It was noon the next day when Captain Irwin stepped out of the Colonel’s bungalow and turned towards home. The interview with his superior officer appeared to have been serious and far from pleasant for him, for he was very pale. Red spots were burning on his cheeks, and his deep-set eyes flashed darkly, as though with suppressed wrath. A few minutes later the Colonel’s horse was led to the door, and a company of lancers under the command of a sergeant rode into the courtyard.
The commander came out in full uniform, and, placing himself at the head of the company, galloped towards the Maharajah’s palace.
The cavalry drew up before the palace gates, and Colonel Baird shouted out in a loud commanding voice to the servants lounging at the door that he wished to speak to the Maharajah.
A few minutes passed, and a gorgeously attired palace official made his appearance with the answer that His Highness could not receive at present; the Colonel would be informed as soon as the audience could be granted.
The commander leapt from the saddle, and with jingling spurs walked firmly into the palace, trailing his sword noisily over the marble floor.
“Tell the Prince I desire to see him at once,” he called out in a threatening voice to the palace officials and servants who followed him in evident embarrassment. It was evident that no one dare disobey such a peremptory command. All gates flew open before the Englishman, and he had hardly to wait a minute in the anteroom before the Prince consented to receive him. On a small high-raised terrace of the ground floor the Maharajah sat at luncheon. He purposely did not change his easy attitude when the English resident approached, and the glaring look which his dark eyes cast at the incomer was obviously intended to intimidate.
With his helmet on his head and his hand resting on his sword the Colonel stood straight before the Prince.
“I desire to have a few words with you, Maharajah!”
“And I have instructed my servants to inform you that I am not at your service. You see I am at luncheon!”
“That, in your case, is no reason for refusing to receive the representative of His Britannic Majesty. The message you sent me was an insult, which, if repeated, will have to be punished.”
In a transport of rage the Prince sprang up from his chair. He hurled an abusive epithet into the Colonel’s face, and his right hand sought the dagger in his belt. The attendant, who was about to serve up to his master a ruddy lobster on a silver dish, recoiled in alarm. But the Colonel, without moving an inch from his place, placed the silver hunting whistle that hung from his shoulder to his mouth. Two shrill calls, and at once the trotting of horses and the rattle of arms was audible. The high, blue-striped turbans of the cavalry and the pennons of their lances made their appearance under the terrace.
“Call my bodyguard!” cried the Prince, with a voice hoarse with rage.
But in a voice of icy calm the Colonel retorted, “If you summon your bodyguard, Maharajah, you are a dead man. That would be rebellion; and with rebels we make short shrift.”
The Prince pressed his lips together; the rage he had with the greatest difficulty suppressed caused his body to quiver as in a paroxysm of fever, but he had to realise that he was here the weaker, and without a word more he fell back again into his chair.
The Colonel stepped to the balcony of the terrace.
“Sergeant Thomson!” he called down into the park.
Heavy steps were heard on the marble stairs, and the man summoned, followed by two soldiers, stood at attention before his superior officer.
“Sergeant, do you know the gentleman sitting at that table?”
“Yes, sir! It is His Highness the Maharajah.”
“If I gave you orders to arrest this gentleman and bring him to camp, would you hesitate to obey?”
The sergeant regarded his superior officer as if the doubt of his loyal military obedience astonished him. He at once gave the two soldiers who were with him a nod and advanced a step further towards the Prince, as though at once to carry out the order.
“Stop, sergeant!” cried the Colonel. “I hope that His Highness will not let matters go as far as that. You are perhaps ready now, Maharajah, to receive me?”
The Indian silently pointed to the golden chair at the other end of the table. At a sign from the Colonel the sergeant and the two soldiers withdrew.
“I have a very serious question to put to you, Maharajah.”
“Speak!”
“Last evening, during Captain Irwin’s absence, several rascals entered his house with the intention of committing an act of violence on the person of the Captain’s wife. What do you know about the matter, Maharajah?”
“I do not understand, Colonel. What should I know?”
“Perhaps you would be well advised to try and remember. Do you mean to tell me that you now hear of this business for the first time?”
“Certainly! I have not heard a word about it until now.”
“And you have not been told that one of the assailants who was killed on the spot was one of your servants?”
“No. I have a great many servants, and I am not responsible for their actions, if they are not done by my orders.”
“But this is exactly what I believe to have been the case. You will hardly expect me to believe that one of your servants would have dared to make such an attack on his own initiative. Unfortunately, the other villains have escaped, but one of them left behind him a sabre belonging to a man in your bodyguard.”
It was evident that the Maharajah had a hard struggle to keep his composure. Endeavouring to conceal his rage behind a supercilious smile, he answered—
“It is beneath my dignity, Colonel, to answer you.”
“There can be no question of dignity justifying you in a refusal to answer the British resident, when he demands it. You are dealing not with an ordinary British officer, but with the representative of His Majesty the Emperor of India. It is your duty to answer, as it is mine to question you. A refusal might have the most serious consequences for Your Highness; for the Government Commissioners that would be despatched from Calcutta to Chanidigot on my report might be but little impressed by your dignity.”
The Indian set his teeth and a wild passionate hate flashed from his eyes, but, at the same time, he probably reflected that he would not have been the first of the Indian princes to be deprived of the last remnant of sham sovereignty for a paltry indiscretion.
“If you consider it necessary to make a report to Calcutta, I cannot prevent your doing so; but I should think that the Viceroy would hesitate before giving offence to a faithful ally of England, and at the very moment when he has to ask him to despatch his contingent of auxiliary forces.”
“Since you refer to this matter—whom have you appointed to command your force?”
“My cousin, Tasatat Maharajah.”
“And when will he start?”
“In about four weeks, I hope.”
The officer shook his head.
“That would be much longer than we can allow. Your force is to join my detachment, and I am starting at latest in a fortnight from now.”
“You are asking what is impossible. At present we have not a sufficient number of horses, and I do not know where to procure two thousand camels in such a short time; and I have not nearly enough ammunition for the infantry.”
“The requisite ammunition can be provided by the arsenal at Mooltan and debited to your account, Highness. As for the horses and camels, you will, no doubt, be able to furnish them in time, if you take the trouble. I repeat that in a fortnight all must be ready. Do not forget that the punctual execution of these orders is in a way an earnest of your fidelity and zeal. Every unwarranted delay and all equivocation on your part will be fatal to you.”
The emphasis with which these words were spoken showed how seriously they were meant, and the Maharajah, whose yellow skin had for a moment become darker, silently inclined his head.
Colonel Baird rose from his seat.
“As to the affair touching Mrs. Irwin, I demand that a thorough investigation shall be immediately set on foot, and require that it shall be conducted with unsparing rigour, without any underhand tricks and quibbles. The insult that has been offered by some of your subjects to an officer of His Majesty and a British lady is so heinous that not only the criminals themselves, but also the instigators of the crime, must be delivered up to suffer their well-merited punishment. I allow you twenty-four hours. If I do not receive a satisfactory report from you before the expiry of this time, I shall myself conduct the inquiry. You may rest assured that the information required will then be obtained within the shortest space of time.”
He made a military bow and descended the steps of the terrace, this time taking the shortest way. The cavalry dashed off amid a jingling of swords and accoutrements. The Maharajah followed their departure with lowering, flashing eyes. He then ordered his servant to fetch his body physician, Mohammed Bhawon. And when, a few minutes later, the lean, shrivelled little man, with his wrinkled brown face and penetrating black eyes, dressed entirely in white muslin, was ushered into his presence, he beckoned to him graciously, inviting him to be seated by him on the gold-embroidered cushion.
A second imperious wave of the hand dismissed the attendant. Placing his arm confidentially round the neck of the physician, the Maharajah talked long and intimately to him in carefully hushed tones—but in a friendly and coaxing manner, as one talks to someone from whom one demands something out of the way, his eyes flashing the while with passionate rage and deadly hate.
In vain did Heideck, on the day following the night-attack, wait for a message from Edith, giving him an opportunity of seeing her again. He was prepared to be taken to task by Irwin on account of his evening visit at the villa. But the Captain did not show himself.
In the early morning Heideck had been summoned to the Colonel to report on the incident of the preceding night. The conversation had been short, and Heideck gained the impression that the Colonel observed a studied reserve in his questions.
He evidently desired the German to believe that in his own conviction they had only to deal with bold burglars, who had acted on their own responsibility. He mentioned quite incidentally that the dead man had been recognised as one of the Maharajah’s bodyguard. To Heideck’s inquiry whether the killing of the man could involve him in difficulties with the civil authorities, the Colonel answered with a decisive—
“No. You acted in justifiable self-defence in shooting the fellow down. I give you my word, you will neither be troubled about it by the authorities nor by the Maharajah.”
His inquiry after Mrs. Irwin’s health was also satisfactorily answered.
“The lady, I am glad to say, is in the best of health,” said the Colonel. “She has admirable courage.”
The next morning again, Captain Irwin neither made his appearance nor sent any message. Heideck and Prince Tchajawadse were sitting in their bungalow at breakfast discussing the important intelligence brought by the morning papers.
The India Times declared that Russia had infringed the treaties of London by her invasion of Afghanistan, and that England was thus justified, nay compelled, to send an army to Afghanistan. It was earnestly to be hoped that peaceful negotiations would succeed in averting the threatened conflict. But should the Russian army not return to Turkestan, England also would be obliged to have recourse to strong measures. An English force would occupy Afghanistan, and compel the Ameer, as an ally of the Indian Government, to fulfil his obligations. To provide for all contingencies, a strong fleet was being fitted out in the harbours of Portsmouth and Plymouth to proceed to the Baltic at the right moment.
“Still more significant than this,” said Heideck, “is the fact that the two and a half per cent. Consols were quoted at ninety yesterday on the London Exchange, while a week ago they stood at ninety-six. The English are reluctant to declare openly that war has already commenced.”
“War without a declaration of war,” the Prince agreed. “In any case we must hurry, if we are to get over the frontier. I should be sorry to miss the moment when fighting begins in Afghanistan.”
“I can feel with you there. But there really is no time to lose.”
“If you agree, we will start this very day. At midnight we shall arrive at Mooltan, and at noon to-morrow in Attock. To-morrow night we can be in Peshawar. There we must get our permits to cross the Khyber Pass. The sooner we get through the Pass the better, for later we might have difficulties in obtaining permission.”
“I hope you are carrying nothing suspicious about you—charts, drawings, or things of that sort.”
The Russian smilingly shook his head. “Nothing but Murray’s Guide, the indispensable companion of all travellers; I should take good care not to take anything else. As for you, of course you need not be so careful.”
“Why?”
“Because you are a German. There is no war with Germany, but I should at once be in danger of being arrested as a spy.”
“I really believe that neither of us need fear anything, even if we were recognised as officers. I should think that there are quite as many English officers on Russian territory at this very moment as Russian officers here in India.”
“As long as war has not been actually declared, it is customary to be civil to the officers of foreign Powers, but, under the circumstances, I would not rely upon this. The possibility of being drumhead court-martialled and shot might not be remote. Luckily, not even Roentgen rays could discover what a store of drawings, charts, and fortress plans I keep in my memory. But you have not answered my question yet, comrade!—are you prepared to start to-day?”
“I am sorry, but I must ask you not to count upon me; I should prefer to stay here for the present.”
On noting the surprise of the Russian he continued: “You yourself said just now that I, as a German, am in a less precarious position. Even if I am recognised as an officer, it is hardly probable that I should find myself in serious difficulties. At least, not here, where there is nothing to spy into.”
He did not betray that it was solely the thought of Mrs. Irwin that had suddenly made him change his plans. And the Russian evidently did not trouble further about his motives.
“Do you know what my whole anxiety is, at this moment?” he asked. “I am afraid of Germany seizing the convenient opportunity, and attacking us in our rear. Your nation does not love ours; let us make no mistake about it. There was a time when Teutonism played a great role in our national life. But all that has changed since the days of Alexander the Third. We also cannot forget that at the Berlin Congress Master Bismarck cheated us of the prize of our victory over the Turks.”
“Pardon me, Prince, for contradicting you on this point. The fault was solely Gortchakow’s in not understanding how to follow up his opportunity. The English took advantage of that. No doubt Bismarck would have agreed to every Russian demand. But I can assure you that there is no question of national German enmity against Russia, in educated circles especially.”
“It is possible, but Russia will always consider this aversion as a factor to be taken into account at critical moments, otherwise the treaty with France would probably never have been made. I, for one, can hardly blame your nation for entertaining a certain degree of hostility towards us. We possess diverse territories geographically belonging more naturally to Germany. If your country could take eight million peasants from your superfluous population and settle them in Poland it would be a grand thing for her. Were I at the head of your Government I should, first, with Austria’s consent, seize Russian Poland, and then crush Austria, annex Bohemia, Moravia, Carinthia, Styria and the Tyrol as German territory, and limit the Austrian dynasty to Transleithania.”
Heideck could not help smiling.
“Those are bold fancies, Prince! Rest assured that nobody in Germany seriously entertains such plans.”
“Strange, if that is so. I should think it would seem the most natural thing for you. What, then, do you mean by a German Empire, if the most German countries do not belong to it? Do you not consider the population of Austria’s German provinces is more closely related to you than that of North-East Prussia? But possibly you are too conscientious and too treaty-abiding to carry out a policy of such dimensions.”
Heideck, not unintentionally, turned the conversation back to the original subject of discussion.
“Which route do you intend taking? Have you decided for Peshawar, or are you also taking Quetta into your consideration?”
“I have not as yet quite made up my mind. In any case, I mean to take the shortest way back to our army.”
“If that is so, I would suggest Quetta. Most probably the Russian main army will turn southwards. Their first objective will probably be Herat. The best roads from the north and north-west converge on that point. It is the meeting-place of the caravan roads from India, Persia, and Turkestan. In Herat a large army can be concentrated, for it is situated in fertile country. Once your advance guard is firmly established, 60,000 men can be conveyed there in a relatively short time. If the English advance to Kandahar the collision between the forces will take place at that point. But the Russians will outnumber the English so greatly that the latter will hardly venture the march upon Kandahar. Reinforced by the Afghan forces, General Ivanov, with 100,000 men, can push on without hindrance to the Bolan Pass.”
“If he should succeed,” said the Prince, “the way would then be open for him to the valley of the Indus. For England would be unable to hold the Pass against such a force.”
“Is it really so difficult to cross the Pass, as it is said to be?” inquired Heideck.
“The Pass is about fifty versts in length. In 1839 the Bengal corps of the Indus army advanced through it against the Afghan army, and managed without difficulty to take with them twenty-four-pound howitzers as well as eighteen-pound field guns.”
“If I remember rightly they arrived, without having met with any opposition worth mentioning, at Kandahar, and occupied the whole of Afghanistan. But, in spite of this, they finally suffered a disastrous defeat. Of their 15,000 men only 4,500 succeeded in returning in precipitate flight through the Khyber Pass back to India.”
Prince Tchajawadse laughed ironically.
“Fifteen thousand? Yes, if one can trust English sources of information! But I can assure you, according to better information, that the English in 1839 advanced upon Afghanistan with no less than 21,000 combatants and a transport of 70,000 men and 60,000 camels. They marched through the Bolan Pass, took Kandahar and Ghazni, entered Cabul, and placed Shah Shuja upon the throne. They did not suffer any decisive defeat in battle, but a general insurrection of the Afghans drove them from their positions and entirely wiped out their force.”
“I admire your memory, Prince!”
“Oh! all this we are obliged to have off by heart in the General Staff College, if we are not to be miserably ploughed in examination. In November, 1878, we were rather weak in Central Asia through having to devote all our resources to bringing the war with Turkey to a close, and so the English again entered Afghanistan. They meant to take advantage of our embarrassments to bring the country entirely under their suzerainty. They advanced in three columns by way of the Bolan Pass, the Kuram Valley, and the Khyber Pass. But on this occasion too they were unable to stand their ground, and had to retire with great loss. No Power will ever be able to establish itself in Afghanistan without the sympathies of the natives on its side. And the sympathies of the Afghans are on our side. We understand how to manage these people; the English are solely infidels in their eyes.”
“Do you believe that Russia merely covets the buffer-state Afghanistan, or do its intentions go further?”
“Oh, my dear comrade, at present we mean India. For more than a hundred years past we have had our eye on this rich country. The final aim of all our conquests in Central Asia has been India. As early as 1801 the Emperor Paul commanded the Hetman of the army of the Don, Orlov, to march upon the Ganges with 22,000 Cossacks. It is true that the campaign at that time was considered a far simpler matter than it really is. The Emperor died, and his venturesome plan was not proceeded with. During the Crimea General Kauffmann offered to conquer India with 25,000 men. But nothing came of this project. Since then ideas have changed. We have seen that only a gradual advance can lead us to our objective. And we have not lost time. In the west we have approached Herat, until now we are only about sixty miles away, and in the east, in the Pamirs, we have pushed much nearer still to India.”
“It is most interesting to hear all this. I have done my best to get at the lie of the land, but till now the Pamir frontiers have always been a mystery to me.”
“They mystify most people, you will find. Only a person who has been there can understand the situation. And he who has been there does not know the frontier line either, for there is, in fact, no exact boundary. The Pamir plateau lies to the north of Peshawar, and is bounded in the south by the Hindu-Kush range. The territorial spheres of government are extremely complicated. The Ameer of the neighbouring country of Afghanistan claims the sovereignty over the khanates Shugnan and Roshan, which form the larger portion of the Pamirs. Moreover, he likewise raises pretensions to the province of Seistan, which is also claimed by Persia. Now this province is of peculiar importance, because the English could seize it from Baluchistan without much difficulty, and, if so, they would obtain a strong flank position to the south of our line of march, Merv-Herat, by way of Kandahar-Quetta.”
“The conditions are, certainly, very complicated.”
“So complicated, indeed, that for many years past we have had differences with the English touching the frontier question. Our British friends have over and over again forced the Ameer of Afghanistan to send troops thither; an English expedition for the purpose of frontier delimitation has been frequently camped on the Pamir Mountains. Of course, in this respect, we have not been behindhand either. I myself have before now taken part in such a scientific expedition.”
“And it really was merely a scientific expedition?”
“Let us call it a military scientific excursion!” replied the Prince, smiling. “We had 2,000 Cossacks with us, and got as far as the Hindu-Kush—the Baragil Pass and another, unnamed, which we called, in honour of our colonel, the Yonov Pass. There we were confronted by Afghan troops, and defeated them at Somatash. By order of the English, who were paying him subsidies, Ameer Abdur-Rahman was obliged to resent this and petition their assistance. An English envoy arrived in Cabul, and negotiations were entered into, which we contrived to spin out sufficiently to gain time for the erection of small forts in the Pamirs. Finally an arrangement was arrived at in London to the effect that the Pench should be the boundary between Russia and Afghanistan in the Pamir territory. A few months later we were met by an English expedition on the Sarykul; we were to determine the exact boundary-line together. It was great fun; our English comrades tried hard not to let us see that they had orders to be complacent. We had soon discovered it, and drew the line just as we pleased. The upshot was that only a very narrow strip of land between Bukhara and the Indian border remained to the Ameer, and that he had to undertake neither to station troops there nor to erect fortifications. Our territory had been pushed forward up to within about twelve miles of English territory. It is there that we are closest to India, and we can, if we choose, at any time descend from the passes of the Hindu-Kush to the Chitral Valley, within the British sphere of influence.”
A servant, bringing an invitation to Heideck from Mrs. Baird to dine with them that evening, interrupted the conversation. The Captain was scarcely able to disguise his pleasure; he had no doubt that this invitation was due to Edith, and was happy in the prospect of seeing her again.
“You are on good terms with the Colonel,” said the Prince, as soon as the servant had left with Heideck’s letter of acceptance. “This can be of the greatest assistance to you under present circumstances. Do make him give you a passport and come with me.”
“I am sorry, Prince! I should be delighted to travel in such pleasant company, but business keeps me here a little longer for the present.”
“Well—as you please—I must not try to over-persuade you; but I will not abandon the hope that we shall meet again, and it is unnecessary to assure you that you can count upon me in any situation in which you may find yourself.”
The German Emperor was paying his annual visit to the moors at Springe. But this year he had little time to spare for the noble sport which usually brought him fresh vigour and recreation in the refreshing solitude of the forest. The telegraph was busy without interruption, and statesmen, diplomats, and high officers arrived daily at the hunting-box, and held long conferences with the Emperor. The windows of his study were lit up till late at night, and the early morning generally found the monarch again at his writing-desk.
After a night half spent at work, to-day the yearning for a breath of fresh air had taken the Emperor at early dawn into the silent pine-woods.
A light hoar-frost had fallen during the night, covering the ground with fine white crystals. The shadows of dawn still lingered between the tree-trunks. But in the east a glowing light suffused the pale, greyish-blue sky.
The Emperor directed his gaze in that direction. He halted under a tall, ancient fir-tree, and his lips moved in silent prayer. He asked for counsel and strength from Him who decides the fate of nations, to enable him to arrive at his weighty and difficult decision at this grave crisis. Suddenly, the sound of human voices struck his ear. He perceived two men, evidently unaware of his presence, coming towards him hard by, on the small huntsman’s track in the wood, engaged in lively conversation. The Emperor’s keen huntsman’s eye recognised in one of the two tall gentlemen his Master of Horse, Count Wedel. The other was a stranger to him.
It was the stranger who now said—
“It is a great pleasure to me, at last, to be able to talk to you face to face. I have deeply mourned the rift in our old friendship and fellowship. On my side, the irritation is long since past. I did not wish to enter the Prussian service at that time, because I could not bear the thought of our old, brave Hanoverian army having ceased to exist, and I was angry with you, my dear Ernest, because you, an old Hanoverian Garde du Corps officer, appeared to have forgotten the honour due to your narrower Fatherland. But the generous resolution of the Emperor to revive Hanoverian traditions, to open a new home to our old corps of officers, and to inscribe our glorious emblems upon the flags and standards of these new regiments, has made everything right. I hope the time is not far distant when also those Hanoverians, who still hold aloof in anger, will allow that a war lord of such noble disposition is the chosen shepherd and leader of the universal Fatherland.”
“Well, I have never misjudged you and your iron will. Meanwhile, you have thoroughly made acquaintance with the world, and since you are a merchant prince of Hamburg, I suppose you are the possessor of a large fortune.”
“My life has been both interesting and successful, but I have not got what is best after all. I long for a sphere of activity in keeping with my disposition. I am a soldier, as my forbears have been for centuries before me. Had I entered the Prussian army in 1866, I might to-day be in command, and might perhaps in a short time have the honour to lead my corps into the field under the eyes of our Emperor himself.”
“You believe Germany will be brought into this war? Against whom should we fight?”
“If our Emperor is really the sharp-sighted and energetic spirit for which I take him—”
The monarch did not care to let the gentlemen talk on longer in ignorance of his presence.
“Hallo! gentlemen!” he called out merrily. “Do not betray your secrets without knowing who is listening!”
“His Majesty!” the Count said under his breath, taking off his hat and bowing low. His companion followed his example, and as the Emperor looked at him with a questioning glance, said—
“At your Majesty’s command; Grubenhagen, of Hamburg.”
The monarch’s eyes travelled over the tall, broad-shouldered figure of the fine man, and he asked smilingly—
“You have been in the service?”
“Yes, your Majesty—as lieutenant in the Royal Hanoverian Garde du Corps.”
“There were then commoners as officers in that regiment.”
“May it please your Majesty, my name is Baron von Grubenhagen, but the ‘Baron’ was in the way of the merchant.”
The open and manly bearing of the Baron, combined with the deference due to his sovereign, appeared to please the Emperor. He gazed long into the clear-cut, energetic face, with its bold and intelligent eyes.
“You have seen much of the world?”
“Your Majesty, I was in America, and for many years in England, before entering business.”
“A good merchant often sees more than a diplomatist, for his view is unbiassed, and freer. I love your Hamburg; it is a loyal city, full of intelligence and enterprise.”
“The Alster people would reckon themselves happy to hear your Majesty say so.”
“Do not the Hamburgers suffer great losses from the war?”
“Many people in Hamburg think as I do, your Majesty.”
“And what is your opinion?”
“That, under the glorious reign of your Majesty, all Germans on the Continent will be united to one whole grand nation, to which all Germanic races of the north will be attracted by the law of gravitation—Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians.”
“You have the courage of your opinions.”
“Your Majesty, we live in an age, the characteristic of which is the formation of great empires.”
The monarch interrupted him with a friendly movement of his hand.
“Let us go in to breakfast, gentlemen. Baron von Grubenhagen, you are my guest. I shall be interested to hear more of your bold ideas.”
Immediately after his return to the hunting-box, the Imperial Chancellor, who had arrived from Berlin by a night train, had been announced to the Emperor. With the monarch’s suite he also was present at the breakfast-table, probably not a little surprised to find a strange guest in the company of the Emperor, who was evidently very kindly disposed to him.
After breakfast, when the company were seated around the table in the smoke-room, and when, upon a sign from the Emperor, the aide-de-camp du jour had ordered the servants to withdraw, the Emperor William turned with a grave face to Baron von Grubenhagen.
“And now let us hear, openly and without reserve, how, according to your observation, the German nation regards the possibility of a war.”
The Baron raised his fine, characteristic head. Looking openly and naturally into the Emperor’s eyes, he replied—
“Your Majesty, no one is in doubt that it would, on the one hand, be a fatal step to declare war. By it many thousands will be sent to an early grave, lands devastated, and commerce perhaps ruined for many long years to come; and countless tears are the inevitable concomitants of war. But there is a supreme law, to which all others must yield—the commandment to preserve honour unsullied. A nation has its honour, like the individual. Where this honour is at stake, it must not shrink from war. For the conservation of all other of this world’s goods is dependent upon the conservation of the national honour; where peace has to be preserved at any price, even at the price of national honour, all the benefits and blessings of peace will by degrees be lost, and the nation falls a prey to its neighbours. Iron is more precious than gold, for it is to iron we owe all our possessions. What use would be our army and navy? They are the outward sign of the political truth, that only courage and power are guarantees for the continuance and prosperity of a nation. Russia and France have joined hands to fight England. And the German nation feels it is time to take its share in these struggles. But nowhere is there any uncertainty as to which side Germany ought to join. Our nation has for a long time past been exasperated by English intrigues and encroachments. The human heart knows no other feeling so profound and powerful as the sense of justice, and the sense of justice has constantly been wounded by England’s policy. Only one word from the Emperor is needed to strike the deepest chords in the German soul, and to raise a flame of enthusiasm that will swallow up all internal dissension and all party quarrels. We must not ask what might possibly happen; we must obey the dictates of the hour. If Germany fights with the whole of her strength, she must be victorious. And victory is always its own justification.”
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