The Vampire of the Continent

by Graf E. Reventlow

The English were not yet uneasy. The tremendous start which it had, enabled British industry to dominate its rival in all markets. The immense difference between the means of production and distribution, and especially between the capital, at the disposal of either country, was well known. This fact alone was sufficient to prevent any uneasiness cropping up. Lack of German capital, and an extreme and lasting tension of German credit, on the one hand; immense English capital on the other: such was the position of affairs towards the close of the last century.

But England is in the habit of carefully observing even the first rudimentary beginnings of everything calculated to damage the monopoly, which Providence has granted her in the markets of this world. In 1896 the former Prime Minister, Lord Rosebery, declared in a public meeting that he attributed the disturbance of the friendly relations between England and Germany not only to the Transvaal question, but above all to the fact that Germany was beginning to catch up England in the economic race. He himself was quite surprised by the technical and commercial progress achieved by the Germans; German competition in these spheres was a danger of the future. Germany possessed the most complete system of technical education, and was therefore the most dangerous rival of England; in fact, she even menaced British trade in India and Egypt. The same politician said later: “We are threatened by a terrible adversary, who wears us out as surely as the sea wears out the unprotected parts of a coast. I refer to Germany.”

Lord Rosebery was quite right. What he termed a disturbance of the friendly relations between Germany and England—namely, the outburst of mob fury in the latter country after the German Emperor’s telegram to President Krüger—was due only in part to the South African complications. In fact, these certainly furnished the lesser motive, for Great Britain, being all-powerful at sea, had nothing to fear in the future from Germany in South Africa. The South African question was settled. But German commercial competition, and the development of German industry, were quite different matters. They could be suppressed neither by a quod non of the British Government, nor by a clatter of swords. The principal motive of English unrest resided in the feeling, partly conscious and partly unconscious, that German trade had risen from humble origins to an astonishing height of prosperity by its own unaided efforts, and in spite of the most difficult conditions. In the course of our pilgrimage through the centuries which tell of the development of British piracy, we have seen that it is by no means the superior capacity or the originality of the English people which have permitted them to obtain possession of the markets of the world. An exceptionally favorable geographical position; the ability to inflict in the most cunning and unscrupulous manner damage on other nations, which were either exploited if possible by their best forces being drawn by England into her own service, or which, if this was impossible, were paralysed in such a way that they destroyed themselves: such have been the factors of the development of British wealth and power. The incurable madness of the Continental Powers, which perpetually tore each other to pieces and exhausted their resources for the greater glory of the British grocer, did the rest. But never did the superior productivity, the superior intelligence, and the honest work, of the English, have a share in the building up of England’s monopoly. Germany before the Thirty Years’ War stood, in respect of such qualities, on a far higher level than England, as did also Italy at the time of the Renaissance, Holland in the seventeenth century, and France in the days of Colbert and of Napoleon I. And now, after the long interval that had elapsed since the War of Liberation, during which the monopoly of industry and trade had appeared to the English as if it were given them by Providence—after all these years, there suddenly arose the new German Empire. The latter was, it is true, as yet without many resources; but it proved itself a hard-working and talented competitor. Was it not inevitable that the noble British blood should boil? How could the German nation, which up till then had been poor and despised, dare to compete with British industry, not only in the German but even in the English market—nay, even in the world market?

Statistics showed that, during the period 1873–1896, the number of German vessels had increased sixfold, and their tonnage more than tenfold. The German passenger service was unrivalled in the world; the North Sea fishing trade was formerly exclusively in English hands, and the German fishing fleet in those waters had now been increased twelvefold since 1873. The oversea shipping trade of Germany had increased by more than 100%, whereas that of England had only increased by 35%—a clear proof that German trade was proceeding with giant strides to liberate itself from the English intermediary. Precisely this last-mentioned phenomenon caused unusual pain and annoyance to the “world’s carrier,” for it was equivalent to a severe blow in the face. The German consulates in oversea countries increased in number every year. Every year also did the total trade of Germany grow, and of this trade much more than half was done with oversea countries. The amount of money invested in the latter, and the number of shipping lines and of shipbuilding yards, likewise augmented every year. Everywhere the English saw growing strength, and the spirit of enterprise, and perseverance, and skill—everywhere an indomitable resolution to produce only the best of everything. In 1896 the German flag was, for the first time, to be seen in Hamburg in superior numbers to the English. It was, on the one hand, a legitimate triumph for the Germans, and a sure sign that matters were progressing steadily; on the other hand, it brought home to them once more all the misery of the years gone by. Not until twenty-six years after the foundation of the new German Empire had the numerical superiority of British ships in the greatest German harbor been done away with! Up till then trade with German ports had been carried on principally under the British flag, and via British ports. Such was the fruit yielded by the “great harvest” reaped by England at the time of the war with Napoleon, when England, albeit at peace with the State of Hamburg, blockaded the mouth of the Elbe, and seized Hamburgian ships wherever she could find them. Hamburg now took peaceful revenge, and thereby prodigiously excited the wrath of the benefactor of mankind at the other side of the North Sea.

In order that this period of Anglo-German relations be rightly understood, it is impossible to insist too often on one cardinal fact: namely, the absence of a German navy right up till the commencement of the twentieth century. A few warships, it is true, existed, but these were small, and the majority of them were badly built. England rightly had no respect for such a fleet. As for Germany’s world policy, and the tendencies revealed by the latter, the British Government judged it solely in the light of a factor of possible alliances and groupings of Powers. In other words, British statesmen were first and foremost concerned about the question: with which Powers will Germany seek to effect a rapprochement, in order to obtain support for the aims pursued by her world policy? This was very natural, seeing that every co-operation of Germany with another Power appeared to the Government of His Britannic Majesty as a menace and a danger. This Government believed also to have found here the key to a further conundrum—namely, how may German trade competition be guided into paths where its danger to England shall be reduced to a minimum? The best solution to both questions appeared to the London Cabinet to lie in a rapprochement between England and Germany. It was known in London that Germany would create no difficulties in South Africa; and this sufficed for the moment. When Russia took Port Arthur, and Germany acquired Kiaotchow, whilst England followed suit with Weihaiwei, the British Government considered it to be of great importance that Berlin should be informed of the former’s firm intention “not to call in question any of Germany’s rights or interests in Shantung.” The British Government was aware that Port Arthur had been for some years the goal of Russian policy in the Far East, and that the leasing of Kiaotchow to Germany could not possibly constitute a danger to English interests for a very long time to come. Or did other intentions prevail already in those days? We do not know. In any case must Port Arthur in Russian hands have appeared to British statesmen as distinctly dangerous; for it was the symbol of Russian expansion in the Far East, and of an Imperialist policy which could only be pursued at the expense of the Chinese Empire. The acquisition of Weihaiwei was in the nature of a counter-move directed against Russia, and not against Germany. Mr. Arthur Balfour, the future Prime Minister, in the course of a speech made at the time, gave expression to the anxiety felt by the Government concerning the perilous surprises which the development of events might entail for the future of China. The Russian danger in the Far East had become immense, for Russia’s expansion threatened the freedom of the Chinese market, which Great Britain had long since attributed to herself, and which she had sought to prepare by all the means in her power. A steady increase of the Russian fleet proceeded simultaneously with the Russian advance on the Continent. Every new warship was despatched to the Far East; Port Arthur became a naval port and a fortress, whereas Dalny, in the neighborhood, was made into a trading port.

Thus it was the Russian danger which induced the British Government to seek a rapprochement with Germany. We may resume England’s policy at that time in a sentence: if possible, let us make use of Germany against Russia. The former, and Austria-Hungary with her, can by means of pressure—and, if necessary, by war—in Europe, loosen Russia’s hold on the Chinese Empire, and indirectly check the Russian advance in the Far East. This calculation was, in itself a perfectly sound one. There is no doubt that an European war, which would have relieved England of her anxieties in the Far East, would at that time have been very welcome to the British Government.

Prince Bülow kept his hands free, and the British wooing did not have the success which the late Joseph Chamberlain wished for; but the London Cabinet continued to hope that it would eventually attain its end. In the last years of the old century events succeeded each other rapidly. The Hispano-American war broke out, and Spain lost the greater part of her remaining colonial possessions. All the other Powers remained neutral. England, however, despite her friendship with Germany in the Far East, seized the opportunity to endeavor to sow in the United States the seeds of distrust against Germany. British diplomacy observed with irritation and anxiety the victorious campaign of the Americans, but did not venture to give public expression to its feelings. It contented itself with an effort to prevent the armed intervention of the United States in Cuba, by means of a joint action of the neutral Powers. Germany refused her co-operation; and British diplomacy at once proceeded to put matters in such a light that it should appear as if Germany, and not England, had proposed taking this step. The British cable companies did everything they could—and that was a great deal—to prevent all possibility of a German-American rapprochement ever being realised.

The same year 1898 witnessed an event which was destined to become a most important turning-point in British modern history: namely, the so-called Fashoda affair. As is well known, this “incident” was created by a French expedition under the leadership of Colonel (then Captain) Marchand, which, setting out from the French Congo, had reached Fashoda, in the territory of the Upper Nile. The English considered any French advance towards the last-named region as constituting a grave danger for their own position in Egypt. Lord Kitchener, who had just won the battle of Omdurman, protested against the hoisting of the French flag at Fashoda. Captain Marchand declined to give way, and notified his Government of the incident. A great tension of Franco-British relations immediately followed, and England’s language became very menacing. The Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in London, Mr. (now Lord) Curzon, had declared, a year before, at the time when Captain Marchand had just begun his expedition, that if the latter should enter a territory “in which our rights have already long been recognised, this would not only be an unexpected act, but the French Government must well know that it would be an unfriendly one, and considered as such in England.” Such language was already clear enough; but much stronger language was resorted to when the event actually took place. The Naval Reserves were called in, the fleet was held ready, and the English Ministers, as is customary in all such cases, made speeches of a most menacing character. Their argument was the following: England claims to rule over all territories having formerly belonged to Egypt; she does so “on behalf of Egypt,” which country has, at the cost of the heaviest sacrifices, been saved from anarchy and ruin. The claim, as will be seen, was a very elastic one. It amounted to this: wherever, within the limits of the African Continent, England chose to declare that a territory had once belonged to Egypt, such a territory was transferred by Divine right to the Chosen People.

France was not prepared to defy Great Britain. In the spring of 1899 the latter concluded an Agreement with the French Government, by means of which she obtained all she wanted: namely, the recognition of her uncontested right to rule in all territories which the Egypt of yore had ever claimed, or ever could claim. England did not, of course, demand this in her own name, but in that of the “independent Egyptian State.” Had France not given way, it would seem that England intended taking Tunis, with the naval port (then in construction) of Bizerta.

“The disgrace of Fashoda” was, from that time on, a popular phrase in France, and the Germans believed that they were now but a short distance removed from a Franco-German understanding. It was, however, a great mistake. The leading men in France were convinced that the Fashoda “incident” had quite another meaning. The French colonial plans, which had found their expression in the Marchand expedition, had definitely failed. Other colonial problems in Africa were still open. The French fleet would, in the future, be just as little in a position successfully to defy the British fleet as it had been in 1898. No effective help on sea could be expected from Russia, for the center of gravity of Russia’s policy and maritime power lay in the Far East. It is true that France could maintain a respectable fleet in the Mediterranean, and thus keep up a certain equilibrium there. Her fleet was sufficient to prevent France being eliminated from any settlement of Mediterranean questions. But the French statesmen were of opinion that France was henceforth too weak to continue the old historical struggle with England on the seas and beyond them. Subsequent reflection confirmed their first impression. Since July, 1898, M. Delcassé was Minister for Foreign Affairs, and M. Paul Cambon was French Ambassador in London, where he is still to-day. M. Cambon, a leading political personality and a diplomatist of the first order, saw that the moment had come for paving the way to an understanding with England. It is reported that M. Delcassé, on taking office, likewise said that he hoped not to leave the Ministry on the Quai d’Orsay until he had laid the foundations of a lasting entente with the latter Power. The French press could wax indignant about the disgrace of Fashoda, it could demand peremptorily an increase of the navy, and threaten the hereditary foe,—this war of words left Great Britain wholly indifferent. The statesmen in London knew full well that a great turning-point in history had been reached; and they were content to wait quietly until the fruit should ripen.