practical result of bringing Great Britain immediately into line
with France, and of reviving an antagonism which had temporarily
subsided. On the 21st of July Mr. Lloyd George made a strong pronouncement
at the Guildhall, which elicited three days later a not very gracious
assurance that Germany had no intention of establishing a naval
harbour on the Morocco coast. The speech, however, aroused a bitter
feeling of resentment in Germany. How strong it was I only learned
some months later from Jagow, who told me that he had not himself
realized the intensity of that feeling, especially in Bavaria
and Southern Germany, until after he had been on leave. The Guildhall
speech had produced an effect quite out of proportion to the weight
of the words employed. He had till then believed that reports
of the anti-British sentiment prevailing in Germany were exaggerated,
but his recent experience at home had convinced him that it had
become formidable. He hoped it would pass, as there seemed to
be an earnest desire on the part of responsible people on both
sides for a rapprochement. But the matter was really serious,
and a remedy must be sought before it was too late.
The Onyx had been laid up at Leghorn during the winter
and spring. As soon as she was re-commissioned I made an expedition
in her to Elba, interesting from its associations but a very modest
cage for an eagle. On our way to Naples we were trying to make
the mountainous Giglio when the wind headed us off, and so we
entered instead a wide bay with a rocky bottom, on the southern
side of a low-lying island called Giannutri, the ancient Dianium.
There is a solitary lighthouse on one point of the bay, and the
keepers who rowed out to the yacht told us that the island was
only tenanted by wild rabbits and a pazza, or mad woman,
of whom they seemed to stand in some awe. They did not mention
any male inhabitant, so when we landed later on, we were surprised
to encounter a venerable gentleman who, raising a battered straw
hat, informed us that he was Captain Adami, an old Garibaldian,
at our service, and inquired what had brought us to Giannutri.
He had, he told us, lived twenty-nine years there, and nine had
passed since he last visited the mainland. He had rented the cultivable
land from the commune of Giglio, and had spent £5000 in
developing it, in building a house and constructing cisterns,
as there was only rainfall water. Some two years earlier fishermen
landing there in the dry season had lit a fire which caught the
macchia, and was carried by a strong wind right across
the island, destroying his house, his vines, and all the work
of five and twenty years. One cistern was, however, still available
for use. He was too old at seventy-three to begin life again elsewhere,
and he now camped in two or three vaulted chambers of an old Roman
villa with his adopted daughter, the child of a man who, being
consumptive, had come to the island for his health and had died
there. This was evidently the pazza. We only caught a distant
glimpse of a wild-looking creature with hair that streamed on
the wind. Having spent most of her years in this solitude she
was probably shy of other human beings. Once every four weeks
when the lighthouse men were changed Captain Adami received a
mail and a month's newspapers, of which he read one every day.
Fishermen brought him flour and pasta from the mainland.
He grew a few tomatoes, bred some chickens, and had no other wants.
He told me that he kept a daily diary. But there can have been
little to record in this solitary hermitage. The island, which
has an area of some 600 acres, served in Roman times as a place
of detention for exiled senators, the ruins of whose villas might
reward the excavator. There were traces of coloured marble pavements
and some good Corinthian capitals. We provided the courteous old
Garibaldian with a few little luxuries, and then took our leave.
I had it in my mind to return there another year, but the opportunity
never came. Captain Adami can hardly be alive to-day. I wonder
what has become of the pazza.
In spite of the reappearance of cholera which compromised the
prospects of the Exhibitions, we established ourselves at the
Villa Rosebery, where the children joined us for the summer holidays.
Excitement over Agadir was cooling down, and although negotiations
dragged on it already seemed evident that France would have no
difficulty in establishing her Protectorate. My diary contains
an entry dated the 3rd of August to the effect that if France
succeeded there was every reason to believe that Italy would avail
herself of the constant incidents in Tripoli to redress the balance
in the Mediterranean. An important financial institution which
had heavy commitments there was reported to me to be engaged in
propaganda to that end. It was not a little remarkable that about
this time in spite of the growing friction a Turkish division
was withdrawn from Tripoli for service elsewhere. But for that
transfer the task with which the Italians were soon afterwards
confronted would have been more formidable.
The 12th of August---incidentally the date on which we learned
that the Lords had passed the Parliament Bill---had been chosen
for the annual festa at the Villa at Posillipo which we
used to organize for the gardeners, boatmen and humbler neighbours.
There were swimming races and other competitions and dancing,
and a supper as twilight fell. All were assembled by the sea at
4.30 in the afternoon, when to our consternation we saw a big
Italian cruiser, steaming towards Naples from the gulf of Pozzuoli,
strike the Gaiola shoal barely a mile from our garden. A cloud
of black smoke rose from the funnels, where she lay immovable
with an ominous list, just beyond the mark buoy. It was the San
Giorgio, a new ship which had not completed her steam trials.
The inquiry into the grounding, which was instituted in due course,
revealed that the buoy was some 300 metres out of position. It
was surmised that it had been shifted in a storm which took place
in January of the previous year. If that were so navigation in
those waters must have been dangerous for some eighteen months.
But prudent seamen will always give such a buoy a wide berth.
The San Giorgio was soon surrounded with lighters and floating
cranes engaged in removing her guns, and before long four battleships
took station off the Villa to render assistance. For upwards of
a month we could watch the work of salvage in process. Funnels
and barbettes were removed, and pumping continued without intermission.
The holes torn in the structure were eventually closed with cement.
Several unsuccessful attempts were then made to tow her off the
reef. It was not till after the middle of September when the weather
usually breaks that a long swell, the precursor of a scirocco
gale, moved her on her bed, and at last she was successfully floated.
Just in time as it proved, for two days later very heavy seas
were breaking on the shoal.
Sailing in those waters in the hot summer season always requires
caution. The wind may seem almost to have dropped when a sudden
squall will break out of the heavy heat clouds. I have seen as
many as four waterspouts travelling simultaneously across the
gulf in the early autumn. Captain Cooke's vigilance was untiring,
and his language describing the phenomena of nature was picturesque
and unusual. We were lying one night very quietly off Procida.
But at six in the morning, becoming aware of a lively movement,
I went on deck to find the skipper shaking his head. "Don't
know what to make of the weather," he said, "I was up
at four and every star was shining clear. And look at the sky
now, blue all over as if a horse had kicked him."
By September the trend of opinion as revealed in the Press
had become very bellicose, except in the Socialist organs, which
consistently opposed all expansionist adventures. Official rebukes
were occasionally addressed to the more aggressive newspapers,
but they were drafted in terms which were not altogether convincing.
If the Franco-German negotiations regarding Morocco led to agreement,
and my German colleague seemed to have no doubt that they would
be successful, I was convinced that we must be prepared for early
Italian action. It was difficult to keep in touch with responsible
people at this season. Ministers seemed carefully to avoid the
capital. In the middle of the month I managed to see San Giuliano,
whom I suspected of being as a Sicilian more interested in the
future of Tripoli than Giolitti, but I could extract little from
him. Meanwhile I received information of certain military concentrations,
and learned that ships were unostentatiously assembling at Augusta
in Sicily. Towards the end of the month the whole fleet was secretly
mobilized. Of all of which my Government was of course duly informed.
I decided in any case to return to Rome.
A crisis was precipitated at the last with a suddenness for
which not only Europe but even Italy was hardly prepared. The
explanation given to me was that the Government, convinced that
they must act sooner or later, accepted the risk of considerable
criticism in bringing matters rapidly to a head. Pressure exercised
in a milder form than an ultimatum would have given the Young
Turks a pretext for taking retaliatory measures. There was danger
in prolonging tension through the winter, as in the spring the
Balkan mountain populations are apt to grow restless, and the
anticipation of some movement there might have led to Austrian
interposition. To defer to it would be humiliating, to disregard
it would be to court catastrophe. It was optimistically hoped
that Turkey would accept the inevitable, and that the issue might
be promptly decided before Parliament met in November.
An ultimatum was presented to Turkey on the 26th of September,
in which it was insisted that the chronic state of disorder prevailing
in Tripoli and Cyrenaica, and the disregard of repeated representations
had left Italy no option but to occupy those countries militarily.
After such occupation the situation might be regularized by subsequent
agreement. A reply was requested in twenty-four hours as to whether
the occupation would be opposed. The ultimatum read plausibly,
but it was obvious that political necessity was the real motive
for action. The Turkish reply was characterized as evasive and
war was declared on the 29th. Tripoli was blockaded on the 1st
of October, and after a bombardment 1,500 bluejackets under Admiral
Cagni landed and held the town until the first section of the
expeditionary force arrived. Tobruk, Derna and Homs were successfully
occupied, and on the 20th a successful landing was effected at
Bengasi, which was taken after some hard fighting. Some naval
operations in the Adriatic carried out by the Duke of Abruzzi
elicited a protest from Vienna, and thereafter his activities
were restricted to patrolling without bombardments or landings.
Italy was most anxious not to furnish Austria with any pretext
for stealing a march on her in Albania.
The declaration of war had taken most of the Powers by surprise.
The German Press was frankly hostile to Italy, but its attitude
seemed to be far less resented than the much milder comments of
certain British newspapers. I pointed out this inconsistency to
San Giuliano, whose comment was that Italians paid little attention
to the German Press, while they were intensely sensitive to opinion
in England. Wilfrid Blunt reappeared as the champion of the Moslem,
and inquired why the Government had not intervened if they had
known of Italy's intentions, and if they had not, why the Ambassador
had not been immediately recalled. I had of course warned my Government
of what was likely to happen. But as to the day and hour San Giuliano
admitted that they were only known to the Prime Minister and himself.
It was in fact not until the 24th of September that the proposed
measures had been submitted to the Cabinet. France had, on the
other hand, in the first instance shown a benevolence which increased
her consideration and influence at Rome. The anti-Italian campaign
in the central European Press was largely to be attributed to
the fact that the ultimatum to Turkey had upset the international
financial community centred in Berlin, which controlled a majority
of the most powerful newspapers in Germany and Austria, where
neither of the Governments were much disposed to exercise a restraining
influence. The Salonika Committee, which was all-powerful at Constantinople,
was moreover largely recruited from and supported by Jewish elements.
The British are apt to be hypnotized by the blessed word Constitution,
and were therefore rather inclined to sympathize with the new
Turkey. But the Press at home was by no means unanimous, and the
critical attitude of a certain section was only a passing phase.
On the other hand, the attitude of our Government, which was scrupulously
correct, was cordially appreciated in Italy.
Germany's position was indeed momentarily far from comfortable.
After having posed as the protector of the Moslems generally and
the friend of the Turks in particular, for a consideration, she
had engaged in negotiations for handing over Morocco to France,
and was manifestly unable to prevent her ally from attacking Turkey
in Tripoli. Her other ally had quite recently annexed the two
provinces of the Ottoman Empire which she had been allowed to
occupy provisionally, and it was due to German intervention that
Russia found herself compelled to recognize the annexation of
Bosnia and Herzegovina, and agree to the abrogation of Article
25 of the Treaty of Berlin. Here may be found a valuable object-lesson
illustrating how lightly in the Near East moral and patriotic
considerations weigh in the scale against immediate and personal
interests. For in spite of such adverse factors the prestige of
Germany at Constantinople was only very temporarily if at all
diminished, while our influence continued progressively to decline.
The fact was that Germany with her acute appreciation of real
values was always ready to make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness,
provided it was in the ascendant. Just as the ex-Emperor had flattered
and cajoled Abdul Hamid, the exterminator of the Armenians, so
after the advent of the Young Turks to power the German Ambassador
took care that they were provided with ships and money and military
advisers, while we were only concerned to criticize and denounce
their certainly very questionable methods.
The outbreak of war even on a relatively small scale gave me
a great deal of work. Though hostile operations were localized
there were inevitable seizures and detentions of British ships,
especially in the Red Sea, and complicated problems of naval law
had to be investigated. I found myself moreover continually called
upon to allay the susceptibilities which our inveterate habit
of criticizing the methods and practice of other countries excites.
In the initial stage of the campaign all went well for the Italians
in Tripoli. But they seem to have been misled by agents on the
spot into believing that the Arabs would welcome them, and they
had too confidently extended their lines far beyond the city.
The Arabs of the inland oases saw their opportunity, and three
companies of Bersaglieri, simultaneously attacked in the front
and the rear, were almost annihilated. Massacres of the wounded
and mutilations of the dead, as well as assassinations in the
town, were responsible for severe reprisals. A section of the
British as well as the German and Austrian Press then adopted
a censorious attitude which was much resented, and currency was
given to stories which investigation on the spot showed to have
been greatly exaggerated.
The Turkish Government had appealed to the Powers to intervene,
and Aehrenthal put forward suggestions for an exchange of views.
Signor Giolitti in his memoirs [Memoirs of my Life, G. Giolitti.
Chapman & Dodd, p. 285.] has revealed the duplicity of
German diplomacy in connection with this initiative. Aehrenthal
received favourable replies from London and St. Petersburg. But
the Italian Chargé d'Affaires at Berlin reported to his
Government that Zimmermann, the Under-Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs, had insinuated his doubts regarding the attitude of Great
Britain, and expressed the opinion that in order to retrieve our
position in Constantinople we should insist on the maintenance
of the Sultan's overlordship in Tripoli and Cyrenaica as an indispensable
condition of peace. In that case Italy would have to give way.
Inquiries addressed to London elicited from Sir Edward Grey a
clear statement that he had invariably replied to representations
from the Turkish Embassy that attempts at mediation on any other
basis but that of undisputed Italian sovereignty would be unavailing.
Herr Zimmermann would no doubt have welcomed our taking the line
which he attributed to us since, to quote Signor Giolitti once
more, the German Ambassador at Constantinople had at the same
time deprecated any German initiative there involving the recognition
of Italian sovereignty.
Such revelations of conflicting political interests and an
apprehension that the Powers might intervene were probably largely
responsible for the step taken by Giolitti on the 4th of November
1911, when the sovereignty of Italy over Libya was proclaimed.
Personally I doubted the wisdom of this policy in Italy's own
interest at such a moment, and did not hesitate quite unofficially
to express my doubts to San Giuliano. It was obvious that the
Italians would never leave Tripoli. But an intermediate stage
of occupation or even protectorate, a status not clearly defined
in international law, would have enabled them to turn many difficulties
which might be entailed by the irrevocable annexation of a country
into which their penetration hardly extended beyond the seaports,
and where Enver was now organizing a more formidable resistance.
It was bound, moreover, to present a serious stumbling block to
any peace negotiations. For the Turks the primary object was to
save their prestige by a semblance of compromise which annexation
seemed to exclude.
Under the prevailing conditions leave seemed out of the question,
so my wife paid the usual autumn visit to England without me.
On several succeeding Thursdays of the weeks during which I remained
alone, I dined with my hospitable friends at the Villa Malta,
where the company was always excellent. Bülow being unofficially
in Rome was free to choose his own guests. Among these were those
excellent raconteurs, Monseigneur Duchesne and Senator Pasolini.
One evening I found Harnack there, brilliant but rather dogmatic.
Sometimes also I encountered old friends from Berlin whom I had
not seen for more than twenty years.
On such occasions Bismarck reminiscences were not infrequently
the subject of conversation, and an extremely interesting story
was told to illustrate the great Chancellor's sense of humour
which did not abandon him even at the dramatic moment of his dismissal.
After the final rupture with the Emperor he had assembled the
Council of Ministers over which he was to preside for the last
time, and in a brief and dignified address he laid before them
the reasons which had compelled his resignation. The Minister
of the Interior, von Boeticher, then made a rather tiresome little
speech de circonstance full of commonplaces which only
irritated the old man. The Council was about to break up when
another Minister, apologizing for intervening at such a moment
with other business, said that before they dispersed there was
one matter on which it was urgent to have the Prince's guidance.
The King of Saxony had arrived in Berlin. But he was there incognito.
Under those circumstances should they or should they not write
their names in his book? A more amazingly incongruous interpellation
would be difficult to conceive. The Chancellor announces his resignation,
and the momentous announcement is met by a preposterous question
of Court etiquette! Rising from his seat, Bismarck observed that
the question was indeed a delicate one. But he would give his
last ruling. "Let us," he said, " by all means
write names on the King of Saxony. But, as he is here incognito,
let us go in cabs instead of in our official carriages, and let
us write down some other names. I, for instance, will inscribe
myself as Schultz, and you will put yourself down as Müller."
[The two comic types who exchange pertinent observations every
week on some topic of actuality in the Berlin Kladderadatch.]
With this last "official" utterance the man whose will
had dominated Europe for twenty years strode out of the Council
Chamber to become a private citizen.
Bülow remarked to me that in his time he had met but few
men of genius. Such a one in his opinion Bismarck undoubtedly
was. But the noblest human being he was conscious of having encountered
was the Emperor Frederick. An instance of his magnanimity of character
and appreciation of men was his attitude towards General von Blumenthal,
who was his Chief of the Stall in 1866. After the battle of Sadowa
Blumenthal had written a letter to his wife, who was an Englishwoman,
in which he severely criticized Moltke. He also referred to the
difficulties which the Chief of the Stall to Prince Frederick
Charles had with his royal master. His own position, he added,
was very different. His Prince counted for nothing, and allowed
him to do exactly what he wished. The courier carrying this unfortunate
letter was captured by the Austrians, who immediately published
it. The Crown Prince at once wrote to his father, begging him
to take no notice of it and to appease the anger of Moltke. Blumenthal
was a splendid fellow, and so far as he himself was concerned,
he would have a little talk with his Chief of the Staff and there
the matter would end. When war with France broke out in 1870 he
once more selected Blumenthal to fill the same position, and so
secured the most devoted of servants. One of the few public acts
of his brief reign had been to bestow a Field-Marshal's baton
on his old friend. Bülow also regarded the Emperor Frederick
as a very considerable soldier. Blumenthal no doubt helped him
to win the battles of Weissenberg and Wörth. But at a very
critical moment during the first of these, when the Geissenberg
was stormed, the Crown Prince himself took the initiative, and,
though by nature the most humane of men, had the nerve to sacrifice
his best regiment to secure victory.
His premature death had been a misfortune for Germany. He would
have conciliated many different currents, and the influence he
could have exercised would have made it easier for his son to
reign after him. The Emperor Frederick would never have dismissed
Bismarck. Nor would such a dismissal have been contemplated by
the Empress, to whom Bülow admitted the old Chancellor had
behaved ungenerously when he allowed the impression to gain ground
that she was originally responsible for calling in an English
doctor after her husband's illness assumed a menacing form. Bismarck
knew the real circumstances, and could not ignore his own personal
share in the matter.
The opinion thus expressed coincides so completely with that
which I formed at the time in Berlin and have recorded in my first
volume that I have ventured to refer to it here, feeling sure
that Prince Bülow would not resent my doing so. The testimony
which he bore to the high character of one, for whom I share his
admiration, I feel no scruple in repeating.
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