A scrap of paper

by Emile Joseph Dillon

The British nation is loath to think evil of its neighbours. It generously credits them with the best—or at any rate the least wicked—motives, and, even when the evidence on the other side is overwhelming, gives them the benefit of the doubt. How strong the evidence was in this case I pointed out over and over again. In 1911, for instance, I wrote: “Since Europeanism was killed at Sedan and buried at Frankfurt-on-the-Main, over forty years ago, international treaties have been steadily losing their binding force. Their significance has been gradually transformed into that of historic souvenirs, symbolizing a given political conjuncture. To-day they are nothing more. The unique, solid foundation of peace that remains is readiness on the part of the peace Powers to defend it on the battlefield.”

Optimists in this country objected that the German people and their Chancellor were peacefully disposed, and utterly averse to letting loose the horrors of an unparalleled war. And I replied that even if in a certain sense the optimists were right, the attitude of the German nation was beside the question. Nobody ever wants war, but only the spoils it brings. “Germany,” I explained, “having spent fabulous sums of money and human labour in creating an army greater in numbers and more formidable than that of any of her rivals, would consider the military superiority which this weapon bestows upon her as a title-deed to property belonging to her competitors. She would, accordingly, demand a return for her outlay, would call for the neighbour’s territory she coveted, and expect to receive it as a propitiatory sacrifice. War would not be her main object, but only the fruits of war, extorted by threats which are more than mere words. She would virtually say to France, Belgium, or Holland, ‘I have it in my power to take what I want from you, and to ruin you over and above. But I trust I may receive amicably from your sagacity what I should be forced to wrest violently from your shortsightedness.’ That is at bottom a modified form of the line of action pursued by the bandit barons of mediæval Germany, a robust survival into the twentieth century.” And it is exactly what has since happened. The White Paper tells the story of the German Kaiser’s attempt to induce our Government to connive at the seizure of France’s colonies, which Germany needed for her enterprising people.

But although for years I and some few others had been preaching the imminence of this danger which no diplomatic arguments could exorcize, the bulk of the British nation hoped on, refusing to impute to the German people the motives or the aims which we knew it entertained. In the Contemporary Review[3] I was attacked by the celebrated Professor Hans Delbrück for affirming, as I have done for over twenty years, that Germany was concentrating all her efforts on the coming struggle between herself and this country, and the learned Professor did me the honour to say that so long as I was allowed to express my views on foreign politics in the Contemporary Review there would and could be no entente between Great Britain and Germany. “As long as Mr. Dillon is permitted,” this German Professor and successor of Treitschke wrote, “to set forth in the Contemporary Review his fantastic views, engendered by hatred and suspicion, about German policy, all those will be working in vain who believe that peace between our nations can be secured by arbitration treaties.”[4] I then summed up my opinions as follows:

When I read the smooth-tongued, plausible panegyrics on Germany’s politics, which are served up to us here in England every year, and contrast them with the systematic aggressiveness which everybody with open eyes and ears sees and hears in Berlin, I behold Germany rise before me in the form of a cuttlefish, with many lasso-like arms, ever ready to seize their unsuspecting prey, and also ready, when itself is in danger, to shed an ink-like fluid which blackens the water and hinders effective pursuit.

Everything that has come to pass since then offers a pointed illustration of that presentment. The attempt to obtain without a war a return for her outlay on her army and navy by calling for coveted territory as a propitiatory sacrifice was energetically made during the Morocco crisis. But the spring of the Panther failed of its purpose. Germany’s further experiences during the London Conference were likewise discouraging. The loose ranks of the Entente Powers closed up at the approach of herself and her ally, and Albania proved a mere torso. Then the supreme effort was put forth a few weeks back, and the Berlin Government, alive to the possibility of a like unfruitful result, determined to abide by and prepare for the extreme consequences, which, sooth to say, appeared to them less formidable than they really were.

Congruously with this resolve every precautionary measure that prudence prompted or circumstance suggested was adopted betimes, some secret, others public.

For the behoof of the European public the former were flatly denied, and the latter glibly explained away.

Method characterized all these preparations, towards which the British nation was particularly indulgent. Foremost among them was the increase of the German army and the levy of the non-recurring war-tax. Now, if Russia had had recourse to a measure of this kind, all Europe would have clamoured for explanations. Germany was allowed to have her way unquestioned. Honi soit qui mal y pense. And yet the German Chancellor dropped a hint of his real purpose which ought to have been sufficient to put Europe on its guard. He spoke of the coming conflict between the Teutons and the Slavs. And in truth that was the keynote to the situation. In Russia it was heard and understood. Whether it was also taken to heart and adequately acted upon there is another matter. In these islands most people listened, smiled, and went their way unheeding. Yet this was the first step towards tackling the Entente Powers one by one, which constituted the alpha and omega of the Kaiser’s policy.

Another of the timely precautions taken by Germany, who was resolved to make ready for every contingency, however improbable—and a general European war seemed even to her statesmen most improbable—was the purchase of horses. She despatched agents to Great Britain, and especially to Ireland, in search of mounts suitable for cavalry service, and also draught-horses. And during the months of March, April, and May large numbers of these animals were exported from the four provinces of Ireland to Hamburg without exciting protest or occasioning comment. For the British are a trusting people. And now the French army is obliged to make an effort to acquire a fresh supply of mounts, and may encounter very serious difficulties. Corn was also laid in, and heavy shipments of it went to Hamburg for the troops.

The German banking manœuvres were begun later. Enormous sums of gold were garnered in by German financial institutions through their influential agents in England, of whom several enjoyed the friendship, but, one hopes, not the confidence, of some of our eminent public men. And even since the war began large batches of cheques and bills endorsed to London bankers by financial houses of Sweden, Denmark, Holland, Portugal, Italy, have been forwarded to London for discount and collection. Indeed, Germany appears to have been paying for foodstuffs drawn from these neutral countries in cheques and bills which, strange to say, were still being discounted here. For in this respect, too, the British are a trusting people. Even mobilization would seem to have been commenced secretly long before the crisis had become acute. We learn from the newspaper press that among the papers found on a captured German general is a service letter disciplining him for not immediately answering an order for mobilization dated July 10th, when no one outside of Germany had a suspicion that war was impending. This date enables us to gauge the sincerity of the Kaiser’s efforts to “moderate” Austria’s “impetuosity.”