Germany before the war

by baron Beyens

III.

Before the war, the Chief of the General Staff, after the retirement of Count von Schlieffen, was General von Moltke, nephew of the great Field-Marshal. Was it merely his professional merits that determined the Emperor’s choice, or had he partly to thank the famous name that he bears? Those who know him lean towards the latter view. Defects and vices, however, are more often inherited than talents, and a name is not a fetish that brings victory. Physically, General von Moltke does not resemble his uncle, the spare old man of the most familiar portraits. He is tall, massive, and powerfully built, with a haughty face and a disdainful expression. Notwithstanding his chilly politeness, the scorn that every typical Teuton feels for foreigners can be read in his eyes.

As to the moral outlook of this leading figure in the military world, a passage from a report by M. Jules Cambon, dated 6th May 1913, will suffice to give an idea: “‘We must throw overboard,’ said General von Moltke before some of his countrymen, ‘all the stock commonplaces about the responsibility of the aggressor. As soon as there is a ten-to-one chance in favour of war, we must forestall our opponent, commence hostilities without more ado, and mercilessly crush all resistance.’” It was not merely a rapid assault that the General recommended, but a surprise attack before the declaration of war, as if, in a duel, one were to strike one’s opponent before he had had time to assume a posture of defence. The sudden violation of Belgian neutrality, after our Government had been allowed one night to think matters over, was one of these murderous blows approved by the Chief of the General Staff.

In the summer of 1913 General von Heeringen, who was far from popular in Parliament, gave up his post as head of the War Office. His successor, General von Falkenhayn, is exceptionally young for his rank and position. Who would have foretold such a rapid rise for this officer at the time when, heavily in debt and threatened with dismissal from the army, he had the good fortune to become attached to the China expeditionary force of 1900? His luck being backed by intelligence, he came under the favourable notice of Marshal von Waldersee, the leader of the expedition. Falkenhayn’s debts were paid, and he recovered his place in the good books of the Emperor. A finely chiselled face, brilliant but disconcerting eyes, great fluency of speech (as he showed by getting a hearing in the Reichstag for his defence of the outrages committed by officers at Zabern)—these are the most salient features of this newcomer in the political world of Berlin. His restless ambition and his rivalry with General von Moltke, who was apt to lord it over him in his early days at the War Office, have only come to light since the outbreak of the war.

On the evening of November 6, 1913, at a dinner given to King Albert at Potsdam, the Chief of the General Staff said to the Belgian military attaché: “War with France at an early date is inevitable, and the victory of the German army is certain, even if it is purchased by tremendous sacrifices and by a few preliminary set-backs. Nothing can stop the furor teutonicus once it has been let loose. The German nation will rise as one man to take up the gauntlet which the French people will have the insane foolhardiness to throw down.” The General omitted to add—the remark was, from his point of view, too trite a one to make—that the war of 1870, with its relatively small armies, would be mere child’s play in comparison with the struggle which Germany was preparing. He also forbore to speak of the ferocious methods which the German generals would be ordered to employ.

It was not unknown abroad, however, at any rate among jurists familiar with the work of the Hague Conferences, that there existed in Germany a “Code for War on Land” (Kriegsgebrauch im Landeskriege), published in Berlin by the Staff in 1902. The handbook, it was realized, had been written in quite a different spirit from that which animated the labours of the two Conferences. This special war-code for the use of German officers openly condemned all humanitarian ideas, all tender regard for persons or property, as incompatible with the nature and object of war; it authorized every means of attaining that object, and it left the choice and practice of those means to the entire discretion of the corps commanders. Still, however uneasy the exponents of international law may have felt as to the spread of such theories in Germany, they were reassured by the Imperial Government’s solemn acceptance of the 1907 Hague Convention and of the moral principles laid down therein. Accordingly it is with feelings of surprise and horror, shared by the whole civilized world, that they look on at the war waged in the Emperor’s name.

The conduct of this war has indeed been ruthless in the extreme. Almost from the very outset the invader has worked as much havoc as possible, in order to terrorize the inhabitants and to reduce them more quickly to submission. The Germans of 1870 had shown too much tenderness towards the civilian, too much respect for historic monuments, too much consideration for private property. Murder, arson, and pillage have followed in the wake of their descendants. We have learnt how detachments of soldiers, specially drafted for this purpose from the engineers’ corps, used various incendiary appliances to destroy unoffending little towns and villages—Louvain, Tamines, Rethy, and other places in Belgium, and Orchies in France. Belgium was the first victim of this furor teutonicus of which General von Moltke boasted—Belgium, who, after putting up a heroic fight against her violators, expected to be treated as a conquered country, but not to be flung as a prey to the disciplined brutes of the invading army. This is one of the processes on which the General relied for winning an early victory, that victory of which he spoke with the faith of a zealot. It has turned out, however, that these abominable methods, instead of forcing the Belgians to confess themselves beaten, have only steeled them to a more vigorous resistance.

Were there not other secret processes, other revelations of frightfulness, that the German General Staff had up its sleeve? Among the hidden weapons that it has wielded with the greatest effect is its vast network of spies, established among Germany’s neighbours, among all her supposed enemies, at every point where it could be of any service. The foresight displayed in this system, the perfection to which it was brought, were marvellous. Even the level-headed English were almost thrown off their balance, when they found out how well these emissaries had done their work, not only round the coast of Britain, but even at the uttermost ends of the Pacific, on the distant shores of Chile.