Diplomat Without Portfolio: Valentine Chirol, His Life and The Times 9780755622047, 9781845111861

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For Camilla and Teddy

‘Every work of art implies a previous process of assessment, and this process still remains the central problem of biography. But in so far as a biographer is also an historian, he should be very careful not to drown his subject’s voice with his own. One function of biography is to show history as it was to the participant, to observe, for a moment, ‘das Gewordene als Werdendes’ – what has come to pass, while it is occurring. Through the individual peephole of the man whose life we are describing, we can see history in the course of being lived. In one sense, all organised histories are unsatisfactory, because they are written with what in Italy is called il senno del poi, wisdom after the event. But in individual lives we can seize, if nothing else, a vivid sense of actuality: it is a pity to blur it.’

Iris Origo, A Need to Testify; Four Portraits

Introduction: The Times of London and Sir Valentine Chirol Once upon a time there was The Times of London. It was a very serious journal and its readers took it as such. Butlers ironed it before His Lordship’s breakfast tray went up; it was snapped open in high-ceilinged club rooms along Pall Mall and in director’s offices in the City. The long arms of empire held its densely columned pages, foreign eyes of all shapes read its opinions. It was quoted in meetings of Cabinets and discussed in chancellories and drawing rooms from Moscow to Madrid and far beyond. There were no pictures in it, just words. The times have changed beyond recognition and The Times along with them. Newspapers are different in our age of sound bites, spin doctors and pictures that move and speak everywhere we look. But the old ‘Thunderer’, as The Times of London was – mostly affectionately – known, remains important. It can tell us about where we were once, when its news and comment covered the things that mattered to the people who mattered, and it lectured and hectored on the why and the why not, as well as the what, of the affairs of the world. The life of Sir Valentine Chirol is inseparable from The Times although he spent only 20 of his 78 years on the payroll at Printing House Square, where it was produced. He was also, during that long and eventful life, a diplomat, an historian, a political theorist, a public speaker. But it was as a journalist that he made his name. During his two decades at The Times, most of which were spent running the foreign room, he made its pronouncements almost as closely watched as the statements coming out of the official Foreign Office. At the same time Chirol did more than determine the paper’s foreign line. Along with the editor, George Buckle, and the managing editor, Moberly Bell, he protected its journalistic principles and, in his own determined way, helped make it what he was – a dedicated champion of the British Empire. ‘My humble self’ he would jokingly – or half-jokingly, since he took himself quite seriously – refer to himself to his closest friends. But this 1

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was the man recommended to the then President, Teddy Roosevelt, as one of the most influential men in all of England and referred to by the Chancellor of Germany as one of the most dangerous enemies of the German Empire. Chirol produced 11 books, scores of articles and reviews, acres of newsprint, thousands of letters and kept a tight lid on selfrevelation. He could sing as well as paint, was a formidable linguist and an intrepid traveller in an age when travel – especially to the places he went – was not undertaken lightly. For much of his adult life he was prone to debilitating illness and torturing anxiety. He cherished his friends, adored children and was devoted to his mother. Never married, he was never happier, except perhaps when travelling in some exotic locale, than secure in the bosom of family life, the bigger the family the better. Chirol was an intensely private man in a very public job and at a supremely important and interesting time in history. He became the foreign editor of The Times at the tail end of the nineteenth century, the century of peace – relative – and progress – remarkable. All the horrors of our own century lay ahead, unknown to him then, although he not only lived to see them begin but had his own share of steering to do as the ships of state sailed toward the edge of their world of beckoning promise. For many reasons, Chirol is a fascinating man. He was representative of his time, place and class, if anything so idiosyncratic as a human being can be truly representative of anything other than him- or herself. He recorded the world around him with unflagging interest, making a life out of what, in his own words, was the constantly unfolding chronicle of history as it happened. The chronicle of his personal story, set into that teeming canvas, is what follows.

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The Wages of Faith

In some dusty register or hushed archive there might be a record of Mary Valentine Ignatius Chirol’s birth, or, perhaps, his baptism, but no amount of searching has unearthed either. The only reasonable certainty is that, whatever records there might be, they are not to be found in England but somewhere in Europe, a large haystack for a small needle. Wherever he was born, it happened on 23 May 1852. Britannia ruled both the waves and a large part of the world as well. The previous year a glittering Crystal Palace in Hyde Park had shown all comers what industriousness, enterprise and a powerful navy could make of a small island country. London was justly proud of its exhibition, the British of their still growing empire, and all of his life Valentine Chirol was a real British bulldog. Although neither born, raised or educated there, he spent the best part of his life serving, in his conscientious and sometimes combative fashion, both England and her empire. The new baby swelled the Chirol family to a total of five. That was as big as it ever got, nor was it that big for very long. Death, not divorce, was usually what broke up families in those days and more often than not it removed mothers. In Chirol’s case it was religion that, as he put it, ‘ruined’ his father and then, by removing him entirely, ‘destroyed’ the small family.1 Alexander Chirol, born in London in 1816, was the son and grandson of refugee Huguenot pastors. Educated at Shrewsbury and Clare College, Cambridge, young Alexander, unsurprisingly, took up the family calling. But, born and educated as an Englishman, he took it up as an Anglican. 3

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In 1845, four years after his ordination, he married Harriet Ashburnham, a well-bred girl of solidly Anglican and ancient English lineage. Her father was, like her new husband, a Cambridge and a Clare man. He had been Rector of Catfield and Vicar of Ditchling in East Sussex; an older brother, the Reverend Sir John Ashburnham, Bart, had served as chancellor of the cathedral and Prebendary of Chichester, Rector of Guestling and Vicar of Pevensey. Between the Huguenot Chirols – Alexander’s father, Jean Louis, had had an illustrious career of his own in the French Church in London – and the Anglican Ashburnhams the young couple might well have thought that they had God on their side. God behaved inscrutably, as always. The Anglican Church in the middle of the nineteenth century was a Church in crisis. What began, in the 1830s, as an attempt at spiritual renewal and reform ended in painful divisiveness and the wholesale hurling of anathema. These were the years of the Oxford Movement, founded and led by men full of doctrinal passion and passionate determination. The ideas of the reformers were initially supported from within the Church. But, by the early 1840s it seemed to many early supporters that the cleansing broom was sweeping rather too vigorously. In 1843 John Henry Newman, late of Oxford and one of the most brilliant wielders of that broom, shocked his contemporaries by saying that there was nothing in the Thirty-Nine Articles, the doctrinal foundation stone of the Anglican Church, that really conflicted with Roman Catholicism. With this pronouncement he stepped over a personal spiritual Rubicon. Two years later he stepped out of the Anglican Church entirely to go over to Rome. Newman’s conversion was a momentous event. It produced, besides a classic of confessional literature, a great many flustered and frightened Anglican divines who made haste to indite and condemn. And, far down the ecclesiastical ladder, it heightened an ongoing crisis in the soul of Alexander Chirol, then a new curate at St Paul’s, Knightsbridge. By comparison with Newman’s well-documented struggle and defection, Alexander Chirol’s battle with doubt was a brief footnote. But, by following Newman into the Roman Church, he did generate some heat and some public print as well. St Paul’s was a recent foundation when Alexander Chirol joined its clerical family in the spring of 1847. The vicar, the Reverend William Bennett, was himself partial to some of the ideas of the reformers, although in his case he was drawn more to visual embellishments than to doctrinal change and contented himself with the introduction of 4

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candles and incense and the wearing of vestments. His new curate, however, wrestled with more substantial matters. He wrote to Bennett that he stood at a painful crossroad, wept when asked to partake of communion, and was clearly, said a senior curate, ‘in great pain of mind’. That pain finally got the best of him and in the summer of 1847 he resigned his curacy without, according to Bennett, giving one word of explanation or making ‘any attempt at finding the truth’. That was bad; worse was to follow. When Alexander Chirol – along with his wife, baby son and widowed mother – went over to Rome, Bennett fairly exploded. Mindful of criticisms levelled at his own head because of his Oxford leanings, he gave his former curate no quarter. From the pulpit of St Paul’s he accused the wretched Chirol of ‘losing sight of everything true, honourable and just: and of an act of apostasy … glaring … indecent, and … fearfully treacherous in the eyes both of God and man’. To nail down his own reputation as a reliable defender of the English Church, Bennett nailed a notice to the door of St Paul’s, which said in no uncertain terms that Alexander was ‘DEPRIVED for the present of all the spiritual functions of HOLY ORDERS and EXCOMMUNICATED from the Church of England’ and warned his congregation ‘against holding any intercourse, by letter, speech or otherwise, in spiritual matters with the said Mr Alexander Chirol’ on pain of their own salvation.2 Bennett’s dire words led the tormented Chirol to produce a small apologia of his own, a pamphlet called ‘A Statement of Facts’. Bennett countered with ‘A Reply to “A Statement of Facts”’. At that point Alexander’s new sponsors, in the person of the Right Reverend Nathan Wiseman, a leading Catholic clergyman in London and soon to be a new English cardinal, entered the lists. His contribution to the little pamphlet war was called ‘Conversion: A Letter to Mr Alexander Chirol & his family, on their happy admission to the Communion of The Holy Catholic Church and on some Publications to which it has given Rise’. He wrote it, said Wiseman, because, where other, even deeply respected, Anglicans were allowed to depart the Church ‘almost in silence’, Alexander Chirol had been ‘pursued by a volley of scornful and intemperate speech, not merely shot forth in hasty anger, but persevered in through repeated editions, postscripts, notices and replies, as though he had been chosen out for the party of one who will hunt down his fame, unrelenting, to the earth’.3 Why that was so Wiseman did not say, nor has anyone else. But his ‘Letter’ to the new converts seemed to do the trick as far as publicity was concerned 5

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and the matter, along with the little Chirol family, disappeared from public view. Joining the Roman Church meant more than a religious relocation for the Chirols. The future Cardinal Wiseman enjoyed considerable influence at Rome, and perhaps it was he who arranged for Alexander Chirol to do something at the Vatican. What that was or how long it lasted is unknown, but in time it led his younger son to confess to having ‘a profound distrust of all R.C. ecclesiastics, based … upon family experiences and my father’s relations with the Vatican, which were at one time of a very confidential nature’.4 Where the Chirols lived after 1847 is as impossible to discover as Valentine’s birthplace or the nature of his father’s work while in Rome. What is known is that when Valentine was still a young child his father was revisited by doctrinal doubts. This time there were no witnesses to report on his sufferings, but they were enough to send him back to the Anglican Church, back even to the Reverend Bennett – now in a different Church and apparently a forgiving frame of mind – and back to England, taking his elder son, Thomas Alexander Ashburnham Chirol, to be raised as an Englishman and in due course to be ordained in the Anglican Church. In later years Valentine and his mother were in touch with Thomas, but there is not the slightest shred of evidence to say that either ever saw Alexander Chirol again. Harriet Chirol, with centuries of Anglicanism behind her, made a far better Roman convert than her emotionally wobbly husband. And it was her pious, charitable and broad-minded tolerance that kept her younger son, who himself never had more than a limited tolerance for the faith that gave his beloved mother such ‘unfailing spiritual comfort’, a nominal Catholic until her death. The two of them, and Alexander’s mother as well, stayed on alone in Europe. Where the little group lived or what they lived on is another mystery, although, ironically enough, Louisa Chirol did have a yearly pension paid to her in recognition of the great services rendered the French Protestant Church by her late husband. Valentine Chirol did not have a happy childhood even though he had the undivided attention of his adored and adoring mother. He was small for his age, his health delicate. Precocious and imaginative, he spent hours alone with books, many of them religious, filled with pictures of far-away places with strange-sounding names. He remembered later being particularly taken with the land of Uz, home of Job. It was less the odd name of the place, or even Job’s amazing supply of patience, that fascinated him, rather his astonishing command of a multitude of 6

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tongues. He himself grew up to be fluently trilingual, speaking, and dreaming, in French and German as easily as the English he and his mother spoke at home. To these he later added others, including Arabic and colloquial Turkish. One friend claimed that by the time he died Chirol was comfortable in as many as 15 languages. It might not have put him on a par with Job – nor was he particularly patient – but it was impressive, and, more to the point, utterly useful. By the time that Valentine was ready for serious schooling he and his mother were living in Versailles, where he went to the local lycée. In 1869 he went into Paris to take his examinations for the Baccalaureates-Lettres at the Sorbonne. It would be his sole degree. During his viva voce he was suddenly overcome by the desire to let his examiners know that they were questioning an ardent Englishman. When asked by these elderly Frenchmen to discuss the great Napoleon’s Hundred Days, he saw his chance. After describing, in his fluent French, the return from Elba and the Battle of Waterloo, he ended his hitherto dispassionate account in words worthy of la rhetorique of the top form in a lycée. ‘The glorious tenacity of our troops triumphed in the end,’ he declaimed to a line of astonished French faces, and ‘our victory was complete and decisive’. For a moment he feared that his runaway pride might cost him dearly, but, even at 17, was already enough of a diplomat to win the old professors over by claiming that his devotion to his seconde patrie was also deep and true.5 That second homeland was then feeling the effects of the unsteady governance of the lesser Napoleon. How much Chirol cared about French politics is not clear. He was 17, had a respectable French degree and had to consider his own future path. Where that path led was to Germany, where in the summer of 1869 he found lodging with an enthusiastically Anglophile schoolmaster in a small town near Frankfurt-am-Main. On special occasions his host would invite him to join the small circle of village notables at their weekly Stammtisch, where he picked up the local dialect far more quickly than a taste for the local beer. In 1869 Frankfurt was the capital of the newly formed Prussian province of Hesse-Nassau, a change occasioned by a Prussian victory over Austria just three years earlier. It was a dramatic change in status as Frankfurt had long been a free city, first of the Holy Roman Empire and then of the German Confederation. Only 20-odd years had passed since the heady days when delegates to a National Assembly met in its cathedral, wanting to create a liberal German nation, a dream abruptly extinguished by the reactionary and powerful King of Prussia. 7

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Chirol soon discovered that his Anglophile host, and many of his friends, had a pronounced anti-Prussian bias. Some of that seeped into his own consciousness, along with the local idiom. He was also struck by the fact that in this small community, with only one church building, the Catholic priest and Lutheran pastor peacefully shared it, holding consecutive services undisturbed by their denominational differences. It was a lesson in diplomacy and mutual concession that he never forgot. In the summer of 1870, with the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War, the cosy camaraderie of the Stammtisch and some of the lessons in German language and life came to an end. But in the following weeks and months young Chirol would have the opportunity to see Prussian militarism at first hand rather than through the eyes of his jolly German friends. Again, the lesson would not be lost on him. The war must have come as something of a shock to political leaders in Paris and London. In early July Lord Granville, the British Foreign Secretary, remarked that ‘never during his long experience [had he] known so great a lull in foreign affairs’, and the French Prime Minister, Emile Ollivier, stood up to tell the Legislative Council that ‘in whatever direction one looks, one sees no irritating question arising: at no time in history has the maintenance of peace in Europe been more certain’.6 Military men on both sides of the Rhine knew better and had been worrying over plans for a conflict for some time. What was lacking was an irresistible provocation. As luck would have it a useful crisis more or less popped up by mid-summer. It all had to do with filling an empty throne in Madrid but, when the dust settled, the throne in Paris was empty and there was an entirely new one in Berlin. On 19 July France declared war, unwisely as it turned out, on a wellprepared Prussia. Fighting got under way without delay, and for all intents and purposes was just as quickly over. By the beginning of September, although their army was badly mauled and Napoleon III a prisoner of war, the French, now self-proclaimed republicans, gave strong signs that they intended to fight on under a hastily constructed government of national defence. The Prussian response was to press on rapidly toward Paris. When they reached Versailles they stopped, set up headquarters, and waited for the besieged capital to starve or surrender. In the long term the Franco-Prussian War had a dangerously bitter effect on Franco–German relations. In the short term it had a pronounced effect on Valentine and his mother. With Prussian troops pouring into France, the former said a hasty goodbye to his German friends to hurry back to Versailles. By mid-September some of those Prussian troops were 8

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making themselves at home there, including in Harriet Chirol’s house, conveniently located near the prefecture where old King William of Prussia had his command post. Everything had moved quickly in this war. The Chirols did as well, setting out for the Channel carrying only what they most needed. Throughout that autumn and early winter of 1870 the Prussians waited and watched as Paris seethed with incipient rebellion and what remained of a French government tried to organise the provinces to continue fighting. Resistance proved fruitless. In January, with a week’s worth of food remaining, Paris capitulated and signed an armistice. With the danger of actual fighting apparently over, Chirol went back to Versailles to see what had become of their house and furniture, to pack up what he could and arrange for it to be sent to Brighton, where his mother – not far from her childhood home – had settled down to stay. While on his mundane mission he had his most intense lesson yet, this time in revolutionary politics. It stayed with him for ever, even shaped the course his life would take for the next 50 plus years. The young man’s task was a practical one but local conditions made it both dramatic and dangerous. Having sighted his first Pickelhaube at Amiens, Chirol reached Paris on 1 March 1871, just in time to see their wearers march, rank upon forbidding rank, into the city. On and on they tramped, ‘under the Arc de Triomphe to the Place de la Concorde … [camping finally] in the Champs d’Elysées as on a field of battle in the grimly silent solitude with which the vanquished capital encompassed them’. His young, and always quite passionate, heart went out to the defeated country – and to the prostrate city – where he had spent his boyhood. But what he witnessed next, on the part of some of the ‘vanquished’ Parisians, left a far more negative impression on his young mind than even a grimly purposeful Prussian army had done.7 Thanks to his good German, Chirol, staying in Versailles, slipped easily through the sentry posts and in and out of Paris. He happened to be there on 18 March, inquiring about train connections to London, when the long-suffering city finally erupted. Propelled at first by his own curiosity and very soon, and more helplessly, by a murderous mob, he heard the shots that killed two generals loyal to the provisional government and the screams of ‘La justice du peuple est faite! A l’Hôtel du Ville!’. More than once in all the confusion he was in real danger and roughly handled, but managed, by answering back to the overwrought ‘patriots’ in their own slang, to pass himself off as a true gamin de Paris. On occasion he was frightened, as he should have been, but he never 9

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considered missing the action. ‘The impulsiveness of youth,’ he wrote in the sedate retirement of old age, ‘does not stop to count the risk.’ Nor did he ever doubt that the risk he took to see the bloody birth of the Paris Commune was worth it. The course of the Franco-Prussian War and the siege of Paris, which served as its last act, left young Chirol with a grudging respect for the efficiency and discipline of the Prussian troops. His fury and scorn were reserved for the Communards. He loathed the way those ‘grotesquely insignificant madmen’ aped ‘the language and the methods of the great French Revolution’. Although his romantic notions about the ‘great’ revolution might not have withstood a taste of the actual event, he believed that it had, at the very least, some frightful grandeur of purpose. Bloodthirsty as it had been, its leaders knew how to organise victory against a world in arms. Their imitators, fighting against their fellow Frenchmen even as they coquetted with the Prussians still encamped on the other side of the city, were no patriots to a young man who particularly valued those who loved and defended their country. As the Commune struggled, in its deadly fashion, to stay alive, Chirol’s trips into Paris became increasingly problematic. One of his last visits was on 16 May. It was another day of violence and one on which he crossed paths with a man who would be as influential as a father to him in later years. He heard Laurence Oliphant before he actually saw him. The two of them were caught up in a seething Place Vendôme along with rowdies and rabble-rousers of all descriptions. When the milling mob toppled the great column that stood in the centre of the square, Chirol also heard, as much as saw, its impact. He next heard, as he wormed his way forward to get a better look at the ‘Communist pigmies’ swarming onto the broken pedestal to fling bombastic insults on the smashed figure of the great Napoleon that had topped it, someone say: ‘Surely you’re an English boy.’ Startled, he glanced up to see a tall, bearded man, who continued, rather gruffly, to say that the Place was ‘no place for a young monkey like you, and the sooner you get out of it, the better’. Accustomed as he was to talking back to Parisians in their own slang and to the German sentries in theirs, Chirol spoke not at all to the Englishman but simply shuffled off ‘like a naughty schoolboy caught out of bounds’.8 He had no idea who the fellow might be, nor that they would meet again, again by accident, far from Paris and many years after the tumult in the Place Vêndome. The friendship that would then grow up between the two of them would be of the utmost importance to the ‘young monkey’ so obediently doing what he was told in the spring of 1871. 10

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Laurence Oliphant, a man of many talents and contradictory inclinations – novelist, journalist, man of the world and religious ascetic – was in Paris for The Times that unsettled spring. Unlike Chirol, Oliphant had a premonition that the two of them would cross paths in the future. He tried to find out just who the young red-headed boy might be, but to no avail. In the meantime the object of his enquiries had his hands full getting himself out of Paris. He was stopped by some suspicious Communards but managed to talk his way out of being locked up, then tramped halfway around the convulsed city, to reach the relative safety of Versailles. In spite of this close shave, in spite of Oliphant’s stern warning, in spite of knowing that his mother depended on his return, he could not resist making one last visit to the inflamed – figuratively and literally – city. As French republican troops battled their way in on 21 May, the redheaded boy slipped in behind them. When the radicals chose to destroy what they could not hold he watched, transfixed, from the terrace of St Germaine as a long line of fire crawled across the centre of town. When the Pavilion de l’Horloge of the Tuileries finally caught fire he saw a huge column of flame shoot up as if ‘flaunting the red flag of the dying Commune over the whole sky’. This remarkable vision of hatred and

Dismantled statue of Napolean in the Place Vendôme, Paris, 1871 © HultonDeutsch Collection/ Corbis.

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wanton destruction also burned itself into his mind, leaving him forever wary of the formidable implications of unbridled radicalism and deeply sceptical about the political behaviour of the masses. It was then, as he watched his seconde patrie succumb to violent change, that he made a vow to himself that he would devote his life to studying and writing history as it was being made, ‘whether shaped by new aspirations or by ancient forces that have been slowly evolved through the centuries’.9 It was a mission that fitted neatly with the mood of the epoch. Change was on many men’s minds – and in their eyes and ears – as the nineteenth century rolled down toward its close. But Chirol left an important thing unsaid when he later described himself as making this inward pledge. How was he to earn a living while charting history in the making? Whatever means he chose, he was going to do it in England. It was time to go home to its green and pleasant landscapes and more reliably bridled populace. It was time for him to be an Englishman in England. By the end of May, the remaining family goods packed and due to be shipped, Chirol said goodbye to his friends in Versailles, to a Paris still smouldering, and to France. Setting off for the Channel, he was far from alone. More than a few Frenchmen – among them the former Emperor and also a sampling of the ‘squalid Communard ruck’ – were glad to trade the turmoil following on defeat for the sanctuary of England. It is ironic that some of those ‘Communard pigmies’ soon relocated in the vicinity of Soho Square, London, where 50 years earlier his emigrant French grandfather had preached and prospered. Although some of the former firebrands tried to keep their radical ideas alive, the only lasting revolution they brought to London turned out to be culinary. In 1871 Chirol’s premier patrie was also in the midst of a political transformation much quieter, but in its way as profound, as the changes affecting France. Crowds in London, when dissatisfied with the pace, or the nature, of the change, contented themselves with holding rallies or pulling down railings. They did not shoot generals, politicians or clerics, nor put the torch to Whitehall or Westminster. The Reform Bill of 1867, which marked the advent of real democracy10 in Britain, had passed through Parliament without the excuse of a lost war but its potential political effect was as great as the change from empire to republic across the Channel. Reaction at the time veered from rhetorical overload to political apathy. Politicians and publicists were full of dire warnings. Carlyle called it ‘shooting Niagara’ and Lord Derby ‘a leap in the dark’. In the Commons Robert Lowe11 warned that the country was about ‘to enter upon a new era, when the bag which holds the winds will be 12

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untied, and we shall be surrounded by a perpetual whirl of change, alteration, innovation, and revolution’. In spite of the grim predictions, the masses proved less terrifying spectre than timid spook. Instead of being dead set on changing all the rules in their own favour, the legions of new voters seemed ‘more respectful of institutions and persons, more imbued with the dull traditional habits of mind … [than wanting to] take advantage either of the possibilities of change and violence in the new era, or of the new role available to [them]’.12 The only revolution that took place was a routine turning of the political wheel in 1868. Disraeli and the Conservatives, having seen the dreaded franchise reform through Parliament, were defeated on Irish Church disestablishment and made way in an orderly fashion for Gladstone and the Liberals. But, orderly as the change-over proved, the social and political reforms pushed through by the new government, while not as overtly dramatic as the great Reform Bill just passed into law, were profound in both the short and the long run. Not only did they bring concrete changes, they brought an almost tangible atmosphere of change, and especially of opportunity, now that ‘men of parts and industry’ were finally free to compete for civil service places, for commissions in the army, for the right to study at the great universities and where voters might make their choice free of fear of intimidation.13 This, then, was the England where Valentine Chirol would now live, for good, if not always very consistently. The year 1871 was for him, as for his country, a year of endings and beginnings. How Chirol felt about leaving France and finally coming ‘home’ we will never know. He never said, in anything that survived him, if he was happy or anxious or excited, nor anything about the look of places or people, about differences, similarities, disappointments or satisfactions. After moving with him through the streets and squares of a defeated and then revolutionary Paris, watching murder and mayhem through his eyes, it is as if he vanished into thin air rather than into the yellow fogs of Dickensian London or the stolid bourgeois comforts of Brighton. His willingness – readiness, actually – to describe far-flung adventures or to analyse politics and personalities in brilliant detail stopped short of many details of his private thoughts and much of his day-to-day life. Only to his closest friends and generally in moments of great stress was he ever unguarded, at least in writing. Properly speaking, London was no longer Dickensian in 1871, the eponymous author having died the previous year. Not only was Dickens dead and gone, the city he described so lovingly was fast changing. The 13

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smoke was still there, the murky dens of the East End, the narrow, thronging streets around courts and counting houses. But ‘the conversion of the vast and shapeless city … fog-bound and fever-haunted, brooding over its dark mysterious river – into the imperial capital’ was under way.14 In 1871 the great round form of the Albert Hall popped up in sedate Kensington; the new Embankment, wide and tree-lined, swept along the Thames from Westminster Bridge past Whitehall toward Blackfriars and the massive silhouette of St Paul’s dome; and in the Strand, Temple Bar, straddling the busy street since the reign of Charles II, was about to be pulled down to ease the ever-increasing congestion. London was now an imperial city, a world city; the old predominance of Paris broken for good.15 Valentine Chirol was now past his nineteenth birthday, well educated, if not in the English fashion, and trilingual, something most young Englishmen were not at his age. What was he to do next? Family finances were never mentioned and what he and his mother lived on is a mystery. It was all well and good to have dedicated himself during the exciting days of the Paris Commune to studying and charting history as it happened, but he also had to eat, and, if he wanted to see history unfold with any impact worth recording, he had to be somewhere besides Brighton. London was, of course, the answer. Centre of government, of finance, transportation, commerce, culture, London was the heart not only of Great Britain but of the largest empire the world had ever known. Warehouse, counting house, sales house to the world, it was the empire’s largest city and constantly growing, swallowing up nearby settlements and reaching out along the lines of road and rail until towns such as Brighton were almost suburbs themselves. In 1872 Valentine Chirol helped to swell an already swollen population. If he knew anyone in London, if he had introductions, where he found rooms, what his hopes or plans were, all go without mention. What could he do, to whom could he turn for advice or help? On the Chirol side of the family there is no sign of contact – not even with his brother Thomas, recently out of Oxford and pursuing a career as a schoolmaster. On the other hand there were a number of Ashburnhams who might well have helped him. His uncle, Sir Anchitel Ashburnham, 8th Bart., co-heir of the ancient barony of Grandison, was a Justice of the Peace in Sussex and the head of a large family. More distant Ashburnham relations, descendants of the Earls of Ashburnham, had served in Parliament, at court and, in one instance, in the diplomatic service. Chirol says nothing in his memoirs about family connections but someone obviously pulled a string or two, otherwise he would not have found a slot, however lowly, at the Foreign Office. Not that other 14

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credentials were lacking; his familiarity with Europe, linguistic skills, passionate interest in contemporary history, all made him a strong candidate. But actually getting into that most exclusive of departments was neither straightforward nor routine, no matter that it had been recently visited, like so many other aspects of political and institutional life, by the spirit of Gladstonian reformism. The pre-reform civil service was filled with men who had been recommended by peers, by MPs, by men with weight in the counties and constituencies. Not tested in any meaningful way, the reputation of Foreign Office clerks at mid-century was not for industry or efficiency. ‘Since the privileged families were specially anxious to provide maintenance at the public expense for those of their members who were least likely to make their own way in life’, it was more a case of ‘heavy swells with long whiskers’ lounging in late and leaving early; what able people there were on hand to direct them in their work had been brought in from outside.16 It was not until 1871, after both Treasury and civil service commissioners applied more pressure, that something resembling a real test of ability began to be used. But even those efforts did not finish off the time-honoured nomination system and may even have been designed specifically to forestall criticism of a method depended upon to preserve the aristocratic character and clannish structure of the place.17 Any young man who wanted to take the examination still had to have approval from the Foreign Secretary to do so. And still the weight carried by the position and interests of the parents or sponsors was at least as important as the qualities of the candidates themselves. Apparently Chirol’s sponsors, whoever they were, were sufficiently weighty and his performance on the new examination impressive enough. It is a very simple entry in the Foreign Office List – Chirol, Mary V.I., 3rd level clerk, 30 April 1872 – but it meant that, at long last, he ‘officially’ existed. He had been born, baptised and educated, but official mention of these events is missing. Faced with this blank – aside from the few stories he chose to put in his memoirs and the sparse hints sprinkled through his correspondence – one wishes that the Foreign Office had put down a few more details. But all it says, besides the bare essentials (already noted), is that he was placed in the department whose business was correspondence with Her Majesty’s ministers and consuls abroad, with the representatives of foreign Powers in England, the Board of Trade and other departments of Her Majesty’s government. All he had to do was serve loyally, be pleasant and, above all, patient, and he might rise to a position of real importance. Clear handwriting counted at least as much as, one hopes not more than, 15

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drive or initiative. Exciting things were going on in the outside world but well-mannered security, not excitement, was on offer in Whitehall. Chirol, Mary V.I., appeared again on the Foreign Office List of 1873. By 1874 he had inched his way up a notch to the second level. But in 1877 there was no Chirol; he had resigned in the spring of 1876, ending a career lasting only three years and 11 months. His reason for leaving these prestigious, if rather boring, precincts Chirol gave in just one sentence. Mentioning his stint in the Foreign Office in his memoirs he wrote that instead of saying that he spent four years there he ought to ‘penitently admit’ to having ‘misspent them’. Leo Amery, a friend and colleague in later years, claimed in his memoirs that Chirol ‘had begun life in the Foreign Office but had wrecked his finances in youthful exuberance … ’.18 Perhaps that is what the ambiguous ‘misspent’ means, but, if it does, it seems strange that he continued to live without any visible means of support for another four years. It is more likely that he was tempted by the fact that, as compared with the pace in the office, things were happening in the outside world at an enviably quick tempo. Later there were signs that he might have regretted leaving Whitehall, but not very bitterly. Besides, he came away with two valuable advantages – first some dear, lifelong and well-placed friends and second some useful training in the ways of diplomacy and the aims, and constraints, of British foreign policy. It was also the case that those brief years of training meant that for the rest of his life he thought of himself as a diplomat, tended to behave as one and enjoyed being treated as such. He never did mention having been introduced to ‘the East’ during those years. But, according to the anonymous author of his obituary in the journal The Near East and India, it was once being part of a mission to the Balkans that ‘began his association with the East which was to remain his major interest for the rest of his life’. Perhaps it was this unnamed mission, perhaps the excitement caused by Disraeli’s 1874 purchase of a controlling interest in the Suez Canal, the fascination of the expanding empire itself, or youthful boredom or indecision – some or all of which lured many an Englishman to far-away places. Whatever inspired him, he moved back to Brighton and for six months poured over an Arabic grammar book. When he knew a long list of words, but not how to pronounce them, it was time to go and hear the language spoken. For this young man to turn his back on a Foreign Office career did not signal a lack of interest in foreign affairs. To the contrary, he wanted to get to know the ‘foreign’ close-up, study foreign affairs on the spot, the more exotic the better. 16

2

A Worldly Education

‘Whoever wishes to know the life of the East and would visit Cairo for that purpose must indeed make haste,’ wrote Ali Pasha Mubarak. New districts, wrote the distraught Pasha, were popping up overnight, replacing the monumental tradition of the Mamelukes with the latest fashion in Italian neo-baroque, all yellow stucco and bulbous moulding.1 And there was the prodigal Khedive, Ismail, who went about bragging that before he was done he would turn Egypt into a ‘corner of Europe projected into Africa’. Chirol disagreed with Mubarak and discounted Ismail. To be sure there was now a small ‘European’ quarter, an up-to-the-minute opera house, and several broad new boulevards, one of them leading to a new – and only – bridge over the Nile. But the rest of the city, according to the dazzled Chirol, had been barely touched either by modernity or the West, and still offered ‘a picture of its mingled glory and havoc’ to delight his most receptive eyes.2 Fresh from the predictable, stuffy routines of Whitehall he was almost bowled over by the disarray of Egypt. On the train from Alexandria to Cairo he caught his first glimpse of the pyramids, ‘solid and real’ and standing on the edge of an actual desert, not just on the oft-turned pages of his boyhood picture books. His real education, or educations, into the ways of the East started the minute he stepped into the pandemonium of the Cairo railway station. Carried away from the dusty din on the back of a small, white donkey, the fascinated young man soon found himself in the shadowed, medieval streets of the old Muski, one of which led to 17

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the Hôtel du Nil, a small inn in the old Christian quarter. It was on his first night there, sitting in the fragrant stillness of the inn’s little courtyard, where he was captivated, for once and for all, by the entrancing mystery all about him. As he sat, looking up through the palms at a clear, starsprinkled sky, there sounded in his ear the ‘weird modulation of the call to prayer, which goes forth five times a day from every mosque throughout all the Mohammedan lands of the earth. Further off and more faintly … the same cry re-echoed over the sleeping city and died away into the night.’3 He had heard the East ‘a-calling’. It was a call he could not resist for the next 50 years and more. Hassan, the little donkey’s proud owner, soon became a fixture in Chirol’s daily life. An enterprising boy, he knew Cairo inside out and was more than happy to share his knowledge. With Hassan at his heels – and Lane’s Modern Egyptians in his hand to offset his young guide’s sometimes overly inventive accounts of local history – Chirol explored the city, making leisurely pilgrimages to the countless mosques as well as the scattered tombs on the fringes of the desert. Together they watched the strange rites and customs of popular life. Thus he learned the geography, art and living history of Cairo. But Hassan also taught his Inglisi the local dialect,4 amused no end as his determined student wrestled with its wretched gutturals and aspirates. Four years earlier, in 1872, Disraeli, out of office but hardly out of sight, gave a stirring speech at the Crystal Palace. The country’s attention and energy, he said, had been focused on domestic issues long enough. It was time for Englishmen to turn their gaze outward; to look on their growing empire as ‘proof of the commanding spirit of these islands’. Chirol hardly needed Dizzy’s reminder, or much encouragement, to do as he suggested. Britain’s triumphs across the globe stirred his pride as little else could. By the mid-1870s, when he set out on his explorations of the East, the British Empire, although larger than it had been at his birth a quarter of a century earlier, was not as big as it would become. During the 1870s, particularly after Disraeli’s return to power in 1874, British imperial concerns and European power politics became increasingly interwoven.5 The Prime Minister was concerned above all with questions of power and security, with protecting the routes to India and safe-guarding the great Indian Empire itself. The spirit of nationalism was alive and well in Europe, spurred by the addition of a united and powerful Germany and a united, if not particularly powerful, Italy to the Continental picture. The apparent success of the principle of nationality that so altered the map of Europe in the middle of the nineteenth 18

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century echoed in Disraeli’s triumphant paeans to the virtues of the British Empire. It, he made plain, was a creation for the British to be as proud of as the Germans and the Italians were of their emergent nations.6 During most of the nineteenth century one of the most persistent headaches of the European Powers was what to do with the vast, varied and helplessly corrupt Ottoman Empire. At the end of 1875 this ramshackle construction seemed about to implode. Bosnia and Herzegovina were up in arms, unrest was spreading inexorably throughout the rest of European Turkey, there was pervasive discontent, although not open revolt, in Syria and Palestine, and Egypt was sliding rapidly toward bankruptcy and political chaos. In Constantinople, the centre of the flimsy web, the Sultan’s government was at war with itself and could do next to nothing. It was only with Napoleon Bonaparte’s earlier attempt to sit astride England’s land connection to India that Egypt had begun to emerge from centuries of isolation. The British navy put a stop to Napoleon’s dream. But from then on Egypt was not allowed, or able, to return to its previous inwardness and instead played an increasingly important part in the calculations of European statesmen and empire builders. In recent decades England had been paying far more attention to the Bosphorus and Dardanelles than to Egypt. But in the mid-1870s, prompted in large part by the flourishing success of the new Suez Canal, this relative neglect was transformed almost overnight into an intense and, as it would turn out, long-lived interest. Chirol was a schoolboy in Paris when the canal was being built, the brainchild of a Frenchman and paid for, in the main, by French investors. In 1869, the world marvelled along with the French at the ‘Thousand and One Nights’ pageantry of its opening celebrations. Even Chirol – not forgetting his patriotic flourishes at his recent viva – thrilled at the pictures of the French imperial yacht carrying the Empress Eugénie, ‘a modern Cleopatra’, through the new waterway with 40 ships trailing like a giant train in her wake.7 Five years later, Chirol’s premier patrie scored its own dramatic, if less photogenic, coup. No sooner was the canal open than it was clear not only that England would be its chief client, but that London’s refusal to participate in its financing had cost her any say in its operation. At the end of 1875 Disraeli made good that mistake, thanks to the Khedive having reached the bare bottom of his purse.8 With nothing to spend, nowhere to borrow, his country teetering on the verge of total financial collapse, Ismail finally agreed to put his last remaining asset, his shares 19

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in the canal, up for grabs. Disraeli saw the opportunity, ignored the handwringing of his Foreign Secretary, Lord Derby,9 brow-beat his reluctant Cabinet colleagues into giving him carte blanche to do as he saw fit, borrowed £4,000,000 from his friends the Rothschilds, and bought the shares on 23 November. Before 1 December they were in the vaults of the British Consulate in Cairo and Great Britain had a 44% share in the canal. Disraeli’s swift step caused a sensation. Popular at home – where Queen Victoria rejoiced because ‘it was a blow at Bismarck’ – it was also applauded abroad, except in France. Leopold of Belgium called it ‘the greatest event of modern politics’, and Bismarck, unaware of the blow Victoria had been so happy about, congratulated Disraeli for doing ‘the right thing at the right moment’.10 The purchase did not save Ismail. But it did give Britain a most important – and more than financial – stake in Egypt. Many years later Chirol wrote that if international financiers had been alone interested in the state of Egypt the Rake’s Progress might have been allowed to proceed without let or hindrance. But Egypt bulked equally large in the field of international politics [and]…the Egyptian Question … entered upon a new phase with Disraeli’s purchase … [While] a brilliant operation for the British Exchequer, it was primarily a political demonstration, intended to remind all and sundry that Egypt was within the sphere of the British Empire’s most vital interests.11

With the shares in the bank and three new English directors sitting on the Canal Company’s board, a financial expert was dispatched from London to assess the state of Ismail’s state. In March 1876 he published a report, which confirmed the sorry condition of the Egyptian Exchequer and recommended outside financial supervision. For a brief moment the British government again hesitated, claiming reluctance to interfere in Egypt’s domestic affairs, but Ismail himself pushed them into action by availing himself of ‘the last device of the insolvent gambler’ and suspending payment of his debts.12 London’s hesitation vanished. As financial rescue efforts were being set up, Chirol was setting himself up in Cairo. It was Ahmet Effendi, professeur licencié de langue Arabe, who taught him the modern literary Arabic of educated Egyptians. Like Hassan, the proud, if down-at-the-heels, Effendi was a guide to life in Cairo, although of a different sort from that available to the donkey boy. With him Chirol went to the so-called ‘modern’ cafes, the haunts of ‘the young intelligentsia … who were beginning to develop nationalist aspirations. They knew little and cared less about the past history of 20

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Egypt, but claimed to be familiar with all the underground currents of the Egyptian Court and the intrigues of foreign Powers …’.13 Between Hassan and Ahmet, Chirol soon knew Arabic, high and low. He also knew to cross the threshold of a room right foot first, to eat with his right hand only and to praise Allah when either he or anyone else sneezed, small habits but important in a polite society, in fact ‘scarcely less essential’, according to him, than the language itself. As diverting and useful as his guide-teachers were, Chirol also kept in touch with his fellow Europeans. According to him there were relatively few of them in Cairo when he got there, but more arrived on every boat, some coming to help Ismail empty his pockets all the more quickly, some to try and stop the haemorrhage. What power was left to Ismail, after the arrival of European commissioners and the setting up of financial controls, he used to make trouble. Compelled to cede his personal estates in return for a fixed Civil List, and to adopt the principle of ministerial responsibility, he cordially welcomed the Cabinet forced upon him, and began at once to intrigue against it. Given its government, or rather lack of, the country lurched from crisis to crisis, both political and financial. Finally the British and French governments induced the Sultan, still Ismail’s nominal suzerain, to oust him in favour of his eldest son, Tewfik. This time Ismail did not struggle but ‘bowed submissively to the inevitable, and retired with dignity’ in June 1879.14 Off he went, first to Europe, to Naples, Paris and London, before settling for good in the more familiar atmosphere of Constantinople. Chirol had left Egypt six months earlier, headed in his own roundabout way for the same city. During the months and years that the unsavoury Ismail spent all that he had, the Sultan’s hands were full with more pressing business than his insolvent Khedive. By 1876 his European possessions15 were in open rebellion. The Serbs gave the rebels armed support, the Russians provided sympathy, but it was only when the Bulgarian Christians joined in that Constantinople responded in kind. The fighting, particularly on the part of the infamous Turkish irregulars, the Bashi-Bazouks, was savage.16 With the situation in the Balkans going from bad to worse, Britain, Russia and Austria, the Powers most concerned in the affairs of that troubled area, discussed remedies among themselves, trying on the one hand to pressure Constantinople into making reforms and on the other to position themselves so that, should the Balkan house of cards at last collapse, they would be poised to grab pieces for themselves. In the midst of all the confusion and cross-purposes, Constantinople was convulsed by 21

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a palace revolt. The conspirators, vaguely nationalistic in aspiration, were led by a liberal-leaning, reformist minister by the name of Midhat Pasha. They deposed two Sultans in quick succession before deciding that Abdul Hamid II would be a suitable ruler with Midhat as his Grand Vizier. The new Sultan duly promised widespread reforms, but, like his predecessors, had little or no intention of actually doing much in his Balkan provinces. By the end of 1876 the Russian government, pushed by an increasingly vocal pan-Slav movement and frustrated by lack of action, threatened war on the Ottomans. Representatives of the Powers met in Constantinople in a last-ditch effort to force the necessary reforms from the new Sultan. Their wily adversary was one step ahead of them. Proclaiming an up-to-theminute ‘liberal’ constitution – written by Midhat – Abdul Hamid made the Powers’ demands seem redundant, therefore dismissible. As it turned out the new constitution, and its author, were equally so. Midhat was soon enough sent off to Damascus to serve as governor of Syria. With him at a distance, Abdul Hamid closed down the new Parliament and forgot all about the constitution. Corruption and inefficiency effortlessly resumed their sway, nothing was done to remedy grievances in the Balkans or even to punish those guilty of the recent outrages. The Powers just as routinely talked of other remedies, which were equally ignored. Even Whitehall admitted that the Sultan’s behaviour was a blatant provocation to Russia, and there was little surprise when war was declared in St Petersburg on 24 April 1877. The fighting lasted less than a year, the bulk of it taking place in the already devastated Balkans. England remained officially neutral,17 although she took the precaution of warning Russia to stay away from Egypt and the canal. In January 1878, with Russian troops poised to take Constantinople, the Turks asked for an armistice. The Russians granted it, then hurriedly began work on a treaty that would get them what they had wanted for many years. The result, signed at San Stefano on 3 March and ratified by Russia two weeks later, also got them a chorus of protest from European capitals. The primary sticking point was article VI, which set up a Bulgarian state, nominally autonomous but clearly not. This creation, stretching from the Black Sea to the Aegean and including lands both north and south of the Balkan mountains, as well as much of Macedonia, was to be occupied by Russia for two years.18 This was unacceptable as far as the other Powers were concerned. They made it clear that if the ‘sick man of Europe’ could not defend himself, others would do it for him. A wave 22

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of Russophobia swept over England, the Cabinet went so far as to authorise the calling out of the reserves and moved some troops from India to posts in the eastern Mediterranean.19 The Austrians were no less vociferous, and the small Balkan states chimed in with their own complaints. It was a notably tense spring as missions and missives shuttled back and forth across Europe. By the time that Russia agreed to renegotiate her terms, much of the work had already been done in a series of confidential agreements between Austria, Russia and Britain. Nevertheless all of the Great Powers met in congress at Berlin in June 1878, with Bismarck playing the part of ringmaster. Claiming to be an ‘honest broker’ he made it clear that unless article VI was revised the congress would fail. It was, the rest of the business went quickly, and within a month the assembled dignitaries were on their way home. What they had devised in Berlin was far from perfect, but the product stuck together, more or less, until July 1914. Although spared some of the worst of the terms imposed by St Petersburg, the Ottomans were under no illusion that the modification had anything to do with admiration for their system, nor was the shape of things in the Balkans returned to the status quo ante by any means. There the ‘sick man’, wholly at the mercy of the European doctors, had a major operation. When he awoke from the surgery he found that he had lost approximately half of his former lands in Europe and gained the responsibility of making wide-ranging reforms in what was left and in Asia Minor. As a pledge against the reforms England occupied Cyprus. Chirol arrived in Beirut early in 1879, hard on the heels of this masterstroke of diplomacy-cum-strategy. By putting British troops on Cyprus, almost in sight of the Lebanese coast, Disraeli’s ‘magic wand’ cast an even greater, though more evanescent, spell over Syria than his purchase of Ismail’s Suez Canal shares had over Egypt. Rumours flew around the province that deliverance from the hated Turk was at hand. Although the rumour was false and the hope misplaced, what struck Chirol was how persistent, widespread and nearly mystical the belief was in England’s ability to effect this freedom. There is no record of Chirol’s reaction to the work carried out in Germany until many years, and many wars, had come and gone. Then he judged it, with the benefit of hindsight, as pregnant with the germs of those wars, having ‘carried the recognition of the principle of nationalities in the Balkan peninsula just far enough to whet the appetite of all its restless peoples, but not far enough to satisfy a single one’.20 But, as he wandered through Syria, Asia Minor and the Balkans over the next few 23

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years, he frequently bumped up against the more immediate effects of the decisions reached in Berlin. He also bumped up against people able to help him in any number of ways. In his memoirs he says that he generally just ‘fell in’ with agreeable companions; but he also had more reliable help in the form of letters of introduction, from whom he never said. One such letter led him to J.G. Eldridge, the long-term British Consul-General in the Lebanon. For Chirol, who idolised him, Eldridge was little short of an ‘uncrowned king’, but one with the tact and wisdom not to behave as such. It was thanks to Eldridge that Chirol got a first-hand lesson in the strength of British influence in that part of the world. Latent religious violence between the Muslim Druse population and their Maronite Christian neighbours seemed set to re-erupt. To forestall it, Eldridge sent Chirol as his emissary to Druse headquarters on Mount Hermon. With him went a brief, but pointed, message to their leader; the Druse were to stay quiet, give no provocation to their enemies, and the particular grievances that had caused the crisis would be redressed. For that they might trust to the ‘word of an Englishman’. The leader, who to Chirol’s surprise turned out to be a elderly woman, listened, then turned to ask the assembled chiefs if they had more faith in the Englishman’s word than hatred and fear of the Turks. ‘With one voice they bowed low … touching breast and lips and forehead: “Wallahi. We trust the Englishman’s word, and having it need dread no Turk.”’21 The tension, which had been intense, faded almost as they spoke. That such an improvised peace mission, in such a place, needed as its only sanction the word of an Englishman affected Chirol strongly. From then on it was a matter of keen importance to him that statesmen, diplomats or politicians upheld the inviolability of an ‘Englishman’s word’ – whether embodied in a treaty, agreement or simple declaration. For him no one who mattered could go back on his word without betraying the very essence of what it was to be an Englishman. Chirol carried no letter of introduction to Laurence Oliphant, nor did he need one. The moment he saw the tall, stooped figure and flowing beard he remembered the scolding he had been given in the Place Vendôme nine years earlier. After a most extraordinarily varied career, Oliphant was in the Holy Land on a final, and typically idiosyncratic, mission designed to resettle European Jews in their ancient homeland.22 By the time he re-met Chirol he had found the land and was preparing to negotiate with Turkish officials about settlements. As a first step he was to go to Damascus to talk with Midhat Pasha, and he invited Chirol 24

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to come along. It was the beginning of a very special friendship. Part saint, definitely worldly, Oliphant fascinated Chirol. Although the younger man found it difficult at times to understand him, it was impossible not to love him.23 Chirol might well have been the son Oliphant never had, Oliphant the father that Chirol had hardly known. There were very real similarities in their backgrounds, their preferences and their characters. Passionate in their interests, restless and curious, both were drawn to foreign cultures and customs, and were intellectually and spiritually captivated by the ‘East’. Both were only sons, born to English parents but not in England, both had strict religious training as children and strong ties to their mothers. As grown men both thrived on physical adventure, on writing and on an abiding interest in politics and international affairs. One of Oliphant’s biographers described him in terms that could be used, without changing a word, to describe Valentine Chirol. Speaking about the Jewish settlement scheme, she wrote that the project had come as a godsend because it ‘gave him the pleasure of a sort of amateur diplomatic negotiation involving the largest issues, and the mixture of adventure and use, which was at all times the thing he liked best in life’.24 Much preferring ‘byways’ to ‘highways’, the two men wandered happily off toward Damascus, making their way through the steep mountains of Lebanon, lodging with the people of the countryside, Christian, Jew or Muslim. For Chirol an unforgettable spot was the ancient village of Malula, tucked almost inaccessibly into an arid fold along the eastern fringe of the mountains. Its inhabitants were Christian, but so cut off from the outside world that even those of middle age could not remember having seen foreigners. Chirol and Oliphant were therefore objects of great curiosity, as were the villagers to them. What struck the travellers most forcibly was the fact that, although many of the people seemed able to speak Arabic, what they actually spoke was Syriac and when the village children crowded too close or stared too hard so that their mothers scolded or sent them away ‘we liked to remember that it was probably in their very tongue that Jesus had bidden the people of Galilee to let the little children come unto Him’.25 After a night in Malula the travellers pressed on until, by the following afternoon, they found themselves on a cliff overlooking a most marvellous sight. Below and beyond was the city of Damascus, ‘a shining expanse of flat white roofs broken by countless domes and minarets, and entirely encircled by a broad belt of gardens and green trees and orchards, the golden deserts of Arabia stretching far away beyond towards the 25

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Euphrates’.26 In the city they were warmly greeted; they also discovered that it would not be a quick visit, as Midhat had to get an agreement to Oliphant’s scheme from the Porte. While waiting the two Englishmen were entertained with all sorts of local spectacles – some that few, if any, such ‘infidels’ had ever seen. From time to time Chirol was called upon to translate for Oliphant and thereby had his own opportunities of talking with Midhat. He found him personally impressive, but was appalled by the pervasively corrupt system he ran. At the same time he could not but see that, however badly the Turks mismanaged things, they still had considerable power at their disposal and would go to some lengths to keep it. Eldridge and Oliphant were men of affairs and of connections and from both Chirol took a combination of moral example and practical advice. There was one other apparently ‘accidental’ encounter in Syria that had an altogether different, but no less great, impact on his subsequent life. This chance meeting was with Tristam Ellis, an artist whose watercolour studies of the Near East were a familiar feature every spring at the Royal Academy. Given the job of leading Ellis to various ‘picturesque corners’ discovered earlier with Oliphant, Chirol was at first content to sit and watch. One day he felt able to make a suggestion about the work in progress and soon enough ventured to offer some criticism. Ellis, either to encourage his new friend or to keep him quiet, suggested that since he seemed to have an eye for colour and composition he ought to take up painting himself. Without another word Chirol borrowed some supplies and then and there sat down to work. In the end he never became anything more than a competent, sometimes quite pleasing, watercolourist. But the enjoyment he got from his painting was immense, and he once said that he had much more fun with his paintbox than pleasure with his pen. But it was with the latter that he made his name, his living, and using it was where his real talent lay. During 1879 and into 1880 Chirol travelled continuously in Syria and Lebanon, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends such as Ellis or T.S. Jago, the British Consul at Damascus. He slept in the shadow of the column where St Simeon Stylites had mortified his flesh, saw the grave of a Roman legionaire’s wife in the desolate city of Palmyra, crossed the Jordan and rode through the Mountains of Moab, ‘a No-Man’s Land in which the writ of a rascally mongrel Beduin chief ran much further than the Sultan’s, but could be bought for a trifling consideration’.27 How he paid for these comings and goings Chirol never said. But after years of travel, and study, he might well have had a need, if not a 26

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desire, to find something remunerative. Once again Oliphant had a part to play. After their trip to Damascus the two men separated, Oliphant going to Constantinople to petition the Sultan in person on behalf of his scheme, Chirol carrying on with his travels. Oliphant’s business went slowly, when it went at all, but he talked with his many friends and kept a sharp eye on all and sundry, including on the new Sultan. Early in 1880, remembering that Chirol was planning to move on to Asia Minor and European Turkey when he had had his fill of Syria, he wrote to say that now was the moment to do so. To understand the condition of the Ottoman Empire and to gauge the future of Anglo-Ottoman relations, one must stand in the centre and look out rather than stand on the edge and look in. Oliphant’s own days in the Ottoman capital were, at the same time, drawing to a close. The Sultan would not commit himself to supporting the settlements, Oliphant himself felt that it was necessary to reorganise the campaign, and he missed his wife. But before leaving he wanted to introduce Chirol to some of his ‘friends in high places’, among whom was Edgar Whitaker, the proprietor of the Levant Herald, then the leading English-language newspaper in the Near East. At Oliphant’s suggestion Whitaker offered Chirol a job, he duly accepted it, and as a result had, he later said, a brief, but very useful, apprenticeship in

‘The Natural Bridge’, Lebanon, Valentine Chirol.

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journalism. At that point the die was cast, whether or not Chirol knew it. By the time Oliphant left Constantinople Chirol was busy with his journalism and with getting to know the city on the Golden Horn, crossroads of East and West, ‘cockpit’ for the clashing interests of the Great Powers, and now a laboratory for Abdul Hamid’s ambitious projects. But he could not confine himself to the city, fascinating as it undoubtedly was. Although his mentor had felt that he would learn more in the capital than in the provinces, the temptation to travel the ‘byways’ of Anatolia, as he had those of Syria, was overwhelming. He went by horse, alone this time, except for a Turkish servant. Now and again a zaptieh – a Turkish policeman – rode with him, courtesy of local authorities far less interested in his safety than curious as to what he was doing. As he travelled he took note of the mood of the people and the state of the countryside. Travel was difficult, sometimes dangerous, but the rugged, far-stretched landscape, dotted with the ruins of civilisations long gone, and the opportunities of coming into close daily contact with all manners and conditions of people stimulated him no end. By and large the people were quite friendly, save the occasional official who disliked and suspected the ‘prying eyes of a foreigner [who was] a rara avis in those days and seldom prone to pay them a visit unless he wanted something’.28 The impression that he came away with was more of the customary Ottoman ‘misery and misrule’. The failure to defeat the Russians had thrown up new problems to add to the effects of many decades of administrative chaos. Sedition was in the air and he heard one local official swear ‘a great oath and declare that there could be no salvation for Turkey until the power of Constantinople was broken and a Rimpublic proclaimed’.29 Unlike the mystic Oliphant, Chirol did not believe that he could look into the future. But the further he travelled, the more he saw, the more convinced he became that the old ways of running the ramshackle empire not only must change but were already changing. He could only speculate as to where the changes would lead, but, even then, realised that they were intended to be fundamental, not merely cosmetic. The humiliation of military impotence spurred Abdul Hamid to look for other ways to make a mark in the world. Two ‘new departures’ struck Chirol as significant. The first was the Sultan’s determination to revive, in his ‘personal rule’, the ancient splendour and power of the Caliphate.30 Muslims had argued for years about the exact nature of the religious authority vested in this office. Many, if not most, of Abdul Hamid’s 28

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predecessors had paid scant heed to the title but not so he. ‘Whatever it might mean for hair-splitting divines,’ wrote Chirol, for the new Sultan ‘the Caliphate meant the acknowledged headship of Islam, beyond as well as within his temporal dominions … all were to be taught to look once more for comfort and guidance to the Ottoman Empire’.31 To Chirol this signalled an intention to strengthen the bond of Muslims within the empire to the Sultan and to weaken that of Muslims outside his domains to the infidels who ruled over them. The power of this ‘pan-Islamic’ concept soon became – and long remained – a major concern and preoccupation for the empire-oriented Chirol. Abdul Hamid’s second ‘new departure’ was to ask the Germans for help in redesigning and rebuilding his recently shattered army. Very quickly a German foot was planted firmly in the Ottoman door. Chirol rightly suspected that at least part of Bismarck’s motive was to maintain a ‘brokerage’ at Constantinople where he could oversee and manipulate the clashing interests of his two great neighbours, and putative partners, Russia and Austria. This arrangement was one thing under Bismarck, but when the ‘brokerage’ passed into hands other than his, as it did a decade later, Chirol was less sanguine about the arrangement. As one part of the ‘tinkering’ with Ottoman real estate that had taken place in Berlin, Greece was promised a swath of Ottoman territory lying just across her border in Thessaly and the Epirus. The Greeks were impatient for the change, but the Powers, by giving the Turks a few years to prepare the local inhabitants for the transfer, in fact gave them time to display their talent for delay. By 1880 tempers along the disputed border were badly frayed. As well as tension in Thessaly and the Epirus, there was also serious friction, and some actual fighting, between newly independent Montenegro and Ottoman Albania over disputed territory along the Albanian coast. Again the Turks did little to resolve things one way or another, although, to be fair, even their Ottoman rulers and co-religionists found the Albanians extremely hard to push. Faced with the sublime indifference of the Sublime Porte, London resorted to threat by naval demonstration. In September 1880, just as Chirol had made up his mind to go off and have a look at the lands at issue, an English fleet appeared off the coast of Albania. According to him, the showing of the mailed fist did little more than make ‘the official world of Stamboul proportionately [more] exasperated against foreigners in general, and Englishmen in particular, who were held to be singly and collectively responsible for this peculiar outcome of Mr Gladstone’s Turcophobia’.32 It also made it very difficult for Chirol to get permission 29

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for his planned travels. No matter how long he ‘ante-chambered’ in the ‘tumble-down buildings’ where Ottoman bureaucrats had managed, or mismanaged, the affairs of state for centuries, no official passport was forthcoming. The civil servants could hardly know that Chirol was in the habit of consulting his ‘own inclinations rather than my neighbour’s’, had no intention of deferring to the convenience of the Sublime Porte.33 He forgot about an official visa, equipped himself in ‘the lightest marching order’, got some of his usual letters of introduction to local grandees, and set off on an Austrian steamer, bound for Volo. He put his trust in his own diplomacy and ‘the chapter of accidents’ to arrange things once he got on the other side of the Aegean.34 As it turned out, the chapter of accidents worked very well. Over the course of the next month or two he travelled the breadth of the Balkan peninsula, from the foot of Mt Olympus through western Macedonia and into the Epirus; from Suli’s Rock, high in the Albanian mountains, down to the shores of the Adriatic. He struggled with local dialects and the usual primitive and sometimes dangerous travelling conditions. But, as in Egypt, Syria and Asia Minor, dangers and difficulties seemed more exhilarating than daunting to him. The ‘few letters of introduction’ also served their purpose. In Larissa, the capital of Thessaly, he ‘dined with the Greek Consul … with the Governor … with the Archbishop … with the Commander-in-chief [until] the gaieties … began to pall’.35 As he moved on he noticed at once that people, common people as well as governors and archbishops, were as eager to talk to him as he was to have information from them. He also realised that he cut a mysterious figure, travelling about alone and asking questions, with no discernible motive beyond his own curiosity. Many took him – deny it though he did – for some sort of British official sent to get things ready for the handover of territory.36 What he was, in fact, was a budding journalist. As an area of both actual and potential change this borderland was, to his mind, nothing if not newsworthy. At the end of the trip he had a head full of impressions, a notebook full of statistics, local opinion and various kinds of technical information ranging from topography to educational facilities. He also had a pad full of watercolour sketches. In December 1880, William Blackwood, publisher of Blackwood’s Magazine, got a short letter from his good friend and frequent contributor, Laurence Oliphant. In the pages of Maga, as those familiar with it called it, noted writers, imperial heroes and a wide assortment of adventurous travellers and explorers shared their experiences with others like 30

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themselves, as well as with imperialists or adventurers more inclined to stay at home. Oliphant’s letter, part business, part friendly chatter, mentioned that a friend of his by the name of Valentine Chirol ‘has just returned from a most interesting cruise, through Thessaly, Epirus, Janina and the whole line of the Greek frontier. He says he can furnish two articles upon it and I am sure they will be well written and good.’37 A week later came a letter from Chirol with manuscript enclosed, ‘trusting you may find it of sufficient interest to warrant its publication in the next number of your Magazine’.38 Blackwood was enthusiastic and wrote back to say that, although the material had come too late to make the January issue, he was putting it into type and would send off a proof to be returned in time for the following one. Chirol duly corrected the proof and returned it, but to London instead of Edinburgh, and so missed the February deadline as well. He had wanted it to be timely and was disappointed at the delay until he saw that the mounting crisis in that area might make his piece more rather than less up-to-the-minute. From what he was hearing, great changes were under way in south-eastern Europe, a new order of things evolving. He was convinced that the ‘new wine of nationalism’ was bound to have a powerful effect on the weak head of Turkey in Europe. Why not, he suggested to Blackwood, make a book out of all the notes he had taken ‘as they would afford the most recent information respecting the country which would then be the seat of war & might thus derive from that fact an extrinsic value which their intrinsic merit could probably not claim’. It would be timely, also quite short, and he could illustrate it as well.39 The idea of turning the rest of the material into a book gave Blackwood pause. By the end of February, having heard nothing from Edinburgh, Chirol wrote again to say that he was going to give up the idea and head back to Constantinople. His letter crossed one from Blackwood, apologising for his silence, and admitting that he had been ‘rather puzzled’ about just what to say. There were some books already out, which, although not so up-to-the-minute as his would be, might have ‘filled the market’. At the same time he could see no harm in at least looking at the manuscript, as ‘[w]hether or not [it] had a commercial success perhaps it might be desirable with the view of bringing your name before the public, [and therefore] be of service to you hereafter in connection with any other literary undertaking …’.40 Chirol’s manuscript banished what was left of Blackwood’s hesitations, and he wrote at once to say that it would make ‘a capital little book’. Time was of the essence. ‘If we can manage to bring [it] out quickly or before 31

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the Greek question is closed or war breaks out I think it may be fairly successful but one never can tell what the public will rush for …’.41 Thus Chirol’s carefully gathered impressions, opinions and information – and two of his favourite sketches42 – became ’Twixt Greek and Turk, or Jottings During a Journey through Thessaly, Macedonia, and Epirus in the Autumn of 1880. He had made it clear to Blackwood and also to his readers that his main concern was to be impartial. I have not written in order to plead either this cause or that one. I am not a Philo-Turk, nor am I a Phil-Hellenic, or a Philo-Wallach, or a PhiloAlbanian, or a Philo-Bulgarian; but I believe that a great change is at hand in the south-eastern peninsula of Europe… The old Ottoman empire – the Musselman theocracy – is doomed, on this side of the Bosphorus at least. Whether its name and the shadow of its power be still allowed to endure…a new order of things is in process of evolution.43

The author was in fact biased to a degree, although not toward any particular religion or nationality. The virtues of strong character earned his approval and he applauded individuals, or groups, who displayed courage, devotion, industry and political intelligence. Where he found fault was with both ‘the incubus of Turkish misrule’ and the over-centralised rigidity and fractious politics of the Greeks. By contrast he sang the praises of the stalwart Muslim fighters who, ‘abandoned to their fate by the rulers of Constantinople’,44 held their mountain fastnesses during the RussoTurkish War and the proud Albanian chieftains, working to reconcile their warring clans so that together they might achieve Albanian autonomy. In the end there was no war between Greece and Turkey, a good thing in itself, but not so good for Chirol’s little book. It had positive reviews and his hopes were high, but by the beginning of August he had to admit to Blackwood that it was ‘a disappointment to me that the sale of my book does not go on as satisfactorily as you expected’.45 In the meanwhile occassional assignments kept him busy, and in the Balkans. In April 1881 he covered a major earthquake on the island of Chios (Scio) for the London Morning Standard; in July he was in Bulgaria to report for the Daily News on changes already being made in a constitution barely a year old. Russia’s puppet state in Bulgaria had been drastically redesigned at the Congress of Berlin. Shorn of its Macedonian portion, the remainder was cut in half. The larger, northern section became the autonomous principality of Bulgaria, its southern neighbour, eastern Rumelia, had administrative autonomy and a Christian Governor-General but remained nominally subject to the political and military authority of the Sultan. 32

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But, even as the Powers in Berlin redesigned Russia’s planned satrap, they had tacitly recognised Russian predominance in the area. Thus the new constitution was written, if not to St Petersburg’s dictation then certainly under its supervision, and the new ruler, Prince Alexander of Battenberg,46 was handpicked by Tsar Alexander II. The young, handsome and inexperienced Prince accepted his new throne with the clear understanding that he would bow to the wishes of his Russian benefactors and protectors.47 He did try to work loyally with his overseers, but faced with a national assembly dominated by liberals and nationalists, whose taste for independence was great and love of Russia small, found the going difficult when not impossible. Chirol’s assignment in the summer of 1881 was to report on a coup d’état, complete with the virtual suspension of the new constitution. Unfortunately this change was one not initiated by the Bulgarian patriots in Sofia but by Alexander’s Russian overseers in St Petersburg, who were determined to see ‘the unfettered authority which [Alexander] was henceforth to exercise … exercised exactly as [they] might be pleased to direct’.48 This arrangement soured rapidly and soon enough Chirol would be back in Bulgaria to witness even more dramatic changes. But at that point the real drama was taking place in Egypt, and by the end of the year Chirol was there as well, again on behalf of the Morning Standard. He had been away for just under two years, during which time Egyptian politics had further deteriorated. On the one hand were the European financial experts and administrative managers, a group whose numbers, and visibility, had been rising as the need for their services increased. On the other was the decent, but fatally inert, Khedive Tewfik. Between the two was a flourishing nationalist movement, resentful likewise of the passivity of their nominal but powerless ruler and of the growing influence and power of the disliked foreigners. These nascent revolutionaries were led, in the main, by native Egyptians, chief among them a Colonel Arabi.49 On 11 June, in ‘a sudden outburst of fanaticism’, a Mohammedan mob in Alexandria massacred half a hundred Europeans. The ‘catastrophe towards which all parties had been blindly moving’ had happened. But even now, faced with open rebellion, the Powers could not pull together. A French squadron, lying off Alexandria along with one sent by the British, was ordered away by a new government in Paris. Italy declined to take part in any action. The Sultan, as ever, prevaricated. ‘Very reluctantly,’ said Chirol, obviously proud that his countrymen had not shirked a difficult duty, ‘the British Government undertook single-handed the task which none would share … and within two months Sir Garnet Wolseley 33

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had scattered Arabi’s vaunted army at Tel-el-Kebir and the British flag floated on the citadel of Cairo.’50 It would be there longer than anyone, himself included, could possibly have imagined. Chirol was in Cairo as British soldiers marched into the city in midSeptember. They would stay, said London, only until the country was restored to order and its government reorganised. As a step in that direction Anglo-French dual control was abolished – a slap at the donothing French – and Lord Dufferin, then British ambassador to the Porte, sent south in order to see what might be done to reconstruct, or, more to the point, construct, a workable government. In February 1883 he issued what Chirol later called the most ‘adroit despatch in the annals of British diplomacy’.51 What it said was that Egypt, in effect if not in actual words, was now a British protectorate. In November of that same year a British general by the name of Hicks, in command of an Egyptian army in the Sudan, was killed by an army of religious fanatics led by a selfproclaimed Messiah, the Mahdi. From this moment on, British rule could no longer be thought of as temporary, no matter what London might pretend. While General Hicks and his men were fighting for their lives in the Sudan, Chirol was back in Brighton with his mother. He wrote to Blackwood, wondering if he might be interested in two works ‘of a somewhat more ambitious character’. By way of an answer he was told that the figures on ’Twixt Greek and Turk were poor and, if the new works were about the Egyptian campaign, he, Blackwood, doubted if the public had much interest left. But he did not want to discourage Chirol from contributing other material to Maga and wondered where his wanderings might take him next.52 They would, in fact, take him to Persia, but by a circuitous route. He first went to Haifa to visit with the Oliphants. Alice Oliphant, in a letter to her mother in London, drew a rather peculiar picture of their friend, but one interesting in the extreme as the only contemporary description of him as a young man. At the age of 31 Chirol was an (almost) very nice fellow – very clever … & Laurence likes him very much. I rather want to stick a few pins into him, because he might be actively nicer, if he would take the trouble. He wants to see Guy [her brother], as he is going to Persia. He knows a dozen languages – has been in diplomacy, in ‘Standard’ correspondence as a ‘special’, wrote ‘Betwixt Greek & Turk’, & does various things & he & Guy will have much in common. We owe him nothing so you need not put yourself out in any way to entertain him – but if you can see him without giving

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you any trouble I shall like him to see & know you – & he is a most untroublesome individual …53

The untroublesome Chirol was indeed on his way to Persia, but via Ceylon and India, trekking the subcontinent from bottom to top before sailing down the Indus to Karachi, where he caught a ship bound for the Gulf coast of Persia. His customary curiosity, as much as pride in Britain’s imperial mission, drew Chirol to India, but his visit did much to reinforce the latter. For the past seven years he had been immersing himself in the Mohammedan East and he felt ready to investigate the ‘peculiar mystery of Hindu life’. He was as aware as the next man of the efforts – administrative, military and financial – that had gone into Britain’s Indian experiment. But it was not until he saw the results for himself that he fully realised the difference they had made. The Near East was all ‘picturesque disorder’ with ‘purple patches and frayed edges’. There, although closer to Europe, the West had had scant influence on the Oriental style of government. In India, ‘thanks to British rule, one felt at once the stability of an organized system working according to plan. The outward signs of Western civilization were far more frequent and tangible. It was not the tattered and battered East still struggling against the disciplined methods of the West.’54 India cast a spell on Chirol. He would spent much of his later life trying to come to grips with the vast land, its myriad peoples and diverse religions, looking for ways to make the Anglo-Indian relationship beneficial to both parties. At times he was critical, vociferously, not only of what he occasionally called ‘the land of regrets’ but of its supposedly enlightened English rulers as well. Hinduism he found particularly troublesome. As much as he feared the fanaticism embedded in Islam, Chirol felt more comfortable with its monotheistic certainties than he ever did with the ‘unending phantasmagoria of the Hindu pantheon’. The more time he spent in the subcontinent, the more he saw of the workings of this religious system, the more he found it responsible for what had happened in and to India. The caste system, in particular, was a dreadful scourge, its sorry by-product a ‘drab melancholy which seemed to brood over the whole land…[and] paralyse the individual energies of the human soul…’.55 Nor were the ruling classes any less unscrupulous in their pursuit of power than ruling classes in other parts of the world. When it came to the Brahmins, there has never been in the whole world any class, which claiming to be the inspired exponent of a nation’s religion, has asserted more pitilessly

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and more successfully its right to absolute domination over body and soul … The whole history of India – of Hindu India – from the time of Asoka onwards is an almost unbroken record of squalid struggles for material domination from which the influence of those higher forces which we call spiritual have been as a rule conspicuously absent.56

Having soaked up as much Indian history, geography, art, religion and politics as possible, Chirol turned his attention to his most singular mission in Persia. By the 1880s the arms race in Europe was already under way and a popular item in it was the Nordenfeldt quick-firing machine-gun. Chirol had come across Nordenfeldt in Turkey, where the arms business was brisk. Having been persuaded to try his luck with the Persian Shah, the enterprising Nordenfeldt needed a suitable representative to send, along with a sample gun, to Tehran. Chirol seemed the perfect man. Gun and salesman set out on the ‘royal road’ to Tehran from the Gulf coast port of Bushire in the spring of 1884. The first task was to struggle up what seemed a mountainous staircase, each step a thousand feet high, and covered, when they got near the top, with heavy snow and black, freezing clouds. What struck Chirol, besides the sheer difficulty of staying on this ‘royal road’, was how alone he and his small group were. The landscape was stunning, but the solitude soon became oppressive; he and his bearers went day after day without seeing a single soul between the caravanserai left in the morning and the one entered at night. He looked in vain for the Persia of his boyhood reading, the land of philosophers and metaphysicians ‘dreaming the dream of the soul’s disentanglement’. Fabled Shiraz, ‘shrunken and decayed’, was a disappointment, and as he pressed north, through Persepolis and Isfahan, the realities of corruption and oppression on one hand and dull misery on the other left a permanent mark on his mind.57 In Isfahan the Zill-es-Sultan, a son of the Shah and virtual ruler of southern Persia, commanded Chirol to demonstrate the power of his by then famous gun. This he did, much to the amazement and delight of the Zill, who sent him a tiny, early cucumber as a token of thanks. Not only was this an exceptional compliment, it was also expensive, ‘for the princely orderly who brought it to me expected a present in return for his good offices, and delicately intimated that five tomans (£3) was the smallest “insult” which his pride would condescend to accept’.58 It was more of the same in Tehran, but without the cucumber. The Shah sent him friendly messages promising to fix a date for the presentation, but Chirol could not afford to have the crates opened. He 36

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cabled Nordenfeldt that the road to the palace, and to the throne itself, would have to be paved with gold. Every official, great and small, had his hand out. There was, even after that, no sure prospect of any serious business since the British minister was too Olympian to take any interest in Chirol, and his French counterpart, although far more friendly, could hardly concern himself with Chirol’s business affairs. In the end he simply sent the gun back to Bushire the way that it had come.59 He himself headed north, toward the Caspian, having decided, for his usual reasons, to go home by a route not yet explored. Not only would the northern route be less arduous, it would be particularly interesting to him to see the first section of the Russian-built Trans-Caspian railway. The Russian Legation in Tehran seemed willing to help him but he only got as far as Khrasnovodsk, a port on the eastern shore of the Caspian. There he remained, a ‘house guest’ of the GovernorGeneral, until transportation back in the direction he had come could be arranged. What he had seen, rather what he had not been allowed to see, suggested to him that the Russians were intent on pushing, not only quickly, but quietly, into central Asia. They were also clearly determined to ‘buy’ the Shah. It took little insight to see that, if a railroad along the Russo-Persian border could carry Russian troops and goods to central Asia, it could bring them, just as efficiently, to the north-western approaches to India. All this spelled trouble, and Chirol was not alone in reading the message. But once out of Persia his mind was almost immediately diverted from the menace of Russian expansionism by adventures of a wholly different sort in an equally troublesome part of the world. Chirol had first met George ‘Chinese’ Gordon in Cairo in 1878 when the latter was serving as Governor-General of the Sudan. Like many who met the charismatic soldier, Chirol was charmed to the point where he begged to be allowed to go back with him to Khartoum. He was too young, said Gordon, and too many young men were already buried in the Sudanese sands. On Chirol’s return from Persia the two men met again at the Oliphants’ house. There Chirol heard that Gordon was once again headed for the Sudan, this time to relieve the besieged garrison at Khartoum. He again begged to go along. In his memoirs Chirol claimed that Gordon agreed, but that the telegram containing this permission was somehow misdirected and never arrived. In the end Chirol did go to the Sudan, part of the second of two relief columns organised for the purpose, unfortunately too late, of saving Gordon. During the winter of 1884–1885 he saw some ‘sharp and rather 37

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purposeless fighting’: spearsmen dashing themselves against troops armed with modern rifles and the very guns he had been pitching to the Persians. But bravery, even on the part of these primitive fanatics, moved him as bravery generally did. Long after he left Africa he claimed to be haunted by the image of a fallen warrior, ‘a dark statue in bronze, than which none could be more finely modelled … with the fierce sun beating straight down upon it in the glare of the pitiless desert all around’.60 By October of 1885 the peripatetic Chirol was back in Beirut, en route to Bulgaria and the further trials of Prince Alexander. The latest Balkan storm was sparked by a rising in eastern Rumelia, the object being the long-desired union with Bulgaria. It was complicated by the fact that Alexander – not at all happy with his Russian ‘advisors’ – backed the rebels, and the union.61 In an ironic twist, the Russians found themselves opposed to the very thing they had once tried so hard to achieve, a big Bulgaria. The new Tsar, Alexander III, cousin to Prince Alexander, was enraged by his ‘puppet’s’ show of independence. In an attempt to hamstring him he recalled all the Russian officers attached to the Bulgarian army, hoping thereby to fatally weaken any Bulgarian effort to protect their newly enlarged borders against the armed wrath of the Sultan, still the nominal ruler in eastern Rumelia. Unfortunately for the Tsar, the Sultan contented himself with threats and kept his soldiers at home, perhaps because he was well aware of Britain’s support for the young Prince’s project.62 But this was the Balkans after all and by November there was fighting, not between Turks and Bulgarians, as St Petersburg wished, but between the Serbians and their suddenly much bigger neighbour. Fearing Bulgarian designs on Macedonia, the Serbs got in the first blow, a move they soon regretted. Alexander, at the head of his supposedly weakened troops, routed the invaders, chased them home and thrashed them again. At that point Austria, hating the idea of a large and powerful Bulgaria as much as the Russians hated the idea of an independent one, stepped in. They demanded an immediate armistice, backing it up with the threat of new fighting, this time against Austrian troops. Alexander had no choice but to comply. When news of the initial Serbian attack reached London the Standard sent Chirol to cover the fighting. Since there wasn’t much of it, the assignment was brief. But the eyes of Europe – civilian and military – were focused on Bulgaria just then and statesmen’s ‘minds were busy with the future of the country which had so narrowly escaped an overwhelming catastrophe, and was still exposed to so many dangers’, all of which made 38

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it worthwhile for Chirol to stay and watch as well.63 The winter of 1885–1886 was an anxious, dreary time in shabby Sofia. The hospitals were full of wounded men; many families were in mourning. Parties, sporting events and other home-made amusements that diplomats got up to entertain themselves in out of the way places were rare, but not unknown. Instead they were busy sending and receiving messages concerning the peace terms with Serbia and the negotiations over eastern Rumelia then taking place in Constantinople. Meanwhile Alexander, a hero to his simple subjects – and to Chirol – had garnered new enemies. Even in London, where a ‘charming’, and well-connected, Madame de Novikoff64 enticed several papers, including W.T. Stead’s Pall Mall Gazette, to carry damaging stories, the Prince was under attack. Unable to do much to defend him while in Sofia, Chirol got his chance in London. At home on a visit in June 1886, he was lunching with friends in the House of Commons dining room when Stead himself approached and asked to be introduced. Courtesies over, he bluntly asked Chirol what he had to say ‘about that blackguard, Prince Alexander’. ‘Blackguard yourself,’ was the response. Undeterred, but less aggressively, Stead continued. Why, he wanted to know, such an extreme reaction. With that Chirol, according to one of his companions, launched into a ‘masterly’ refutation of the Russian smears on Alexander’s moral character.65 It was a defence that would have no doubt pleased Alexander, had he known of it, but it did nothing to save his crown. His defender was still in England when news came from Sofia that the Prince had been forcibly taken into Russia. Chirol himself left immediately for Sofia, and by the time he got there the Prince was back in his capital. But before two weeks were out Alexander, propelled by the Tsar’s barely veiled threat of armed interference, abdicated, got in his carriage, and rode out of Sofia for good. Travelling with him when he went was Valentine Chirol. The latter was initially introduced to Alexander by Sir Frank Lascelles, then British Consul-General in Sofia. Lascelles, a close friend and sometime advisor to the Prince, was also in England as this final drama was being played out. Unlike Chirol the Consul-General did not hurry back, and Chirol always assumed that he had been asked to accompany the Prince either as a stand-in for the absent Lascelles or because of his connections with the Standard. These were plausible explanations, but it also seems that Chirol was more to Alexander than a second-string Lascelles or a wellconnected publicist. It was as a personal friend that he was invited by Prince Henry Battenberg, Alexander’s older brother, to come to the 39

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Battenberg family seat in the summer of 1887. There Henry had gathered together, as Chirol related a decade later, ‘a sort of conseil de famille … at which Prince Alexander’s determination not to return to Bulgaria was once more discussed and vainly combated by his friends. Had [these] other views prevailed, the course of history might have been considerably altered!’66 How, Chirol did not say, but he was surely thinking of the man who replaced Alexander, Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg-Kohary. Over the years the observant traveller had developed a sharp eye for many details, among them shades of character. The Prince’s made a mark both early and permanently. At his first interview with Ferdy, as Chirol liked to call him, the new ruler remarked – with an air of what Chirol later remembered as ‘affable condescension’ – on his visitor’s well-known admiration of Alexander. When Chirol replied that indeed the Alexander’s greatest qualities – much to his political misfortune – had turned out to be of the heart rather than the head, ‘Prince Ferdinand … , toying all the time with some precious stones which he held caressingly in his hand, looked me straight in the face and speaking for once the truth, remarked dryly: “Eh bien, Monsieur, l’histoire ne dira pas cela de moi.”’67

Tirnova, Bulgaria, 1886. Valentine Chirol seated left.

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His long months in Bulgaria profited Chirol in two important ways. Watching the almost constant, and frequently violent, manoeuvring for power and influence in that volatile corner of Europe sharpened his understanding of the intricacies of Great Power politics and the limits of diplomacy. In addition he made lasting friendships with a range of people who would prove to be of great value to him both personally and professionally. The eminent scholar-journalist, and sometime Times contributor, Mackenzie Wallace was one of these. They had met earlier in Constantinople but the mutual admiration that now began to grow up between them would soon enough give shape and structure to the younger man’s life. The Bulgarian ‘imbroglio’ was at the centre of Balkan unrest during much of the 1880s. By the end of the decade the Powers most concerned with that part of the world, Austria, Russia and England, had other irons in other fires and so cooperated to maintain a shaky status quo in south-eastern Europe.68 The complicated web of alliances and agreements that characterised the last years of the Bismarckian era also allowed for a tenuous stability, and even when that fragile construct began to unravel after 1890 the Powers still worked, not always harmoniously to be sure, to keep the creaky structure from collapse. But the damping down of flashpoints in an area so continually ‘on the simmer’ proved ultimately futile. In the spring of 1890 Chirol’s vagabond life took a totally new turn when he went back to London in order to keep terms at Lincoln’s Inn. His goal was a career at the Egyptian Bar. As an Englishman familiar with Egypt and fluent in French – then the official language of the Egyptian courts – all that he needed was to learn the law. He applied himself with some diligence to that, but when new regulations allowed English to be used in the courts what he had counted on as his special ‘pull’ no longer pulled. In the end it mattered little as soon enough he was given another chance at journalism that not only suited him but for which he was already well trained. In 1885, the ‘Thunderer’ celebrated its 100th birthday. It was, by then, as much a national institution as an ordinary commercial enterprise, certainly so in the eyes of its chief proprietor, John Walter III, and young, new editor, George Earle Buckle. As befitting an institution, the paper cultivated a aura of sedate timelessness, operating along the strict and sober lines laid down by Walter’s father early in the century. The latest news, as much of it as possible, accurately written and printed was the first order of business. Accompanying the events of the day were ‘ample and exact parliamentary, legal, academic, ecclesiastical … reports, 41

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sound critical notices of theatrical and artistic events, full obituaries and independent foreign dispatches sent by expert correspondents’. Leading articles, ‘written in correct English’, told its readers where the paper stood and where they, if they were right-thinking, should as well.69 These were admirable standards and had worked well for the best part of a century. But in an age when the common man was taught to read, but not necessarily to enjoy reading ‘ample and exact’ reports of academic, ecclesiastical and legal proceedings, they came under siege. The principles clung to so fiercely by Buckle and the Walters family had little in common with the ‘new journalism’ then coming into vogue; cheaper papers with sales figures on their proprietors’ minds and sensation in their pages. Printing House Square remained untroubled; ‘There was much in common,’ it was said, ‘between the halfpenny Daily Mail and the halfpenny Daily Express; there was nothing in common between either of them and The Times, price threepence.’70 Noble principles were fine things, but a serene attitude did little or nothing to attract new readers. Stung by increasing competition, the Thunderer was feeling a financial pinch as it turned one hundred. Four years later the pinch became a punch. Thanks to having published a series of articles on ‘Parnellism and Crime’, part of an effort to derail Irish Home Rule and fatally damage the Irish Nationalist leader, by including in them incriminating letters purportedly written by him, the paper – having also pledged to defend the authenticity of those letters in court – ended up losing case, face and a great deal of money when they turned out to be forgeries. The loss of prestige was more or less overcome, the loss of the money,71 never. By 1890 The Times lacked not just capital but the services of its faithful, long-term manager, John Cameron MacDonald, killed off, it was said, by the strain of the whole messy, costly business. In 1889 John Walter’s son Arthur visited Egypt, where he was shown the sights by a knowledgeable and energetic Anglo-Egyptian by the name of Charles Frederic Moberly Bell. Bell, born in Egypt, educated briefly in England, had returned to Egypt to work in a commercial firm. But his heart was never in commerce; what he really liked to do was send in occasional articles on Egypt to The Times. Thanks to the quality of his work, especially his accounts of the bombardment of Alexandria in 1882 – during which he met another budding journalist by the name of Valentine Chirol – he was made the paper’s ‘own’ correspondent in Egypt, then and there turning his back on a life in commerce. Like Chirol, Bell was slated to go off with Gordon on his ill-starred mission to the Sudan in 1884. Again like Chirol, fate stepped in to preserve 42

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him so that, in the end, he could spend his life trying to preserve The Times. Arthur Walter was deeply impressed by Bell’s enthusiasm and irrepressible vigour. With MacDonald dead, the paper’s finances in shambles, circulation declining and he himself about to take the helm at Printing House Square, he needed help. Before the year was out Bell was sitting in MacDonald’s empty chair, working full tilt to stem the outgoing tide of readers and funds, scouting for ways to attract younger readers and investigating new techniques of advertising and salesmanship. Although finances were always his first concern at Printing House Square, foreign correspondence remained his first love, and until the last he remained not merely interested but involved in that side of The Times. The idea of setting up a separate foreign department was in large part Bell’s, and it was he who dealt with practical aspects such as fixing salaries and apportioning expenses. He liked to stay in touch with certain of the correspondents, particularly those in the most sensitive or important posts, and so would write to them of home politics or pass along pertinent information gleaned from a wide circle of political, diplomatic and business friends. But, given all his other responsibilities at Printing House Square, this correspondence was necessarily intermittent. He had scant time to devote to determining what the paper’s foreign ‘line’ should be on a constantly growing array of problems and developments, let alone edit incoming dispatches, advise men scattered across the globe on local ‘angles’, or provide them with specially tailored instructions and introductions. Those things, and here Bell and Buckle were in full agreement, should be handled by a foreign editor, or foreign advisor, as he was briefly called. The two men also agreed that such a job must be given to the most highly experienced foreign ‘specialist’ then available. Almost inevitably their eyes turned to another of the paper’s intermittent correspondents, Donald Mackenzie Wallace. Wallace was more than fitted to head the new foreign department and quite willing to give it a try, if rather secretive about the appointment. ‘Do you know,’ Chirol wrote to Frank Lascelles in November 1891, ‘that Mackenzie Wallace has joined The Times again? He does not wish it talked about overmuch at present, but he has undertaken to act as General Adviser on Foreign Affairs to Printing House Square, where he sits every night in judgment on the foreign news … ’72 It was high time, it seems, that somebody ‘sat in judgment’ on what was then passing for foreign news at Printing House Square. The palmy days of brilliant scoops and stars – Russell in the Crimea and the American 43

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Civil War, Oliphant in Paris, Frank Power in the Sudan with General Gordon and Wallace himself bringing back the terms of the Treaty of Berlin in the lining of his coat – seemed to be over. Henri Stefan Opper de Blowitz, doyen of The Times’ correspondents, still ‘shone’ intermittently in Paris. Irrepressibly buoyant and inventive, the little Hungarian cared about the news, also about his audience. Determined to be both entertaining and informative, he knew how to secure confidences [and] ever had something to give in exchange for news. He got it from everywhere … in effect [he] conducted a news exchange of his own. The danger of such an arrangement was that Blowitz could not verify what his friends told him and the office could not be sure whether Blowitz’s news was accurate or not, nor whether the motives of his friends, and the effects they sought to produce, were in the interests of British policy.73

In an age of keen competition the paper could no longer condone either his methods or his style. For Wallace, a sober Scot concerned as much for the diplomatic effect of a dispatch as for its immediate news value, Blowitz was trial, nuisance and danger rolled into one suitably ball-shaped figure. The first foreign editor began his tenure insisting on having facts from his correspondents, hard facts traceable not only to real, but also reliable, sources. Informed comment could be used to explain and instruct but not until the facts had been made plain. Impartiality was scarcely less important. System and structure were to Wallace what impressions and sentiment were to Blowitz and it was soon clear that at Printing House Square the Blowitz era was nearing its end. Wallace was looking for newsmen more to his own taste, men like Valentine Chirol. Although Chirol knew Wallace first, and initially rather better, it was Bell who became Chirol’s intimate friend, the large Bell clan his family, their house a second home. It was Bell who came to him in the autumn of 1891 with the idea of working for The Times. For his part Wallace had been busy ‘preparing the way’ for him should he ‘be inclined to return to that sort of work’.74 Chirol was flattered, but not so flattered as to accept without conditions. He made it clear that he neither could nor would write to order, nor for any paper inclined to give international news short shrift. Nor did he want to jettison his connection at Lincoln’s Inn. All the same he enjoyed the idea of working with Wallace. ‘Our views on the way in which the work should be done are in such complete agreement,’ he told Lascelles, ‘that I should not have any anxiety as to reasonable liberty of action, and with such a guarantee of proper attention being paid at 44

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headquarters to foreign affairs, one might hope to be able to do really useful and important work.’75 One might do even more than hope, as Wallace also made clear, that once the paper was well and truly established in its ‘new groove’, he might be the paper’s second foreign editor. Obviously tempted by the prospect of having, in the interim, a ‘roving mission’ in the East, i.e. the Balkans, Greece, Turkey, Syria, Egypt, Chirol rather oddly announced that he had got to a point in his life when he no longer wanted to be so constantly on the move. What he went on to describe as a more ‘settled’ life did not sound very stayed put, as he claimed to have no objection to spending seven or eight months every year abroad, but I do want to have some time at home. Of course I could not expect to do that if there were any serious crisis abroad, nor should I want to, as it would interest me to be at the centre of ‘les evenements’. But I want a clear understanding on that point, & there’s the rub. However Wallace really wants me, I believe, so he will doubtless do his best to get the matter settled satisfactorily.76

Also still to be settled was the matter of Arthur Walter’s approval. Until that was arranged all the discussions with Wallace and Bell as to his terms and theirs could only be academic. Walter was then away from England. While waiting for his return, Bell decided to give Chirol the temporary task of managing Dalziel’s News Agency, just recently taken under the wing of Printing House Square. Dalziel himself would continue to take care of the business side of things, but as he had no experience of press work, nor of European politics, all of that would be given over to Chirol. Wire service news agencies were then in their infancy and, according to the somewhat disapproving Chirol, it was a deservedly precarious one. According to him The Times had taken on Dalziel’s with the purpose partly of stimulating Reuters by a little wholesome competition and partly, or perhaps chiefly, in the hope that the two rival agencies may ultimately succeed in cutting each others throat & thus deal a death blow to the whole system of News Agencies which are necessarily injurious to a great daily paper.77

As much as he deplored the overtones of mass marketing in disposing of snippets of news, if an outfit such as Dalziel’s was not going to fade away of its own accord, being in charge of it would at least put him into a position to steer it into a ‘new and more rational groove’. The more he considered his prospects the more he warmed to the idea, and soon enough overcame his hesitations to the point where he could claim that Dalziel’s might well be capable of ‘important development’. Moreover, 45

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Chirol was seconded to Dalziel on the strict understanding that he was a Times man and would be free to leave as soon as or whenever the paper needed his services elsewhere. In the meanwhile, since the work would mean spending a good deal of his time in London, he could continue to keep terms at Lincoln’s Inn. Last, but far from least, he could use the money. Even if the job would keep him ‘more closely tied by the leg than I have for a long time past or indeed ever been accustomed to … there is no harm in that. In fact I have been having rather too much of the “dolce far niente” to be good for me.’78 Although Chirol thus began life at Dalziel’s with reasonable hopes and good intentions, things soon went sour. Given his initial reservations about news agencies, Dalziel understandably baulked when asked to transform, to death, his own creation. As for Chirol, he was no more positive about leaving than he had been about joining the agency in the first place. He felt mildly sorry for himself and imagined that Wallace has met with more opposition than he expected from Arthur Walter, who for some to me unknown reason is not & never has been well disposed towards me. Failing that, I do not quite see what I could do … [But] I should be sorry at the present moment to remain ‘unemployed’, for not only would it be distasteful to me, but I could not properly afford it.79

For more or less a decade – between 1880, when he worked under Edgar Whitaker on the Levant Herald, and 1890, when he began to read for the Bar at Lincoln’s Inn – he had supported himself, at least in part, by occasional journalism. He had also come into a small inheritance from one of his Ashburnham relations. This useful little windfall had come, in part, in the form of Australian stocks, and in the autumn of 1891, curious to see for himself the sources of his dividends, Chirol set off for that remote continent. Like generations of visitors before and after, he was charmed by its natural wonders – animal, vegetable, mineral. The human element he did not find at all charming although at one point, obviously struggling to find some semblance of balance, he alluded to there still being some ‘sturdy, manly stuff’ among the ‘scourings of our Islands, bloated with strong meat and strong drink and enormous wages lightly earned and lightly spent, and free from the accumulated restraints of centuries which are still so potent over here’. Democracy, something he never brought himself to trust, had been given a ‘fair field’ in which to develop out there, and he was particularly horrified at what the demos had done with it. 46

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Nowhere has it shown itself more selfish and more ignorant, more prone to follow blindly the lead of blind leaders, and more impatient of any restraint based upon the experience of the past, more reckless in mortgaging the future, more unworthy of the great inheritance into which it has stumbled. It is rather a saddening spectacle and apt to destroy many cherished illusions as to the upward evolution of mankind …80

What he saw persuaded him that his money would be safer in an Australian bank than in Australian shares, but no sooner was he back in the reliably refined and dignified ‘old world’ than the bank failed. Further losses also threatened and a general depression in London did not help. All things considered he came to the conclusion that ‘it might be wiser not to chuck away a good salary, if I could secure certain concessions to render my present position more satisfactory or at least tolerable’.81 Within two months a completely different prospect lay before the disgruntled Chirol. Brinsley Richards, The Times’ ‘Own’ correspondent in Berlin, had recently died. Bell proposed William Lavino, then in Vienna, for the post, but Wallace pushed for Chirol. It was Chirol, more than Bell, who needed to be convinced that the idea was a good one. Both foreign editor and manager laid great stress on the vital importance of having the best possible man in the German capital. William II was young and still new in his role and no one could be certain how he might make use of his formidable power. Chirol, keeping an eye on his cherished liberty of action, agreed to go but only if he were guaranteed that he would not be locked away in central Europe, but free to be sent on special missions elsewhere in the world. And so he went off to Berlin, one month short of his 40th birthday, to begin a career that brought him great distinction in his lifetime and undeserved obscurity following it. Wallace was very pleased to have snared Chirol, but at least one of the latter’s friends disagreed. ‘Higher my boy I would pitch your flight!’ wrote his diplomatist friend Nicholas O’Conor. While Berlin was definitely preferable to Vienna, Constantinople would have been better still and Rome best of all. Italy, ‘the land of poetry, art and romance’, was where he should be, not, perhaps, in point of view of profession but because it would provide a ‘pleasanter life, better climate, number of nice English who pass the winter there and also because there you might have made a home with your mother and lived very comfortably … and eventually migrate to Paris or return to London to cut pastures new and larger fields of ambition’. What these larger fields might be he didn’t say. When O’Conor sent these self-confessed ‘less than sincere’ congratulations to Chirol he himself was en route to Peking to serve as head of the British 47

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Legation. He hated the idea that the two of them would be so far apart, ‘exiles’ in different parts of the world. But then, having perhaps reconsidered his negative attitude, he concluded his letter with the thought that, at least, ‘at a very critical moment like this I have no doubt your life [in Berlin] will be deeply interesting’.82 O’Conor did not specify what it was that made the moment so particularly critical. The Sultan was making noises about reasserting his control in Egypt, and there was trouble among the Armenians in Turkey. In Europe – with the everlasting exception of the Balkans – things were relatively calm. As Chirol made his final preparations for the move to Berlin, domestic concerns and problems were to the fore across the Continent. Russia, pursuing a rapid industrialisation programme as well as an agreement with France, was hard hit by famine. The German government was busy negotiating a series of important commercial treaties with her European neighbours. France, torn by socialist and anarchist unrest, was digesting the unsavoury revelations of the great Panama Scandal. In Britain preparations were under way for a general election to be fought on the issue of home rule for Ireland. It did not look as if there was anything critical looming on the Anglo-German horizon.

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Berlin

Unter den Linden ran like an arrow through the heart of Wilhelmine Berlin. A grand, ceremonial avenue, lined with its fragrant namesake trees, the Linden was a good place for marching bands, marching armies or Germans flaunting their new prosperity. At its eastern end sat the vast imperial Schloss with its neighbouring Dom. From these suitably weighty examples of German might and rectitude, the way lay west to the blunt outline of the Brandenburger Tor. The opera was on this boulevard, and the university where Treitschke’s hymns to Prussian power were sung. And as of April 1892, Valentine Chirol lived on it in a small, sunny flat at number 53. A few steps away was the intersection with the Wilhelmstrasse, Berlin’s Whitehall, home to the Chancellor’s palace, the Foreign Office and other buildings filled with German bureaucrats toiling away on the affairs of Prussia and the Reich. Geographically speaking, he was in the very centre of things. With little ado he soon found his way into the centre of less concrete aspects of the city as well. Chirol was more of a success in Berlin than the city was with him. He found its landscape flat, architecture ostentatious, climate damp and chill and climate of opinion arrogant. There were too many rules and regulations, too many policemen to enforce them and too much vice in spite of it all. He made pointed comparisons with the Biblical ‘cities of the plain’ and thought fondly of beautiful Paris, stately London and of exotic Cairo. The Prussians were efficient, not exotic. 49

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It didn’t much matter whether Chirol liked the look, feel or attitude of Berlin. He was there to see, and say, what was happening in a city, and country, now poised to play an important part in the European political order. William I, the first Kaiser of the second German Reich, was recently dead, as was his son Frederick soon after. The latter’s abrupt departure left an inexperienced, if boundlessly enthusiastic, young man in what was essentially sole charge of this new powerhouse. When the ageing, but still powerful, Bismarck was ‘allowed’ to retire in 1890, the young William II promptly announced that the ship of state, with himself at the helm, would be off on a ‘new course’. It was a course, and a notably capricious pilot, that Chirol followed with particular interest during his time in Berlin and long after he had said a not reluctant goodbye to it. By 1892 the German ship of state had not sailed far enough from its Bismarckian moorings to be clear as to destinations. It was not even clear that William II was firmly at the wheel. Bismarck was gone from the Chancellor’s palace but very much still alive and kicking, bitterly, against the men who had replaced him. But what did seem reasonably certain, even then, was that, no matter who was really in charge, the ‘new course’ would include the Weltpolitik that the old Chancellor had generally eschewed. In 1892 the German Reich was only 21 years old and still something of a novelty, even to the Germans. For the vast majority of Englishmen it was a political terra incognita. Given its enormous potential, economic as well as military, ignorance was dangerous, not blissful. But it was no simple matter to take the measure of this strapping newcomer. The mid-century wars of unification had given birth to a federal state, an association of kingdoms, duchies, grand duchies, principalities and free cities. Bismarck, wanting to preserve Prussian arch-conservatism, the system he knew best, and best how to manipulate, weakened his construction by infusing it with a potent and unstable mixture of German nationalism, Prussian militarism and Hohenzollern authoritarianism.1 Prussia, by far the largest and most populous of the constituent states, dominated the association. The rule of the Prussian army became the rule of the German army, and it was likewise with the Prussian and the German bureaucracies.2 In addition, Bismarck saw to it that the constitution guaranteed the imperial crown to the Prussian royal house, thereby buttressing the new Emperor’s considerable earthly powers with Hohenzollern divine-right doctrines. The mighty Kaiser had the last say in foreign affairs, he alone could declare war or peace, was the supreme commander of the army; it was he who named the Reich’s Chancellor, 50

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the sole imperial minister, and he who could dismiss him. The Chancellor, in turn, was responsible only to the Kaiser, not to the federal council, the Bundesrat, made up of designated representatives of the various German rulers, nor to the democratically elected but constitutionally crippled Reichstag. There was simply no getting around the Emperor-King in the German imperial constitution,3 any more than there was any getting around Prussia in the new Reich. Sovereignty was vested in the Bundesrat. All legislation was initiated by it and nothing could become law without its vote. But the various states represented in it did not have equal votes; the bigger the state the more votes and therefore power. Thanks to a combination of historic circumstance and geopolitical development, Prussia was, in its turn, politically, socially, and economically dominated by her soldier-landowner Junker elite. These quasi-feudal landowners were the backbone of the Prussian civil service and allpowerful army. The officers and soldiers of the Prussian army – and after 1871 the German army – swore allegiance not to the Prussian or the German constitution but to the King of Prussia, i.e. the Emperor. This act of fealty put the army effectively outside the reach of civil authority. It was not just ‘a state within the state, [but] the state within the state’.4 Berlin was unique among capital cities in that it was the capital of not one but two powerful states. It was the seat of the new Reich’s government and also the capital of the Kingdom of Prussia. Being home to these two governments meant that the city was packed with elected representatives, appointed ministers, career civil service officials, army personnel and assorted diplomats. In addition to all of the officials, German and foreign, there was the usual welter of people drawn to capital cities for professional reasons. Officials and offices, representatives and assemblies, businessmen, professional men and fighting men clogged Germany’s political and administrative arteries as well as Berlin’s streets. For an enterprising and news-hungry foreign correspondent it meant any number of interesting contacts and myriad points of view to consult. The capital of the new Reich was a schizophrenic city in other ways. On one hand it was a boom town, a magnet to immigrant labourers, a city where a clever man could make a fortune and where grand houses were built by men whose pedigrees were short. This Berlin was rowdy, thrusting, a breeding ground for new ideas – political, social, artistic. On the other hand was the official, regulating city, a Berlin that was, much like the Hohenzollern court that stood at its social and political apex, conservative, rigidly stratified, rule-bound and remarkably snobbish. According to Chirol it was, in part, this snobbishness that worked so 51

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strongly in his favour. For one thing, it was thought ‘very respectable and refined’ that he entertained in his flat on Unter den Linden and not in a public restaurant; even more impressive were his ‘grosse und kleine Entrees’ at the then very exclusive British Embassy.5 Chirol lived comfortably in Berlin and complained about it constantly. No stranger to Germany, he now found his earlier impressions completely altered. The new German, contrary to his boyhood memories of the good-natured Anglophile schoolmaster and the two tolerant churchmen, seemed to him a volatile blend of prejudice, emotionality and brutality. He made few new friends, hardly surprising if what he said was true that under the German’s rather ponderous cordiality of manner and ostentatious forms of hospitality lay both arrogance and egotism.6 Before a month was out Wallace was congratulating the new correspondent on finding his feet so quickly in official Berlin. He did not name names, but surely had in mind Friedrich von Holstein. Holstein’s title was that of a Privy Councillor in the Auswärtiges Amt, the German Foreign Office. Simple as his title was, his power was great, and to have him open his door at once to Chirol impressed his fellow officials as much as it had Wallace. Chirol himself realised that Holstein’s attentions gave him a ‘nimbus of prestige, almost of mystery’, that would serve him well with the pompous Germans. Many men, contemporaries of Holstein as well as later historians, have had a hand at analysing this bearded bureaucrat in his buttoned-up black clothes. It mattered little how well they knew him or if they had never met him. Speculation and rumour about his vast powers, sinister influence and misanthropic character circulated during his lifetime and lived on to distort later historical literature. But, like him or loathe him, all agreed that he dominated the post-Bismarckian Foreign Office, and that, in spite of strange quirks and peculiar habits, he had an immense capacity for work, a remarkable intellect and a vast store of pertinent political and diplomatic facts at his fingertips. He himself liked to quip that ‘leading the life of a civil servant [had] ruined [him] as a human being’.7 But what impressed Chirol was how he had managed to keep, in ‘an atmosphere of gross adulation and servility, an independence of character and a contempt for stars and ribands and plumed helmets …’.8 The truth of Holstein’s character, and his career, lay somewhere else than in his own projection or others’ evaluations. He was aloof and reserved but not without some strong and lasting personal attachments. At work he was more selective than solitary and had a steady stream of callers, including prominent foreign diplomats and journalists, with 52

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whom, as with fellow Germans, he had long and frequent political discussions. Those lucky enough to be invited to his small dinner parties agreed that neither the good food nor excellent wines could stand comparison with his conversation, filled as it was with analyses of international affairs and with recondite anecdotes about prominent people.9 Chirol was surprised at the remarkably open way his new friend spoke ‘about men and things in Berlin, from the “All Highest” and his favourite courtiers downwards, as well as about what he was fond of calling the dessous des cartes in European diplomacy’. All was grist for his journalistic mill. Although he said later that he did not always trust Holstein, Chirol admitted that he was extremely helpful. The two men shared a passion for the interconnections of political and strategic interests. Jealous of their dignity, wary and proud, they liked best to work from behind the scenes, sharing a taste for intrigue, for setting stages and pulling strings. Marvellously capable as they were, easy to work with they were not. Chirol himself once said that Holstein was not only ‘morbidly suspicious’ but, like Bismarck, a ‘good hater’. Chirol, for his part, was described by his colleagues at Printing House Square as ‘morbidly suspicious and secretive’ and so sensitive that a difference of opinion could never be just an intellectual matter.10 But as each man gave due weight to the other’s staunch patriotism, so long as their respective countries were more or less favourably disposed to one another their touchy personalities caused no problems. When Bismarck retired as Chancellor in 1890 his son Herbert, who had served as Foreign Secretary, left office with him. Neither General von Caprivi, Bismarck’s successor, nor his Foreign Secretary, Marschall von Bieberstein, a legal specialist, had much experience with international politics and were admittedly out of their depth when it came to understanding and operating Bismarck’s complex system. Trained as he was at the Iron Chancellor’s elbow, although he had broken with him toward the end of the 1880s, Holstein’s moment had arrived. And so he sat, ‘like a spider in his web’, as Chirol later put it, working, against strong odds, to reconfigure the design that had determined Germany’s foreign aims for the past 20 years. Having come to disagree with Bismarck’s Russian orientation, he advised the new government not to renew the now famous, then secret, Reinsurance Treaty with Russia. This was a very big step, but much remained the same or was altered more gradually, which gave Holstein, ‘the living research department of the Foreign Ministry’,11 an immense advantage. Even the Kaiser, easily made jealous by another man’s apparent 53

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power, announced that he looked on his peculiar civil servant as a ‘tower of strength’ and was pleased that Caprivi relied upon him so firmly. The Russians, after repeated, and repeatedly frustrated, attempts to repair the break with Germany, began to look for other ‘insurance’. Slowly, but purposefully, they moved toward an understanding with France. The closer they came to having one, the more unsettled and uneasy the Germans sandwiched between them. With the anti-English Bismarck gone and Russia cut adrift, Holstein began to think of substituting the Russian tie with an English one. Both countries, he reasoned, had more to fear from a Franco-Russian arrangement than from each other and so AngloGerman cooperation, if possible formalised in some fashion, was Holstein’s own ‘New Course’. Whitehall reacted warily to the diplomatic shifts across the Channel. No matter how complementary Anglo-German interests, or how threatened they felt by the Franco-Russian accommodation, British policy-makers concluded that it would be safer, more interesting and potentially more advantageous to act as a balance wheel than to be part of a grouping where the tail – Italy and Austria-Hungary – had the power to wag the dog. This conclusion did not bode well for Holstein’s programme, and by 1892 he was tiring of his efforts to woo the noncommittal English. But tiring was not being finished with, and having Chirol on hand kindled hope anew. Not only was the journalist well aware of the wideranging implications of a Franco-Russian accommodation, he had come to Berlin not averse to cooperation with the Central Powers in the face of this new European design. At that point he thought ‘that there were no vital questions of international policy likely to divide [Britain and Germany], two countries between whom there seemed to be a much larger and more rational community of interests than between any other two great European powers’.12 Being in Berlin, Chirol realised, would give him ample chance to see, at first hand, what sort of a friend, or partner, the new German government might be. Much would depend on the way the ‘New Course’ went and whether its pilot could take the ship of state safely through the shoals of its imperfect constitution, the rapids of rampant militarism and the twisting channels of Weltpolitik. Holstein’s courting of the new Times correspondent is hardly surprising given the importance that he – and many others, including the Emperor – placed on the paper. They were convinced that it served, when necessary, as an unofficial and unacknowledged arm of government, a version of the relationship that they themselves had with a chosen few of their own 54

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journals. It was not mistaken of them to lay stress on the influence that The Times could bring to bear, nor that its foreign news service was widely considered to be particularly authoritative. At the same time they misread the relationship between Printing House Square and Whitehall and Westminster. It was true that the editors enjoyed, and cultivated, close relations with the political establishment; Wallace, Bell and Buckle – and Chirol too – met and mingled with diplomatists, politicians, senior military men and ministers of the Crown. At the same time the paper was obdurate about its independence. Chirol himself said that he would avoid something for the good of the country, ‘but whether it was or was not for the advantage of the Government was a matter of indifference…’.13 German officials found it next to impossible to credit such disclaimers, in part because they were so used to being able to ‘work’ their own chosen mouthpieces. Early on during his tenure in Berlin Chirol learned that the press bureau at the Wilhelmstrasse was ‘as scientifically equipped and as highly organised a machine as the German army [with the added] advantage of being able to operate in time of peace as well as in time of war, and in foreign countries as well as at home’.14 Not even the Kaiser was spared the attentions of this ‘machine’. One young man explained that it was his job to prepare the cuttings from the press which were sent daily to the Emperor. Looking at an assortment dealing with a particular question, Chirol observed that an important article that he had just read was missing. At that the young man ‘replied rather sententiously: “My dear Sir, you do not seem to understand that such matters have to be laid before Majestät according to plan, and the article you mention might disturb the impression to be produced on the All Highest mind.”’15 These were words that Chirol never forgot. Germany had a great many newspapers. While the great majority of them were of purely local interest, there were more that had national importance than was true in the smaller and more centralised Britain. These particular journals were an important source of information, and knowing which papers were linked to what faction, party or department made it possible for Chirol to gauge reasonably well how to react to attacks in them, as well as to the official disclaimers which frequently followed. He did his best to convey to his readers, and his chiefs at Printing House Square, the fact that the German press was not ‘a faithful echo … of any spontaneous expression of German public opinion but of the opinion which the rulers wanted to create …’.16 The Wilhelmstrasse’s paper of choice was the Kölnische Zeitung, the head of its bureau in Berlin, Dr Fischer, a special friend of Holstein. Once Chirol realised the way the two 55

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men worked together, that paper in particular served him as a barometer of official opinion on foreign policy issues. Chirol’s brief was to cover Germany but to do so with a certain circumspection. Bell’s advice was to be judicious in his treatment of German politics and, above all, ‘careful to avoid giving offence, so far as possible, in any criticisms you may have to pass on that problematical person the King-Emperor’.17 He heard much the same from Wallace. Thus forewarned Chirol set to work, observing, questioning, analysing and then reporting on the Emperor, the government, the German people, the way the country was politically organised and how that organisation worked or did not work, foreign, economic and social policies, colonial aims and ventures, trade statistics. Notably critical or sensitive information he sent privately, something Wallace particularly appreciated, as knowing how things were done ‘behind the scenes’ helped the paper avoid ‘pitfalls’.18 During his first year or two Chirol was the model Times ‘our own correspondent’, judicious, clear, objective, informative. When it came to subjects such as political infighting or the sometimes remarkable actions of the King-Emperor, he did his level best to stick to those same standards. But the longer he was there and the more – thanks in part to his friendship with Holstein – he was able to see, the harder that became. Holstein had turned against Bismarck not only because of his tendency to prefer a Russian orientation in foreign policy, but also because he feared that the Chancellor was bent on undermining the constitution that he himself had designed, limited as it was, and swamping the ‘the concepts of Emperor, Empire and Service’ with his own increasingly retrograde ideas.19 If he should succeed, any new attempt to lay the groundwork for some form of responsible government under the umbrella of a ‘monarchical-constitutional’ principle would fail. Given Holstein’s then understanding of modern politics, only some sort modest ‘liberalising’ could ensure the survival of a united and powerful Germany. His fears abated, but did not vanish, when the Bismarcks left office. The fact that the angry old man had retired to his country estate did not mean that he was done with politics. To the contrary, he attacked the new government both openly and covertly and never lost a chance, as the Empress Frederick, William’s mother, said, of ‘having a hit at Caprivi’.20 To counteract the former Chancellor’s malign influence, Holstein was intent on eliciting a more mature and responsible performance from the Kaiser. Not only would this increase the confidence of his new government, it would improve his reputation with his subjects. Only from a position of popularity and strength within both government and 56

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country, Holstein reasoned, could William withstand demands or entreaties to have Bismarck back again. Believing that exposure of the old man’s failings could only help, Holstein set about to undermine the myth of the ‘heroic creator of the Reich’ so firmly entrenched in the minds of the German people. To help with that campaign he enlisted the pen of his new English friend. Chirol was of two minds when it came to Bismarck. He could not but admire his unparalleled grasp of the realities of politics and the reckless courage and concentrated energy with which he pursued his aims. He also saw that his political creation was plagued by confusion and dislocation, where incompatible ideas and volatile emotions boiled away under an all too visible, tight-till-it-pinched, Prussian-Hohenzollern military tunic. Violent rhetoric and rigid control made for political extremism and meant that parties and factions clung tenaciously, defensively, to conflicting programmes. Soon enough Chirol became convinced that the political ideology of the German establishment was moving steadily to the right. As very large numbers of ordinary workers moved toward socialism, and social and economic elites drifted toward the further extremes of conservatism, the moderate middle was shrinking. But this apparent polarisation did nothing, on the other hand, to put an end to the disruptive welter of factions and special interests. Among the conservative groups there was infighting and manoeuvering for dominance and the Social Democrats squabbled among themselves as well. Small wonder that the memory of the Iron Chancellor’s controlling energy seemed appealing to so many Germans. At the end of June 1892, Herbert Bismarck was to be married in Vienna and his father planned a long, roundabout journey through Germany to be there for the ceremony. Holstein feared that the proposed trip – which would include stops in both Munich and Dresden and a visit with Franz Joseph in Vienna – was in fact a well-thought-out plan to stage such immense popular demonstrations that William would have no choice but to reinstate him. Holstein was right to anticipate pro-Bismarck demonstrations. He was also right in thinking that the new Times correspondent might now prove a useful ally in his campaign against either a reconciliation or reinstatement. As the elderly Bismarck made his showy ‘progress’ through Germany, the Berlin column carped at the manipulative behaviour of the old minister, noting by way of contrast how much effort the present government was putting into trying to break the Bismarckian mould by 57

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showing a ‘scrupulous regard for its own dignity … [as well as great] confidence in the sober patriotism of the German people’.21 For decades, Chirol reported, the German people left their conscience ‘practically stored away in Prince Bismarck’s lumber-room’; now change was in the air. ‘Released from the old Chancellor’s iron grasp, the nation began once more to feel, to think for itself … [and] the political life of the nation has been quickened to a wholesome and fruitful activity.’22 Wallace fussed a bit over Chirol’s anti-Bismarck slant. The Germans, he reminded the correspondent, could be touchy about the tone of the British press. He would agree with Chirol that Bismarck had been behaving foolishly of late, but felt that nevertheless one could not fail to honour the man for the remarkable things he had accomplished. When Buckle himself was said to have pointed out that ‘some people’ could not understand why the Berlin correspondent was being so ‘vigorously antiBismarck’, it was not lost on Chirol that ‘some people’ did not mean the ‘man in the street’ but just those men whose opinions counted for something and that he wanted to reach.23 Holstein himself, as worked up as he was about the possibility of a Bismarck–William reconciliation, also realised that the Kaiser’s own inconsistent meddling was hardly less threatening to the country’s political stability and diplomatic flexibility. As early as 1891 he was complaining that the Kaiser treated political matters as if they were Court arrangements…everything is decreed without his bothering to think very much about foreign affairs. The public is beginning to discover that His Majesty is his own foreign minister and they are considerably alarmed … I myself believe that if Caprivi – and Marschall of course – do not act energetically we will experience all kinds of remarkable things.24

Having long since put the security of the Reich far above the ebb and flow of party or political advantage, even above the divinely chosen Emperor of the Germans,25 Holstein set out to save both Reich and the ruler. If what was William’s to govern was to survive him as its head of state, either he himself or his ministers must somehow fool the German people into thinking that he had a steadfast character and a thorough grasp of the political nature and activities of his realm. He must be accessible to and popular with his subjects, as his beloved grandfather had been. And he must be persuaded to depend upon the wisdom and training of his ministers and upper-level bureaucrats. It was uphill work. William was a stiff figure, marvellously costumed but remote from his subjects and haughty in his bearing. He was also 58

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impulsive, restless, quickly bored, easily impressed and swayed by sometimes unsuitable companions, dictatorial with ministers who knew more than he, and while not unintelligent, was almost entirely ignorant of the most fundamental political realities of his empire. As his own mother said to her mother, Queen Victoria, ‘William is not at all popular. Every question has been taken up and then dropped again and a great deal of irritation caused and nothing of consequence done …’26 Chirol had kept an eye on the young ruler since his ascension to the throne in 1888.27 While posted to Berlin what was an interest became a growing concern. The tales told, often enough by those close to him, of William’s behaviour were sometimes shocking. Before long the Kaiser’s temperamental inconsistency was added to the correspondent’s list of concerns about the pervasive confusion, cross-purposes, and ceaseless infighting that there seemed to be at the top of the German state.28 The man was certainly very visible, a ‘fine presence…riding out in his splendid white uniform with the white plumes in his helmet flowing to the wind, looking for all the world like Lohengrin’.29 But the country he ruled was too powerful – and too constitutionally unstable – to have a romantic hero as head of state, and Chirol soon developed a ‘profound distrust’ of William. Although he tried to keep his tone down in his dispatches, Chirol’s private letters were increasingly, and outspokenly, full of what he felt was a most legitimate concern as to where the Kaiser’s personality and his politics might take his country. At the start of each new year The Times’ Foreign Office, like its counterpart in Whitehall, asked each of its representatives abroad to send in a summary of the past year’s most important events and developments in his host country. The Berlin report in January 1894 laid particular stress on the violent political infighting so evident the previous year. The primary blame, said Chirol, belonged to the Bismarckian Conservatives and the Agrarians, who spared little or no effort to poison the country, and the Emperor, against Caprivi. Worse, he warned, might follow as they were most unlikely to call a halt now.30 As things did not worsen immediately, Chirol rather surprisingly looked to the Emperor as the one person who might save the Chancellor. If he would stand by him, he wrote privately to Wallace, ‘the other side will promptly come to heel’.31 At precisely the same time that he was giving voice, publicly and privately, to his concern about the level of political confusion and generalised nastiness in Berlin, a sensational scandal rocked the imperial court itself. The resulting display of intemperance and malevolence on the part of the Emperor stunned even a rather 59

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hardened Chirol. It was this ‘episode’ that led him to sound, if only in private letters to Wallace, the ‘first note of warning as to the Emperor’s extraordinary irresponsibility which, should it ever manifest itself in great international issues, as it had in matters concerning his own household, might be a formidable menace to the peace of the world’.32 Chirol knew that Wallace had the ear of the then Foreign Secretary, Lord Rosebery. On taking office in 1892 the new minister circulated a special memo through the Foreign Office and ambassadorial staffs. In it he pointed out that the usual official reports were too often ‘stilted and sterile, and even when successful … often of evanescent interest except to the specialist’. What he would like as well was information ‘neither strictly diplomatic nor political [but which dealt with] the inner life of the court and the city … There is scarcely any gossip so trivial, which has any bearing on the life of a nation of importance, that the Foreign Secretary should not have the opportunity of knowing it.’33 What Rosebery learned from Chirol, via Wallace, was that obscene photographs had been mailed to a number of very prominent people in Berlin. The pictures were doctored in such a way that made it seem as if someone in the recipient’s family had posed for them. The Emperor, a man who insisted on extremes of social decorum in public life, was beside himself with fury. Determined at all costs to find the culprit, his suspicion fell on, or was directed to, one of his own favourite chamberlains, Leberecht von Kotze. Although William knew von Kotze intimately and, up until then, trusted him completely, he instantly believed him guilty and clapped him into jail without so much as a hearing. After a few weeks he was just as summarily released and proclaimed innocent, the Kaiser having now decided that his own brother-in-law, Ernst-Günther von Schleswig-Holstein, was responsible for the squalid pictures. Chirol initially marked this incident down as a particularly nasty court scandal. But soon he learned that it had political overtones as well. It seemed that Ernst-Günther had been targeted for revenge thanks to having given a ‘good dressing down’ to reactionary elements in a meeting of the Congress of Nobility. The business with the photographs gave them an opportunity to settle the score by suggesting that he, not von Kotze, was responsible. Without the least murmur William released von Kotze and condemned his own brother-in-law, again without bothering to hear a word in his defence. Chirol found this almost unbelievable. ‘The whole atmosphere of the Berlin Court,’ he wrote to Wallace, ‘must be singularly putrid, and given the personal influence of the Emperor in the State, it must react upon political affairs.’34 60

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Chirol soon had further reason to worry that the Kaiser’s strange instability endangered more than just the peace – and the liberty – of his friends and family. Anyone who picked up a newspaper in Germany that autumn could see that the attacks on Caprivi were not only more virulent but now coming from all sides. But, just when things looked bleakest, Caprivi went on the offensive, with seeming success. Chirol was at first cautiously optimistic, then, as some days passed without further attacks, modestly confident that the crisis was practically over. All the same he admitted that it was hard to predict what the future might bring. People’s opinions differed and he could not gather enough data to form a good one of his own. That said, he told Wallace on 24 October that things in Berlin would no doubt ‘rub on more or less smoothly for the rest of the year’.35 He could not have been more wrong. Two days later, on 26 October, a very surprised Chirol reported from Berlin that Caprivi was gone, his summary dismissal as much a surprise to the Chancellor as to The Times’ correspondent. On a Thursday Caprivi told several official friends that the Emperor had ‘overwhelmed him with graciousness’ and signs of support. The following day he went back to the same friends to say that he had been dismissed only moments before and anything but graciously. Chirol heard slightly different accounts as to the words actually used, but all confirmed that the ‘imperial Temper’ had been very lost. Once again he wondered about the man’s mental equilibrium. He had kept trying, he told Wallace, ‘to believe that, however irresponsible his utterances sometimes seem, his abnormal idiosyncrasies did not prevail in the graver issues of responsible policy. I am afraid that theory has received a fatal blow …’36 In the paper Chirol did his best to be neutral but could not but point out that ‘the uncertainty and anxiety from which the public mind in Germany has suffered so severely in recent years will hardly be allayed by such a startling manifestation of instability in the supreme conduct of the State’.37 As for himself, he was eager to leave on a postponed trip to Egypt, glad, he wrote to Wallace, to get away and cool down. ‘I can honestly say with Caprivi: Die Luft und die Umgebung sind mir zu schwer geworden (his emphasis).’38 His trip to Egypt, unexpectedly extended to include a visit to the Far East as well, gave him a year to ‘cool down’. Back in Berlin after his lengthy absence, Chirol was once more transfixed by the bizarre behaviour of the ‘All Highest’. The man seemed not to know his own mind. He would and he wouldn’t – whether it be crushing the Socialists … or throwing himself into the arms of Russia. I hear from different quarters

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that he is getting every day more eccentric [and] that he has begun to see ‘visions’ … When a man of his temperament begins to see visions, one cannot tell where it will end.39

He wondered, only half tongue-in-cheek, if such visionary experiences might account for a recently published heliogravure, highly publicised as the work of William himself. Entitled ‘Peoples of the Europe, keep guard over your most sacred treasures’, the picture showed the German Archangel Michael confronting an army made up of the powers of destruction and negation in the form of the Yellow Hordes with none other than the Buddha at its head. According to Chirol in The Times, only a verbatim translation can do justice … to the semi-official art critic [who had written that] the whole composition impresses deeply upon the spectator the duty of every thinking man to oppose with unwavering energy the calamities which threaten religion, civilization, morality and prosperity. Thus alone can peace be preserved at home and abroad.40

It was a pity, he continued, that this critic did not say why the Emperor chose the Buddha, ‘one of the loftiest ethical teachers who has ever given the world a Royal message of peace’, to lead the forces of destruction. Even more of a pity, he wrote privately to Wallace, that the Kaiser could not limit his eccentricities to the realm of art. The German Foreign Secretary, banking on the fact that Chirol’s recent travels had refreshed his awareness of the ‘grave questions confronting [England] all over the world’, pointed out to him that a new, and more conservative, government in Berlin might not be in London’s best interest. And such a change could well happen, given the current political frenzy, but might not if certain steps were taken in London. For the past five years he and some others in the government had ‘struggled constantly against the tide in unswerving determination to cling to the possibility of a friendly understanding with England’. London must not ‘render our task absolutely hopeless … [by playing] fast and loose with those [in Berlin] who would still fain be your friends’.41 This stern but friendly warning Chirol shared with Lascelles, then preparing to become Her Majesty’s Ambassador in Berlin. He should not be put off on his arrival, said Chirol, by the mood of ‘crossgrained irritation’ all about. Nor was the irritability confined to the Wilhelmstrasse; angry words there reflected, if imperfectly, the irritation ‘which prevails in still higher quarters’.42 As he told Wallace some weeks later, the Emperor is falling more and more under the influence of those classes who entertain towards England the most blind and unreasoning

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hatred, and though their influence is so far most conspicuous in internal affairs, it can hardly fail to affect foreign affairs also in some measure. Every inch of ground gained by … Bismarck’s parties is so much lost for the prospects of a cordial understanding between England and Germany, for it is yielded to them by the Emperor and not by them to the Emperor. That is why in my opinion the internal situation deserves attention even from the point of view of international politics.43

Although frequently critical of individual politicians, Chirol was generally satisfied with the way that Britain was governed. There were failings and limitations to be sure, but to his mind a limited democracy under Crown and Parliament was far superior to either the chaos of mass democracy or the retrogressive restrictions of Hohenzollern autocracy. If there was a touch of complacency in this assessment, it was balanced by a keen awareness of the myriad and complex problems facing Britain in her efforts to maintain and protect her enormous empire. With more than enough problems to go around, he saw no need to add to their number by getting into any more difficulties than already existed with Continental neighbours. Britain wanted friends across the Channel, not more enemies. As Germany posed little or no threat to Britain’s various imperial ‘parts’, he saw no particular reason why the two countries could not have, at the very least, a cooperative relationship. At the same time there were signs, which he did not ignore, that a more aggressive German Weltpolitik might be in the offing. Chauvinistic groups such as the Pan-German League were initially more interesting to him than alarming. Even in 1894, when there was a strong disagreement between the two countries over British policy in Africa, Chirol remained confident, and worked to convince his friends and his readers that the German government was genuinely interested in having cordial relations. All the same there were certain organisations in the country that did not, and it was important for people in Britain to know just how much ‘prejudice and malevolent misrepresentation the present rulers of Germany have to reckon with in the pursuit of a policy intended to promote the good understanding which the many common interests of the two countries appear so clearly to indicate’.44 This attitude was naturally much appreciated by Holstein. Chirol understood why; he also knew that it would ensure the former’s continued confidence in him personally. Holstein made no secret of his fear that Russia, now implacably hostile to the German Reich, would, sooner or later, make an effort to dismantle it. For him one of the most dangerous aspects of the new Dual Alliance, besides the fact that it virtually bracketed 63

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Germany herself, was its concentrated ability to exert pressure on her partners in the Triple Alliance. The situation in the Mediterranean basin, where the Italians were vulnerable to French pressure and the Austrians to Russian pressure, haunted him. His worst nightmare was that either one or both might be pulled – due to fear, need, general weakness – out of the Triple Alliance and into the arms of those foes, leaving Germany to face, alone, a bitter, revanchist France and a Russia intent on possession of the Straits just as Germany’s own interest in Turkey was becoming evident to all. The Triple Alliance must remain viable and Great Britain, with Mediterranean concerns of her own, Egypt and the route to India, should want the same thing. The fact that Holstein was essentially ‘Euro-centred’45 and Chirol ‘empire-centred’ initially meant that they were not directly competitive and could support each other against shared foes. As long as domestic pressures on either or both did not undermine their delicate foreign policy equilibrium, all could go well. But, once either of them thought that the other had decided to further his own country’s aims by playing the other off against a third party, suspicion could, and would, overwhelm what confidence they had. Holstein had as many reservations when it came to English politics as Chirol had misgivings about political life in Germany. The two men were very new friends in the summer of 1892, and it says something for the swiftness with which they recognised their mutual interests that Chirol took pains to reassure Holstein on the subject of English party politics. Britain faced a general election that summer and there was no reason to be certain that Salisbury and his Conservative Cabinet would prevail. Any withdrawal from the latter’s European commitments, tenuous as they were, would be most unwelcome in Berlin, where the men of the ‘New Course’ feared a return of Gladstone and the inward-looking ‘little Englander’ Liberals. The Liberals did return but Chirol did his best to allay Holstein’s fears. Britain, he maintained, was most unlikely to retreat into the ‘narrowminded, insular’ radicalism that had characterised Gladstonian policy in previous administrations. From all that he heard Gladstone’s ‘personal influence’ was on the wane, Joseph Chamberlain’s on the rise. If that were true, one might look forward to ‘a young Radical party under Chamberlain’s leadership … as thoroughly conscious of the world wide range of our interests and duties, as the Conservative party …’.46 In spite of Chirol’s assurances Holstein remained wary and watchful, and as the months passed began to think that it was time to change tactics 64

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vis-à-vis London. In the summer of 1893 an incident in far-off Siam, which had nothing in particular to do with Germany, sharpened his resolve to do so. The competition between France and Britain in IndoChina had intensified to the point where actual fighting appeared a possibility. As tensions inexorably rose, the Germans learned that Lord Rosebery, now British Foreign Secretary, was discreetly asking in Rome what sort of aid Italy might offer if it came to blows.47 When the crisis passed off as suddenly as it had arisen, Rosebery apparently dropped these soundings just as quickly. But Holstein, ever suspicious, clung to his feeling that the Foreign Secretary had been less interested in getting help than in using Italy as a ‘lightning rod’ to draw the French fire, and, by extension, using Germany, Italy’s ally, to keep France in check.48 Chirol made his suspicions worse by writing from London that, as internal questions completely overshadowed foreign concerns, the ‘general opinion on both sides of the House is that Siam is not worth fighting for …’.49 What Holstein took away from all this was that a vulnerable Britain was more in need of Germany than Germany was in need of her.50 It was an interpretation that would have far-reaching consequences. Chirol did not get around to telling Wallace of Holstein’s suspicions for several months. When he did, Wallace in turn told Rosebery. He was, said Wallace, ‘visibly intrigué, not to say mystified, and…thoroughly combated the idea that the German government could possibly have any cause of complaint against him …’. Wallace had pressed the Foreign Secretary to look into the matter so as to clear up the misunderstanding. If that should happen ‘a considerable share of the merit belongs to you, for without your hint I am sure Rosebery would have gone on in blissful “unsuspectingness”, and the Cabinet of Berlin could hardly have made representations through the existing official channels’.51 From their early meetings on, Holstein supplied information, at times straight, at others reworked, that Chirol used in the paper or put into letters to well-placed friends. Within a few weeks of Chirol’s warnings to Wallace about the Siamese business, Holstein tried, through him, to have the English show some naval ‘muscle’ in the Mediterranean to offset the impression that a combined French and Russian fleet might leave on worried minds at Rome. Soon Holstein was writing to a friend that in England [t]here is more and more agitation for the assertion of the English naval preponderance … The matter was then nourished from here. We have a very outstanding Times Correspondent here who apparently has great influence on Wallace, the well-known chief editor [sic], because The Times takes off

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furiously for fleet building and I recognize many of the arguments which you have read in decrees sent to London. It remains to be seen on which ground the seed falls.52

From his end Wallace assured Chirol that as long as he continued to pass on privately what was being felt, and said, in the inner circles of the German Foreign Office he would see to it that Rosebery got the picture. Unfortunately for Lord Rosebery, what he would hear would not be especially palatable. Anglo-German relations had not turned bad overnight, but misunderstandings were not as easily explained away as previously and the language at the German Foreign Office, as heard through Chirol, was prone to expressing dissatisfaction with British policy in increasingly pointed fashion. At his end Chirol remained convinced, even when he saw evidence of increased irritation on Holstein’s part, that his German friend was still, at bottom, angling for a British connection. To a certain degree Chirol was right, but it took some time for him to appreciate the fact that both the bait and the fishing techniques were changing. By 1893 German policy-makers had begun to adopt a more aloof, ‘wait and see’ attitude. Soon enough aloofness seemed an insufficient response to what they felt was London’s arrogance, double-dealing and general selfishness. By way of response, Holstein, along with Marschall and Hatzfeldt, the German ambassador in London, decided to administer small, but cunningly placed diplomatic jabs in order to help Whitehall reassess British vulnerability, not to mention taking a more accommodating posture vis-à-vis legitimate German needs and rights.53 With Caprivi’s abrupt departure fresh in their minds, Chirol’s friends at the Wilhelmstrasse knew that it was dangerous to turn a deaf ear to chauvinists apparently willing to run things in Germany in tandem with the Emperor, but also for him, should he resist their aims in any meaningful way. By playing along with these forces, Holstein and the others realised that Anglo-German relations might well suffer. That could not be helped; the growing political pressure within the Reich must be dealt with first. German trade was already mounting stiff competition to Britain, now the desire for colonies of her own added competition for territory as well. ‘Sore spots’ began to pop up around the globe.54 One of the sorest appeared in central Africa in mid-1894. On 12 May London signed an agreement with the King of Belgium. Ten days later the rest of the world learned what was in it. Known as the Anglo-Congolese Agreement, it was designed in large part to cripple 66

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French competition in Africa by preventing French troops from moving toward the headwaters of the Nile. It also included an article allowing for King Leopold, as personal owner of a large part of the Congo, to lease to the British a small strip of his land. As insignificant as it looked on a map, this strip would in fact serve to connect British territories in southern and northern Africa by both a railroad and a telegraph line. The resulting improvement in Cape to Cairo communication would obviously greatly strengthen Britain’s already predominant position in the continent. Unfortunately, the strip also bordered some of what little territory in the area that Germany controlled, a detail either overlooked or ignored by the signatories. Whitehall fully expected this document to bring angry complaints from Paris, and so it did. What they did not expect was the roar from Berlin. The Germans were incensed with the way the agreement had been kept secret until sprung on the world as a fait accompli, but even more so with the creation of what was called the Congo Corridor. It seemed to them that their own legitimate sensitivities as to the leasing of land contingent to their possessions had been shrugged off as nothing. Chirol, in Egypt when the storm broke, hurried back to Berlin and was soon taking up the Germans’ cause. It would be unwise, he said in The Times, for people in England not to realise the depth of German feeling. He took pains to point out how understandable it was for the Germans to prefer having her East African colony border on territory that was the personal property of the King of a small, neutral power rather than on land belonging to the foremost colonial power in the world and Germany’s chief commercial rival to boot. In addition this new arrangement went against the spirit, if not the letter, of Britain’s 1890 Agreement with Germany. That particular document had been specifically designed, he reminded his readers, ‘to pave the way for more friendly relations between the two countries by removing the various causes of friction that had from time to time arisen …’.55 It now looked in Berlin as if the English cared not a fig for those relations and were prepared to conclude conflicting arrangements, in secret, without any regard to Germany whatsoever. Chirol met with Marschall, Holstein and Paul Kayser, the head of the German Colonial Department, and was told in no uncertain terms that the uproar was ‘not one of the usual cases of Germany “getting up on her hind legs” in a fit of temporary irritation, but a much more serious matter’. The Emperor, feeling that the British government had been trying to squeeze him, intended to teach them a lesson. 67

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[I]f England and the Congo State insist upon upholding their agreement, Germany has her remedy against the latter in denouncing her neutrality, while against the former she has plenty of weapons in her diplomatic arsenal. She has hitherto declined to play into France’s hands by helping her to transform the Egyptian question into a Pan-African question, but if she is driven to it, she will have to reconsider her position.56

As Chirol was sincerely interested in having positive relations with Berlin, and also in helping his friends at the Auswärtiges Amt, he stressed German moderation and prudence in his dispatches. Unlike the French, he pointed out, the German government was not trying to widen the scope of the protest. Even the excitable Emperor stood firm against an effort on the part of the colonial party to do so, ‘insisting that as he did not want to create any bad blood between England and Germany, he wished to have a question which was purely one of the maintenance of Germany’s treaty rights kept entirely distinct from others which involved the pursuit of actual material advantages for Germany’.57 Something, and there are indications that Chirol’s measured insistence played a part, induced London to act; by 21 June the offensive article was no more. Tension eased at once. Chirol earned praise from both Wallace and Buckle for his ‘admirable’ work; he praised them in return. ‘The line taken by The Times,’ he wrote privately, ‘has been much appreciated by the German Government as well as by [our own ambassador]; both Baron Marschall and the latter expressed to me their conviction that it had materially helped to influence H.M.G. whilst its friendly tone towards Germany had produced an excellent effect upon public opinion over here.’58 Chirol’s reputation at the Auswärtiges Amt positively soared. To Holstein he was not just a very ‘useful’ Englishman, but ‘entirely reliable’. At the end of 1894, having been delayed by the confusion over Caprivi’s dismissal, Chirol was on his way to Cairo, where he planned to spend the winter writing a series of special articles on local conditions. He was glad to get away from the distasteful politics of the German capital, but was also well aware that his friends at the Wilhelmstrasse were again far from happy with London. Holstein, angry and dispirited, gave him chapter and verse on the sins of British foreign policy before he left. A few days later Chirol sent off to Wallace a summary of Holstein’s doleful account of a deteriorating relationship. The sad fact, according to the latter, was that British policy, ‘subject to the vicissitudes of parliamentary government’, meant that countries like his own could have no firm guarantees as to what she would or would not do. At the same time London did not hesitate to ask for definite assurances in hypothetical 68

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crises. It made for suspicion and irritation, for example, when Lord Kimberley, now Foreign Secretary in Rosebery’s Cabinet, tried to pin Germany down as to her intentions with regard to the opening of the Straits while simultaneously suggesting that there was nothing in the Mediterranean for which Great Britain would fight. As dyspeptic as Holstein was over the tenor of British foreign policy he still had great faith in the ‘totally reliable’ Chirol. Knowing that the latter was due in Constantinople on his way to Cairo, he wrote to Prince Radolin, the German ambassador to the Porte, to say that if ‘the English Government were even approximately as clever and as sensible as he, then England would have a different position in Europe from the one she has now’. Radolin, he went on, would surely find a conversation with Chirol of more use than one with Sir Philip Currie, the English ambassador. Not only was the former better disposed toward Berlin, he was at least as influential. And should the ambassador be inclined to give a dinner, the more elegant the better, Chirol should be included. ‘He fits in everywhere, and he is, as I said a reliable Englishman; but of course always an Englishman.’59 Radolin said nothing about elegant dinners in his return letter to Holstein, but reported in detail on his conversation with Chirol. It seemed that the two of them had met many years earlier in Cairo and so were able to talk like ‘old friends’. The ambassador found Chirol fully aware of the mistakes of his countrymen. How Britain and Germany, he told Radolin, two countries who should be able to live peacefully with one another, found opportunities to growl instead was a mystery to him. He had also suggested that British interest in Turkey was indeed on the wane, and in addition hinted that London might be prepared to see Russia in Turkish Armenia if she, in turn, would restrain her French allies and guarantee the British position in Egypt. The French might then be compensated elsewhere. He did not specify where, but Radolin came away thinking the occupation of Syria was one possibility.60 An alarmed Holstein wrote at once to Hatzfeldt in London, including in his letter that particular portion of Radolin’s letter to him. He was not, so he said, particularly worried by the idea that Russia would accept Armenia so that England could have Egypt and France Syria. What concerned him, greatly, was that Chirol’s remarks indicated that the British were willing to allow the break-up of their old client, the Ottoman Empire. Although he had not entirely given up the idea of arranging an Anglo-German accommodation, or even alliance, and had clearly not given up on Chirol, Holstein was now increasingly convinced that 69

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Britain’s aim was to keep Germany bottled up in Europe as she went about expanding and consolidating an already gargantuan empire. As a corollary to this unhappy impression, Holstein imagined British statesmen working to disarm France and Russia, their rivals in the imperial sweepstakes, by getting them involved in an unavoidable conflict of interests with the Central Powers over the Sultan’s disintegrating domains. In spite of his suspicions Holstein remained determined to enlist Chirol in his own struggle to get British support for the hapless Italians, then hopelessly bogged down in their attempt to establish a colony in Abyssinia. More soldiers were needed, and Holstein hit on the idea of using Egyptian troops. As these were now under British command, his next thought was of Chirol, soon to be mixing with all the right people in Cairo. He had the new Chancellor, Prince Hohenlohe, wire the German ambassador in Rome, Count von Bülow, to say that he might inform Baron Blanc, the Italian Foreign Minister, that Chirol, a former diplomat and a most influential person…, spoke on leaving [Berlin] of his firm intention to further English-Italian intimacy … His influence in London is strong enough … in concrete cases, to neutralize that of Lord Cromer [the English Pro-Consul in Egypt]. This can be important … since Lord Cromer is primarily interested in financial matters and hostile on principle to any military activity. The Italian Representative in Egypt [would be] well advised to establish a connection … with Mr Chirol, on whose tact and discretion one can count.61

Baron Blanc duly contacted his man at Cairo, and Signor Pansa wasted no time, except Chirol’s, in talking to the useful Englishman. ‘Pansa came in …,’ the latter wrote to Bell on 14 January, ‘and bemoaned during two mortal hours the inactivity of England in the Sudan, and so it is post-time, or at least dinner-time, and I must break off abruptly.’62 News of this interview found its way to the Wilhelmstrasse as well as to Printing House Square, and soon Bülow had another letter, this time from Marschall. ‘As regards British action against the Dervishes, I again mention Mr Chirol, who spoke, at least whilst he was here, strongly in favour of an active Sudan policy in combination with Italy. But he should not be alarmed with too much insistence.’63 Over the next few months Chirol concentrated on Egyptian problems and policy. Aside from the one complaint about Signor Pansa, he mentioned the possibility of working with Italy in the Sudan only once and said nothing whatsoever about the Germans. As February gave way to March, with most of his work done, he suggested that it might suit the 70

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paper’s interest to send him on a special mission to the Far East. China and Japan had been at war since the previous August, and, from what he was hearing at Cairo, Japan was on the verge of winning. Should China implode as a result, not only would it be ‘the greatest event since the fall of the Roman Empire’, its demise would present Britain with a ‘most complex and interesting problem’. Why not send him, as his friend Nicholas O’Conor suggested, out to see for himself and, by the by, give the British public ‘a thrilling picture of the issues at stake’.64 Bell was tempted but, feeling pinched for funds, sent back a qualified no. Although prepared to accept that answer, Chirol made one last effort to persuade the manager and, much to his surprise, was successful. By 8 April he was off for Shanghai and a slew of new adventures.65 Six weeks later, on the evening of 23 May, Chirol rode into Peking. ‘What a place,’ he wrote to Bell, ‘and what a country!’ Nothing could have prepared him for ‘the abomination of desolation which lies behind the stately battlements of this foul city. Altogether China is a country to have seen once but never again.’ It was clear to him that the ancient empire was done for, its decay total and irreversible. Nothing, not even a humiliating defeat, could wake it to the truth of its condition.66 Chirol had long since realised that, whatever the outcome of the fighting, the reverberations would be felt worldwide. As it happened, the actual fighting was over before he left Egypt and the Treaty of Shimonoseki signed long before he arrived in China. Its terms gave the Japanese possession of the Liaotung Peninsula, a neck of land that pushed into the Yellow Sea, strategically close both to Peking and to Korea. Almost at once came a chorus of protests from Europe. For some time the Russians had been eyeing that same well-placed peninsula with its tempting warm water harbour at Port Arthur. Aware that Berlin, sour about a flip-flopping Whitehall, was angling for better relations, and knowing that the French would not want to be left out if any Far Eastern real estate deals were to be struck, St Petersburg organised a three-way intervention at Tokyo. The Japanese, yielding to the pressure and the promise of a larger indemnity, gave the peninsula back to China. Britain, invited to join in with her European neighbours, declined at the last moment. Chirol feared that by doing so London might have fallen between two stools,67 although he also wondered if he had any right to an opinion at all as his impressions were ‘chaotic and information fragmentary’.68 It is a testament to Chirol’s continued warm feelings for Holstein that he wrote as freely to Berlin as he did to London about conditions in China. He spoke frankly about Britain’s decision to abstain from 71

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forcing Japan to hand back the territory, even hinted that Germany might have been mistaken in not doing the same. ‘That we or any other Power, having no reason to promote the aims of Russian policy, can be really interested in driving Japan off the Asiatic mainland, I for my part fail to see.’ All the same he did not snipe in the paper at Berlin’s joining in as her decision didn’t seem to be based on hostility to London. Above all Chirol was interested in promoting Anglo-German cooperation in the Far East, as each might salvage something worthwhile from the coming collapse if they could work together. He wrote as he did to Holstein not only in acknowledgment of the confidence with which you have always honored me, but because I am convinced that in spite of keen commercial rivalry, nowhere keener than in the Far East, between England and Germany, the political and in the long run the commercial interests too of both countries are, if not identical, at least parallel here as elsewhere.69

After nearly a month in China, Chirol went on to Japan and was back in London by the middle of September. Wallace and Bell were out of town, but Buckle was keen to talk to him and to have him prepare a series of articles.70 His reception at the Foreign Office was less encouraging. Although he told O’Conor that he was more amused than vexed at the treatment, it irritated him to think of the latter, toiling out there all by yourself, neglecting no opportunity to acquire information … winnowing out the grain from the chaff … I could not help my gorge rising at the contrast. I … shall certainly not sacrifice to any personal pique the possibility of making some impression on the F.O. through other channels … Without any overweening conceit I think I am justified in believing that there must be something of usefulness and interest to be gleaned from one who has just returned from the scene of such fierce political conflict …71

Chirol’s return to Germany could not be put off indefinitely, much as he might have wished. Back in the agency at 66 Dorotheen Strasse on 7 November he was bemused to find that his fill-in was actually reluctant to leave Berlin as he apparently loved the place. There was precious little that Chirol had ever even liked about it and soon there was less. As the outdoor temperature dropped with the onset of winter, he noted a distinct coolness in his friends at the Foreign Office as well. Even though he thought Holstein more sorrowful than genuinely angry, there was no doubt that he was more ‘wrought up’ than ever over British policy in general and Lord Salisbury in particular.72 72

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In mid-October there had been a farewell dinner in Berlin for the departing British ambassador, Sir Edward Malet.73 At one point in the evening Malet gave both Hohenlohe and Marschall a few friendly words of warning about recent German actions in South Africa, stressing the fact that any provocation of their Dutch ‘cousins’ in the quasiindependent Boer republics would lead to hard feelings across the North Sea. That was Malet’s version, as told to Chirol. But Holstein and Marschall gave him a rather different one. According to them there was nothing either casual or friendly about the ambassador’s remarks. On the contrary he had ‘solemnly declared’ that German meddling in the Transvaal ‘constituted the blackest point on the horizon, as far as Anglo-German relations were concerned, and if persevered in, might – and no other question, in his opinion, could – lead to war between the two countries’.74 Chirol wrote at once to Lascelles, then preparing to take over from Malet, that he would like ‘to serve, in my own small way what I consider to be a grave public interest’ by setting the record straight and putting Anglo-German relations back on the right track. He had no doubt that the problem was serious; never had he seen misapprehensions and distrust so pervasive. At the same time he was at a loss to know which side to believe. It was hardly possible that German statesmen, whose personal veracity he had little cause to doubt, would have wilfully distorted Malet’s remarks. As for the ambassador, he was far too cautious to have been so remarkably casual about raising a delicate question. All that his friends at the Auswärtiges Amt would allow was that he might not have realised, as he was speaking ‘off the cuff’, the impact his words would have. But, try as they might, they could not but see, behind those words, an unfriendly and uncooperative British government. As November became December Chirol continued to remark on the behaviour of his German friends. After having their say about the Malet remarks, they had stopped lecturing him. Their silence seemed calculated and he decided that they might be ‘playing a double game which they are afraid of betraying …’.75 That game, as he saw it, had to do with mending the Russian fence while keeping Austria and Italy firmly on the German side of it. Marschall had hinted strongly in one of their first conversations that German encouragement of Russia in the Far East was designed to keep her attentions focused on the Far, not the Near, East. Austria must continue to rank as a first-class Power for the sake of the Triple Alliance, and it followed that Germany could not allow for any changes in the Balkans that would leave her ally’s interests out of account. The same 73

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thing applied, mutatis mutandis, to Italy. As all the partners in the Triple Alliance would be pleased to know if they could or could not count on English support, the more London prevaricated, the more anger and frustration in Berlin.76 As disappointed and disillusioned as Holstein was that winter, he still had not given up entirely on London. And having Chirol back in town once again gave him a sure-fire route to the ‘official mind’ across the Channel. But, caught between his fear of William’s inept meddling and his deep distrust of Salisbury, he vacillated between warmth and angry warning. As for Chirol, as much as he admired Holstein’s ability and understood his motive, he was no less sensitive than his German friend and disliked being bullied either personally or on behalf of his country. All the same he too continued to believe that some sort of an accommodation between Germany and Britain should not be impossible and was even desirable, and so continued in his role as go-between. On 20 December he sent a long memo to Lascelles in which he described a recent chat at the Auswärtiges Amt. Holstein had brought up some problems London was having with the United States and offered what he hoped might be some useful advice. This he wished Chirol to pass on to Whitehall since his own office could not do so except unofficially. The gist of the message was that London might be able to outmanoeuvre the troublesome Americans – who were making truculent ‘Monroe Doctrine’ noises about the border of British Guiana – by bribing President Crespo of Venezuela. That Crespo was available for purchase came from facts known at the Wilhelmstrasse ‘with which Lord Salisbury may not be acquainted’. Holstein had made it very clear that he was providing this information because he honestly believed that even if England and Germany have and will continue to have their little tiffs from time to time…I, for my part, am convinced that some day or other we are bound to find ourselves fighting shoulder to shoulder when the great struggle comes, and on that point you know I am at one with much more exalted personas than ‘Meine Wenigkeit’.77

Lascelles sent Chirol’s memo on to Lord Salisbury, saying that, while he himself had no idea whether Holstein’s tip was feasible or even desirable, he saw goodwill behind it and hoped that London might look on it in the same way. It was received at the Foreign Office on 27 December. On that same day Chirol wrote to Wallace of another recent, and quite different, conversation with his German friend. During this ‘chat’ Holstein 74

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‘poured out the vials of his wrath’ on Lord Salisbury. The British Prime Minister, he fumed, might look upon the Germans as knaves, but not as fools. It seemed that Salisbury had said something to the German ambassador about London having no objections to seeing Constantinople under the control of Germany. If he had indeed said such a thing it was clear, at least to Holstein, that he felt there was no scheme too mad for Germany to entertain. To prove his point he let Chirol see the letter from Hatzfeldt, which described the interview with the Prime Minister. Thoroughly worked up, Holstein swept aside Chirol’s suggestion that a scheme to allow a German protectorate at the Straits might well have been cooked up by France and Russia to put Germany in a position, not only to come to grief herself but to drag her allies along. Instead he continued to insist that it was Salisbury who ‘wilfully, wantonly, offensively’ misread Germany’s policy vis-à-vis Constantinople, a policy that was instead not only clear, but straightforward, pacific and innocent.78 In The Times Chirol spoke bluntly of the new mood in Berlin. ‘Explain it as one may,’ he wrote, ‘or even if it seems altogether inexplicable, the existence in Germany of a widespread animosity towards England cannot be denied.’ Relations had soured during the recent Liberal interlude; what was telling was that the return of the Conservatives did not ease the strain. When in more responsible circles one hears, more and more frequently, the egotism of British statesmanship denounced, even by those who set the greatest value on the maintenance of friendly relations with England, one cannot look forward without apprehension to the consequences which might ensue should any severe strain be placed upon the goodwill which undoubtedly still exists in the most influential quarters here.79

Within 24 hours that severe strain materialised. Weeks earlier Wallace had asked Chirol to find out from his friends what the Germans were up to in southern Africa. Nothing, was the answer, they were unusually ‘tight lipped’. By year’s end their lips were moving again, but saying nothing positive. The situation in the Transvaal and the Orange Free State now seemed to exercise them, he pointed out in the paper, ‘as keenly as if those Republics were the direct offshoots of the German Fatherland, and the dangers which are supposed to threaten them … form a frequent and congenial theme of discussion in a spirit of anything but friendliness towards England …’.80 Chirol knew that Holstein et al. were upset by the prospect that Britain, frustrated by Boer intransigence over the question of extending civil rights to foreign settlers, many of whom were English, might decide to absorb the Boer states into their South 75

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African colony. He also knew that their suspicions were not totally misplaced. On the same day that the above appeared in The Times Chirol, who clearly knew more than he let on in public, wrote to Bell that his friends ‘evidentially smell a rat … and once or twice lately they have tried to pump me, but of course I only knew what had been published in The Times … I expect there will be an awful shindy here, and torrents of abuse, but nothing more, except perhaps a demand for compensation…’81 In Berlin that same day Marschall made some private notes for his own guidance. He had read The Times to say that there was but one solution to the Boer problem, annexation, which, in turn, meant the end of independence for the republics. ‘I consider it therefore my duty to explain very firmly … that the imperial Government is not in a position to accept such a solution and that we must insist much more on the maintenance of the status quo which was established by the Treaty of 1884.’82 Marschall duly spoke to Lascelles in this vein, and Chirol wrote a rather less sanguine letter to Bell. I am afraid that we are going to have serious trouble over this business. Representations, so far in a friendly form, have already been made to L[ascelles] but from what I have myself heard, I fancy they will soon be renewed in a different tone if the ball is really opened. There is a lot of bad feeling about. Could not something be done in the way of proposing some compensation elsewhere, and proposing it at once?83

The letter was too late, the ‘ball’ had been opened that very morning by a Dr Leander Starr Jameson galloping into the Transvaal at the head of 700 armed men. Acting for Cecil Rhodes and his Chartered Company of South Africa, Jameson hoped his dashing incursion would spark the longhoped-for, and secretly prepared, rising among the discontented foreign settlers. Their revolt would then serve as the pretext for doing what the Germans feared, absorbing the Boer states into the Cape Colony.84 When the news of Jameson’s sortie reached Europe the storm clouds that had been gathering over Anglo-German relations broke. Poor Chirol, lectured to angrily by Marschall and Holstein, was himself doubtful as to the wisdom, let alone the legality, of the Rhodes–Jameson action. The whole episode was ‘an unfortunate fiasco’, its timing abysmal. Not only had the incursion unleashed all the anger that had been accumulating over the past few years in Germany, it had also openly violated the terms of the 1884 convention with the Dutch republics. Thus Jameson himself had broken the law and by doing so had put Britain in the wrong. There would be, Chirol feared, the devil to pay! 76

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In the opening weeks of 1896, as both Germany and Britain dealt with the widening crisis, Chirol was forced to rethink the aims and priorities of his particular friends at the Wilhelmstrasse. Up until then he had distinguished between an official, and operative, point of view as to foreign and colonial policy – one originating among responsible members of the government and in the Foreign Office – and the views expressed by various domestic factions operating against the government or by reactionaries within the governing strata themselves. While realising the danger posed by these elements, Chirol firmly believed that the men who had the most influence over the direction of foreign policy were, at bottom, interested in having friendly relations with Britain and ultimately capable of carrying out policies that would ensure the same. But as events in South Africa unfolded, the actions of these men, men he liked and trusted, began not to fit with the words they used. Diplomatic exchanges between Berlin and London had been increasingly open to misinterpretation for months, if not years. But when armed action replaced verbal sparring the resulting queries and explanations shooting back and forth across the North Sea escalated the potential for misreading. Violent press polemics in both countries added further complications. More than ever Chirol found himself straddling a line that divided the official diplomacy of Whitehall and Wilhelmstrasse, which, in spite of the uproar, remained, in essence, ‘correct’, and the new chauvinistic diplomacy of the press, which definitely did not. Thanks to Chirol’s access to the inner sanctum at the Wilhelmstrasse, the British Foreign Office stayed abreast of the not always easily visible attitudes of their counterparts in Berlin. Some of the latter’s most telling comments, whether told to Chirol privately or entrusted to certain ‘kept’ papers, did not always share the ‘correct’ quality found in more formal diplomatic exchanges. As he had told Bell, Chirol was far from approving of Jameson’s methods. At the same time he found it impossible to condone foreign interference in matters that he felt were the prerogative of the British government. As the days passed, what he heard in Berlin suggested to him that sooner rather than later there would be some sort of active, and officially supported, German interference, perhaps not limited to the business in the Boer republics. At first he kept his tone in The Times neutral, even tried, as he had during the trouble over the Congo, to see the raid from the perspective of his German friends. His dispatch dated 1 January noted that, while the crisis was clearly endangering Anglo-German relations, the 77

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government in Berlin was making an effort to keep things under control. As a result the situation was serious but not critical; unfortunately, he felt he could not go so far as to predict what would happen when the New Year’s holiday was over. In his private correspondence Chirol made it clear that he felt the Germans had absolutely no right whatsoever to meddle in South African affairs, Boer cousins or no Boer cousins. The relationship between the republics and Great Britain had been fixed by the London Convention of 1884, and the present difficulty should be a matter between its signatories only. He had said as much at the Wilhelmstrasse, he told Bell, but in the paper had been doing his best to put the German view before the English public sans comment or even making clear ‘the difficult position in which German statesmen have been placed by the exigencies of internal politics’.85 By 2 January Jameson was a prisoner of the Boers, and the British government had given Berlin solid proof that they had tried to stop him in the first place. Having failed to do so, they had then sent the Commissioner of the Cape Colony to deal directly with President Krüger.86 Jameson was officially denounced, threatened with legal action, and Cecil Rhodes forced to resign as governor of the Cape Colony. Earlier that same day, before the news of Jameson’s surrender reached Berlin, Marschall met with Chirol and assured him that, ‘so long as H.M.G. disavowed the action of the Chartered Company’, his own government would never give the government of the Transvaal anything but ‘counsels of moderation’.87 On the following day the Kaiser sent a brief telegram to President Krüger, congratulating him and his people for having ‘without appealing for the help of friendly Powers … succeeded by your own energetic action against armed bands which invaded your country as disturbers of the peace, and have thus been enabled to restore peace and safeguard the independence of the country against attacks from the outside’.88 When the Foreign Office in London first learned of the message, they assumed that it was another of the Kaiser’s impulsive gestures and did not react particularly strongly. Chirol, however, thanks to Holstein and Marschall, knew something of its subtext. On the morning of the 3rd Holstein summoned him to the Foreign Office, greeted him rather stiffly and immediately passed him over to the Foreign Secretary. Marschall was affable; he was also very frank. Laying ‘great stress upon the gravity of the action taken’, he told Chirol that the Emperor’s decision to send the message had been taken with the ‘full concurrence of the Chancellor’ and himself as well. All, he went on, had agreed that the time had come 78

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to give England plain warning that [Germany] was deeply interested in South African affairs, and in the maintenance of the Dutch Republics, and therefore intended to make her voice heard and listened to. The Imperial telegram was no mere impulsive expression of sympathy with a kindred people, but … eine Staatsaktion … Though … anxious as ever to preserve the friendliest relations possible between Germany and England, [they] felt that … it was most important that the British public should not be left under any misapprehension as to the meaning of what had happened and the unfortunate consequences that the tendency of British statesmen to ignore German interests would involve.89

Chirol was shocked, having, along with Whitehall, underrated the import of the message to Krüger. He wired to Wallace that the bottom had now been knocked out of his initial interpretation. Chirol next wrote to Bell that the Wilhelmstrasse was not buying Whitehall’s denial of complicity in the raid. Instead they believed that officials in London were playing at ‘heads I win, tails I don’t care’. The following day Lascelles told Salisbury that Chirol, ‘who is extraordinarily well informed, tells me that the feeling here is so strong against us that three days ago he thought it might possibly lead to war’. After his own talk with Marschall the ambassador learned that while there was no question of war, ‘the Germans would pay us out by making themselves as disagreeable as possible in every part of the world, and the Emperor was reported to have said that at all events there was one part of Africa over which England could not claim suzerainty and that was Egypt’.90 In the 4 January edition of The Times the Berlin column announced, in boldface, The Transvaal Crisis/Serious Action of the German Emperor. In it Chirol saw to it that the British public understood just what the telegram really meant. ‘It must not’, he wrote, ‘be taken as merely the expression of the Emperor’s personal feeling [but as] a State document of the highest importance, the more so as it contains an unqualified recognition of the independence of the South African Republics.’ Chirol did Marschall’s bidding to that extent, but not happily. He was particularly bothered by the way the Wilhelmstrasse continued to talk about German friendship with Britain while one of its ‘kept’ papers, the Norddeutsch Allgemeine Zeitung, was speaking in anything but friendly tones. As he told Wallace privately, there was little to choose between the semi-official papers and those more ‘rabidly Anglophobe’ and he had come to prefer the latter because they were more straightforward in their display of dislike. By this time Chirol was struggling to write with 79

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the ‘cool judgment’ that Wallace favoured. The one good thing about the telegram, to his mind, was that it made the actions of the officials in Berlin more illegal than the unofficial actions of Jameson and Rhodes. The sending of the telegram seemed to indicate that Berlin was considering involvement in South Africa, something they had no right whatsoever to do. The message to Krüger, he pointed out to Wallace, was not prompted by a ‘desire to facilitate that peaceful and satisfactory solution of the Transvaal difficulty’, which Marschall had been preaching. He urged the foreign editor to see that more was at stake than he might think. Whitehall had given clear evidence that they had no intention of tampering with the status quo in the republics, and though the German Government has hitherto professed to have no other object in view than the maintenance of that status quo and to be prepared even to recommend concessions on the part of the Boers with a view to its maintenance, its action and the manner of its action are too clearly directed to quite another purpose, viz. the substitution of German ascendance over the Transvaal to ours and that, I think, we have the right and the duty to resist.91

The idea of a German substitution positively galvanised Chirol. As his doubts and fears multiplied, he struggled all the harder to keep a neutral tone in his dispatches. While knowing that both London and Berlin wanted to avoid press polemics that might well spoil their game, it troubled him to look as though he were underplaying things. ‘Your leader yesterday,’ he wrote to Wallace, ‘[made it seem] as if I tried to make out that there was nothing but an academic question at issue between the two governments. That was not quite my intention, though I have certainly done my best to pour oil on the troubled waters and have perhaps erred in that direction.’92 On 5 January the German press mentioned for the first time that troops might have to be sent to South Africa. Chirol did not react strongly, partly because he equated such talk with the German penchant for bluster and bluff, and partly because he was told by Marschall that, although the sending of troops had indeed been contemplated, Jameson’s utter failure made such a step unnecessary. In the paper Chirol wrote that, as the German government was being hounded by its increasingly heated domestic critics, the announcement of a military demonstration gave officials some relief. Puffing up the story not only demonstrated the present government’s willingness to face down London but that the ‘Olympian’ spirit of Bismarckian statesmanship was still alive and well in Germany. 80

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At this point some of the clearer heads in official Berlin realised that they might have gone too far. Threats and bluster in the press, in combination with stiff protests in the official sphere, were not producing the desired humbling effect across the Channel. Instead there was violent and widespread resentment and Hatzfeldt warned that feeling in London was running high. Before the Kaiser’s telegram there had been strong criticism of Jameson, now Lord Salisbury would not find it easy to settle things in South Africa if it looked in any way as if he was truckling to the Germans.93 By the end of the first week of January Chirol noted that the German press was toning down its rhetoric. At the same time he had some new information that convinced him that the threat to English predominance in South Africa had not disappeared with Jameson’s defeat. According to an unnamed, but fairly reliable, source, Germany had been negotiating for some time with Portugal for permission to land troops on Portuguese territory in South Africa should either German possessions and settlers, or the overall status quo, be menaced by the British. While admitting that he did not have this knowledge on ‘indisputable authority … when I look back upon sundry remarks made to me and other hints and indications in the light of this information, I cannot help believing it to be substantially true’.94 From this point on Chirol was determined to see to it that his readers – and his diplomatic friends – understood that, behind the correct ‘official’ exterior, specific plans were afoot to remove, or at least nullify, the British position in South Africa. Nor was this German policy ‘shaped on the spur of the moment, but … prepared de longue main … [and] the determination to land troops in Delagoa Bay and march them into the Transvaal actually existed and was within an ace of being carried out’. What seemed odd, at first, was that, when the semi-official press had trumpeted this plan a few days previously, no mention was made of having gotten permission from Portugal, whose possessions in East Africa included Delagoa Bay and the port of Lourenço Marques. ‘I imagined that as the necessity for taking such action had passed away [as Marschall had told him], the F.O. had conveniently ignored this point instead of acknowledging that Germany had herself intended a breach of neutral territory.’95 These suspicions were for Wallace’s ‘private ear’, but Chirol did not hold his tongue in The Times. In a column entitled ‘Grave Attitude of Germany’, he warned that recent back-pedalling in the German press did not herald a genuine ‘lull in the storm’. To the contrary, ‘competent 81

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authorities’ in Berlin viewed things much more seriously. The plan to land German marines in South Africa was a very real one and ‘the gravity of such a measure should not be underrated simply because circumstances interfered with its execution …’. Lest any reader miss his dispatch, a leader informed the unaware that it was now ‘perfectly clear’ that Germany had not acted out of ‘sudden indignation’. Our Berlin Correspondent today reiterates with even more emphasis than before his warning that the landing of German Marines at Lorenzo Marques for an invasion of the Transvaal was a deliberately matured intention … [But] Lorenzo Marques does not belong to Germany [and therefore] … the landing of German Marines with the intention of marching across Portuguese territory to the Transvaal was either the subject of a friendly agreement with Portugal, or it was a contemplated act of filibustering …96

From this point on Chirol’s German friends began to complain, with some justification, of his attitude. Lascelles wrote to Salisbury that there was definitely a feeling in official Berlin that they may have gone too far, ‘that the Emperor’s telegram was unnecessary and perhaps impolitic’, and that Marschall himself had gone around to the principal papers in Berlin to calm things down. That, however, would be hard for them to do as they would surely want to respond to attacks delivered in The Times.97 When Chirol confronted Holstein and Marschall directly, the former labelled his suspicions ‘nonsense’; Marschall called them ‘completely unfounded’. While it was true that there had been a brief discussion about sending troops as a sort of policing action, there had been no proper negotiations with Lisbon before news of the raid reached Berlin. After it did the Wilhelmstrasse telegraphed Lisbon, but before the Portuguese had time to answer Jameson was a prisoner and there was no need for troops. All the same, Chirol’s suspicions lingered. ‘It is certainly to be regretted,’ he wrote in The Times on 9 January, ‘that the semi-official statements originally communicated … conveyed such a misleading impression when compared with this much more modest version …’ What was one to have thought, when a paper such as the Kölnische Zeitung described the proposed landing as resembling ‘lightning flashes from beneath the bushy eyebrows of the first German Chancellor’.98 These suspicions became all but certainties when Wallace, having done a bit of private sleuthing at Lisbon, wired that he had been told that Lisbon had indeed answered – and in the negative – Berlin’s initial request.99 If such were true, Chirol wrote back, then it meant that Marschall had lied to him and, worse yet, to Lascelles.100 In private he attributed 82

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the ‘lie’ to their wanting to wriggle out of a tight spot. In the paper he was not so charitable. ‘That this awkward question was first raised in the Times,’ he told his readers, ‘perhaps accounts for the extraordinary virulence of the attacks directed against it in the German Press.’ He was half, but only half, amused to see how the Germans in charge had softened their official tune while simultaneously orchestrating a stream of ‘hysterical abuse of the English press and especially of the Times and of [himself] in their own papers’. His sins were many. He was ‘arrogant, insolent, full of fatuous conceit, bent upon stimulating by his perfidious reports the hatred of his fellow countrymen for Germany, etc …’. The Emperor announced that he was ‘disappointed and indignant that the English press should have been so deplorably misinformed and misinforming, [but] the disgraceful attacks of the Times, which he had hitherto understood to be conducted by men of repute and responsibility, could not affect his sincere and steadfast friendship for England’. Holstein and Marschall had remained quite friendly, if scolding, until his dispatch detailing the Lisbon dealings. Now their relations were quite strained. He himself found that his confidence in those particular friends, especially Holstein, was ‘severely shaken’.101 Being called names did not bother him, or so he claimed. But being taken advantage of by men he liked and trusted was another matter. As he thought back on the intensity and solemnity of their warnings, on their avowed concern for England and fear for her exposed position vis-à-vis a hostile, and possibly united, Europe, he realised to his chagrin that he had been used as ‘a tool in the policy of intimidation which they were pursuing … knowing, and indeed requesting, that I would convey these warnings on to other quarters’. With neither right nor might on their side Holstein and Marschall could not pressure Salisbury or his Cabinet through the customary channels. Instead they took advantage of his connections and his sensitivities to do so through him. In one meeting Holstein asked him how he came up with ‘a theory ascribing such unfriendly designs … upon so slender a basis as the mere despatch of a few German marines to the Transvaal … a mere measure of police’. How could he not, Chirol replied, when for months he had been hearing that this or that incident of England’s foreign policy, the language held on this or that occasion by Lord Salisbury, the attitude adopted in such and such a matter towards Germany’s allies was exhausting Germany’s patience and driving her to reconsider her position towards England, that sooner or later, perhaps sooner rather than later, an opportunity would certainly arise to bring England to her bearings.102

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At that Holstein remarked, rather querulously, that recent events seemed to have upset Chirol’s ‘usual amiability of temper’. If it had, said Chirol, it was because he resented being used to pass on misleading threats, and, as the two parted, Chirol delivered a warning of his own. If the Germans were sincere about wanting to smooth things down on both sides of the North Sea, they should take special care to see that Krüger got not just good, but the right, advice. He had noticed that papers with close ties to the Wilhelmstrasse were still suggesting that the Transvaal government might use the negotiations now under way in South Africa to rid themselves of any remaining ties to London. It might not be the right moment for the two of them to have a discussion of the question of British suzerainty in the Transvaal, but Holstein must understand that at the very least Britain ‘must enjoy a privileged and dominant position in a country which was almost an enclave in [our colonial] territory …’. To take the sting out of this somewhat bald assertion he added that as far as he was concerned it was the Boers who were chiefly to blame for the current mess. Holstein agreed, according to Chirol, even laughed, and so they parted ‘good friends, though at times it was getting rather “warm”’.103 While Chirol and Holstein sparred, Marschall was busy assuring Lascelles of Germany’s unswerving friendliness. Chirol was unimpressed. ‘All this sudden purring and drawing in of the claws [is] just a trifle overdone,’ he wrote to Wallace. It would behove official London – and The Times – to be more cautious and vigilant, not less. ‘Let us make it as easy as possible for Germany to climb down,’ was his suggestion, ‘but don’t let us forget that she has had to climb down and that it is not in her nature to forgive that kind of thing.’104 Unfortunately Chirol did not heed his own advice. As the ‘British lion [is] not … quite the toothless and nerveless old thing [they] imagined’, he told Bell, the Wilhelmstrasse might be reminded ‘that our friendship may be all the more worth regaining because we are not to be bullied into subserviency’. The more he heard of ‘official assurances of absolute friendliness in diplomatic conversation [while reading] in their government organs that England has knuckled down under Germany’s pressure’, the less inclined he was to tone down his own dispatches.105 What Chirol wanted to see was a friendly statement in the Foreign Office’s kept papers. When nothing was forthcoming he became all the more convinced that the Wilhelmstrasse’s thoroughgoing hostility was being expressed in a cowardly fashion through the press. Chirol was enraged by this duplicity and showed it.106 His columns, Marschall complained to Lascelles, were making a difficult time that much worse. 84

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When Lascelles said as much to Chirol he merely shrugged and said that the Germans may not like what he had to say but ‘have only themselves to thank for it’.107 By this time Holstein too was in a rage, so incensed over Chirol’s refusal to gloss over the Delagoa Bay landing attempt that ‘he closed the Foreign Office doors for some weeks against me’. The weeks were actually years. In 1898 Holstein told Hatzfeldt that he had not seen Chirol since 1896, after he wrote a number of columns in which he said that one no longer knew at that point whom to believe [in Germany]. Last year he was here and apparently said that he had believed that we enjoyed something rather more than a purely business relationship, but now saw that he had been mistaken … This year, when he was once again announced, I really was away. Otherwise I certainly would have seen him; for apart from [his] outstanding importance, I care for him personally and see no necessity, just because of one quarrel, to look on him for life en chien de faience.108

On 1 February Chirol wrote to Printing House Square to say that he was being ‘boycotted’ by the Wilhelmstrasse. Being cold-shouldered should not have surprised him. But it did, and, rather worse, it badly hurt his pride. Since it was impossible to speak to Holstein or Marschall, Chirol decided to write. He drafted a long memo, which he intended to give to Lascelles to pass on to Marschall. In it he said that neither the Foreign Secretary nor Holstein had any reason to be surprised at what they read in The Times as everything was based on information and opinion that had come from them. If it was true that all their threats had ‘not indeed been borne out by the event’, it was also the case that the conciliatory assurances that were now all the vogue in Berlin could not ‘remove the impression which [their language] left on my mind as to the hostile and minatory spirit in which Germany’s interference in the Transvaal question was originally conceived’.109 At this point Wallace, who had read the draft, vetoed the idea of sending it anywhere, including to Lascelles. Feelings were sore enough, he told the frustrated Chirol. In mid-March, not only shut out of the Foreign Office but continuously disparaged by its kept press, Chirol learned that Marschall had been talking about him to various diplomats in rather offensive terms. Once again he picked up his pen, this time to draft a long private letter to Holstein. Remembering the fate of the Marschall memo, he sent the letter first to Wallace as, ‘in matters which are to a certain extent personal, I like to have the benefit of other people’s judgment’. His purpose in writing to Holstein, he explained, was to make plain his reasons for being so openly critical in The Times. Whether or not his explanation would help 85

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soothe things, and he sincerely hoped that it would, his present position was ‘so unpleasant that it seems to be much better to have it out one way or another’.110 Just two weeks earlier he had written to Wallace to say that he was sorry if any of his dispatches showed his bitterness, but it was difficult for him not to feel some, given that he had too many opportunities of observing the singular bad faith and brutality with which the polemics of the German press are carried on to mind experiencing them now in my own person … I enclose an article in the Hamburger Korrespondenz which I have good reason to believe was written in the Press Bureau of the Foreign Office, and in fact I recognize in the epithet ‘the Don Basilio of the Press’ one of the favourite expressions of my friend Holstein, which I certainly did not however imagine he would confer upon one who has enjoyed so much of his confidence and never abused it.111

In his letter to Holstein Chirol tried to cover up his hurt feelings by saying, rather stiffly, that he wished to place on record his regret ‘that you should have found no more courteous mode of correcting the impression which your own language seemed designedly calculated to leave on my mind than that of closing your doors against me’. But, as he always had to work to control his feelings, he could not resist taking a parting shot at his one-time friend. He wondered – knowing full well what the effect of his words would be – if Holstein would have any objections to this particular letter being published. He realised that it contained some matters of a confidential nature, but given that ‘your confidence appears to have been withdrawn from me, I am entitled on the other hand to consider myself freed from the restraints which it would otherwise have imposed upon me’. Holstein never answered this query as he never received the letter. Wallace’s reaction was prompt and strong. Nothing, he wrote, should ever permit a ‘feeling of personal irritation, however justifiable, to influence your actions… Foreign statesmen should feel that in conversing confidentially with a Times Correspondent there is not the slightest danger of anything connected with their relations ever being made public, even if their friendly relations should subsequently become hostile.’112 Thus the letter was filed away in Wallace’s papers and Chirol left to come to terms with the end of the special relationships he had so enjoyed at the Wilhelmstrasse. Within the next weeks and months north Africa replaced South Africa as a focus of diplomatic activity. French pressure in Egypt left London 86

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little alternative to repairing fences with Berlin, and as winter turned toward spring official relations were once again both cordial and generally cooperative. In the paper Chirol loyally supported the change in tone, but it did nothing to repair his personal fences. Frustrated, he asked Wallace, then planning a trip to St Petersburg, to stop over in Berlin and talk with Marschall as, if we are to gravitate once more in the orbit of the Triple Alliance, it would be well [for the paper] to reestablish some modus vivendi with the German Govt. You could easily offer me up on the alter of reconciliation, as in the present state of affairs any special usefulness that my services in Berlin may have had, has ceased.113

Wallace agreed to talk to Marschall but not to sacrifice Chirol. He would say to the Foreign Secretary what he had said to Hatzfeldt in London, which was that his attitude in the aftermath of the Krüger Telegram was the only one possible given the circumstances. When their game of bluff failed, it was up to the Wilhelmstrasse to cover their chagrin in some better way than by attacking Chirol.114 When Wallace met with Marschall Chirol’s name did not come up until the foreign editor was on the point of leaving and said something to the effect that he hoped that the Germans might soon have friendly relations not just with Whitehall but also with Printing House Square. With that Marschall began to talk about Chirol. He praised his capacities highly and said that it was only recently that their relations had soured, the reason being that, as both he and Holstein had shown him great confidence, they quite naturally expected confidence in return, but had been disappointed. As he said this the two men were standing by the door of his office. Then and there the Foreign Secretary, shaking his visitor’s hand, ‘politely bowed me out in a way which almost precluded any further discussion of the delicate topic of his relations with Chirol’.115 Although Marschall had stopped before anything particularly unpleasant was said, Wallace now saw that it was time for Chirol to leave Berlin. Thus, almost four years to the day after he had moved into the sunny little flat on Unter den Linden, Chirol found himself back in England. Many travels lay ahead, including visits to the detestable Berlin, but from now on London would see more of him than it had since his days at the Foreign Office. Chirol’s confidence in German aims – and in the tactics she was willing to use to reach them – was seriously weakened by his experiences in Berlin. And Holstein, whose friendship had meant so much to him, made at 87

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least one serious error in regard to his useful friend. He allowed him, even encouraged him, to understand exactly how the Press Bureau at the Wilhelmstrasse functioned. In the tense days in 1896, when Chirol feared that the German government was about to send armed troops to interfere in what he felt were legitimate British, and only British, concerns, it was the discrepancy between official, diplomatic pronouncements and bombastic posturing in the controlled press that hardened his suspicions into all but certainties. It was a lesson in double-speak that he would never forget.

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Betwixt and Between

Chirol had got his wish, he was out of Berlin. But what to do next? His friend Nicholas O’Conor had no doubts. His heart was set on having him back, to ornament our service … [When] staying with Ld Rosebery I spoke of you – & your handling of present affairs. H.L. said you were the best man on the T. & after reflecting said ‘He was in the F.O. wasn’t he – Yes I said & if he were offered Sec. of Embassy or Legation now it wd be about the place he wd be entitled to by seniority’…I sent Ld S. very confidentially the enclosure in your last letter – I felt sure you wd not object & I have to take what means I can to make your name familiar to him …1

Chirol was not just touched by O’Conor’s effort but interested, albeit cautiously, in his project. Although he feared that his friend was ‘the most incorrigible of dreamers’ he was not inclined to say: ‘“Don’t make the attempt”, for of course if your hopes could be realised in a satisfactory shape, I should be glad & proud to do my best to justify your support.’ All the same he set certain conditions on his willingness to rejoin the ‘Service’ and would not want O’Conor to push so hard as to hurt his own position by ‘running counter to official prejudices or jealousies’.2 Failure to be taken back into the diplomatic establishment would not be a disaster, no matter that it may pinch his pride, as he had the option of staying on with the paper. When he joined its staff he was told that he might fairly assume to be in line for Wallace’s job. Now, as a way of seeing how well he took to the demands of a settled routine and the 89

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pressure of deadlines and late hours, he was to take over for the foreign editor during the latter’s extended visit to Russia. Nevertheless O’Conor kept on with his scheme. Lascelles also seemed taken with the idea of having him back in the Foreign Office. But, when he suggested taking the job of commercial attaché in Berlin until a more suitable position turned up somewhere else, Chirol was not the least tempted. Such a post, he said quite frankly, was ‘not nearly good enough’ for him to dismiss either his present, or future, position at The Times on the ‘off chance’ that he would find himself transferred, sooner rather than later, into the diplomatic corps. Bell had told him, very plainly, that he might take it for absolutely certain that whenever Wallace retired I should immediately succeed him, but more than this it was already settled that at no very distant date I should be associated with him in the Superintendence of the Foreign Dept. Moreover I should not lose sight of more remote but still by no means improbable contingencies in which I might fairly aspire to the Editorship of the paper. Pending the realisation of these prospects I have a good salary, interesting work & a great deal of independence. Therefore actually my present position is in every substantial respect better than that of C.A. & prospectively, there are not many posts in the Service except quite at the top of the tree which would be preferable to what I can look forward to with certainty in connection with the ‘Times’.3

His optimism was soon hard-pressed. After less than a month in the foreign editor’s chair he was complaining of feeling like a ‘boiled owl’, his unique way of say he felt overworked. The long night hours meant he wasn’t sleeping properly and, as a result, had spells of something like nervous prostration. His eyes bothered him constantly. If the international scene was not particularly critical just then, it was certainly complicated and hardly static. From the start he felt that the line the paper was taking on the continuing crisis in the Transvaal was a tactical mistake in so far as it continued to support Rhodes.4 He was also concerned about British involvement in Italy’s misguided adventure in the Sudan and apprehensive about German machinations at Constantinople and Peking, as well as in Africa. By early July he was full of doubts. At a particularly low moment he wrote to Bell that he was quite aware that the work I have done here during Wallace’s absence has been no more satisfactory to the Editor (though he has not breathed a word of complaint) than it has been to myself, & I am not at all confident that I should ever be able physically to undertake it as a permanency, or even if I were that I should be as entirely suited for it as you kindly suppose.5

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Chirol was his own worst critic. No one was complaining, and Bell soon found a way to give him some longed-for independence and a break from night work. By August he was off again to the East, to Korea, Japan, the Yangtze, Hong Kong and Canton, with stops at Bangkok and RangoonMandalay on the way home. His mission was to ‘fill up a few of the lacunae of my last year’s trip & organise … a decent news service for the “Times” upon which we can start a regular periodical “Far East” article, one similar to “the Colonies” & “India”…’.6 There could be little doubt that he would also take a good long look around for his Foreign Office friends. Both the Foreign Office and Printing House Square appeared to be finally waking up to the realisation that something might actually have to be done about the situation in China. Wallace had heard while in Russia that ‘events are about to move very rapidly in those regions’, and while he had no concrete details was very pessimistic, which, as Chirol duly noted, was meaningful because so unusual.7 The fact was that the increasingly evident dissolution of the Celestial Kingdom was plainly whetting imperial appetites. Russia and Japan were bickering over Manchuria and Korea, the French active in the south, the Germans nosing around in Peking and looking for a good port ripe for the picking, even the Americans were showing a decided interest. The question for London was where to concentrate British interests. One possibility was to establish a position on the Yangtze at Nanking. That suited Chirol as he was then, and always, keen to have British predominance in the whole of the great river valley. O’Conor, now in St Petersburg, was sad to think that he would not be Chirol’s host on this visit, but looked forward to hearing what he would have to say about Russian actions in Korea. He would also be glad to open doors by writing to the new British minister, Sir Claude MacDonald, suggesting that it would be a good idea to arrange for Chirol to have an interview at the Tsungli Yamen, the Chinese Foreign Office. He would also provide him with an introduction to Edward Hillier, who, as British Agent in Peking for the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation, was a very useful person to know.8 Chirol left London at the end of July, but as the trip was plagued from the outset by ‘a most provoking run of hitches & delays & disappointments’9 he did not reach Peking until the autumn. There the usual competitors were busily at work. He was told by Edmund von Heyking, a friend from earlier days in Cairo, that Germany’s claim on the ‘gratitude’ of China for her share in the retrocession of the Liaotang peninsula had not yet been settled, & that

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Germany was determined not to let it ‘lapse by prescription’ … From other remarks I inferred that Germany would rather have a ‘tete de pont’ on the mainland [than an island] whence she could ultimately spread herself out.10

What Germany wanted was one thing, what she was likely to get out of the Chinese was another. Chirol doubted that Russia and France, having squeezed ample rewards for themselves out of Peking, were anxious to help their occasional German partners do the same. Should Berlin baulk, it might mean an opportunity for the British. He could well imagine the Germans turning to London and, if a friendly deal could be arranged, it might make matters between the two countries ‘a little smoother’.11 Chirol preferred that the British position in China be kept going the same way that it had been created, by individual enterprise. But that enterprise could use encouragement; Whitehall should give clear proof that the British government had a ‘comprehensive, and well-considered policy which they are prepared to carry through with unflinching determination’.12 A year and more had passed since he wrote those words and precious little had been done. If anything the British position was actually weaker and London’s tactics all wrong. Chirol’s letters bristle with words such as backbone, grit, determination, firm intention; words of action, even of outright force. The Russians posed as friends and protectors of China, turned a blind eye to the need for reforms and allowed people to do as they pleased, no matter how destructive the results. The British, to the contrary, worried, lectured and threatened, ‘but as we do not go beyond words, we make ourselves not feared but merely disliked. But even now if we only pulled ourselves together I am sure we might carry everything before us.’13 While firing off his critical jabs about British policy, more accurately lack of policy, to Lascelles and O’Conor, Chirol was busy setting up the paper’s new ‘Far Eastern Service’. He travelled long distances, signing up a Captain Brinkley in Japan and J.O.P. Bland in Shanghai, looking about for a good man for Hong Kong, and looking everywhere for the young man who had been hired the previous autumn for the all-important post at Peking. George Morrison, an Australian, a doctor by training, a man of action and adventure by temperament, was new to journalism. Sent by Bell to Bangkok for a trial run, he was notified – by wire and well in advance – that he was to meet up with Chirol at Ichang (China) at the beginning of November. If that was not feasible, he should wire back other suggestions. No contrary suggestions came back, but neither did Morrison show up 92

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in Ichang. Only toward the end of December did Chirol, then at Shanghai, get Morrison’s address, via Bell from London. Not long before he had wired London in some desperation as to where the missing man might be. [I]f you call me a dislocated abstraction, what please do you call him. It is rather a nuisance as I had quite counted upon getting him up to Peking this winter so that he might have a little time to feel his way before starting in with his share of ‘The Far East’.14

The two finally met in Bangkok at the beginning of February. From there Morrison went on to Peking, Chirol back to London. By the time he got there he had been away for nearly seven months and even he seemed to be tired of being on the road. ‘Dear me,’ he wrote to Bell at the end of December, how glad I shall be to drop into No. 98 again for a quiet evening’s crack. If I were not after all afraid that some day or other you would take me at my word, I should say that I feel as if when I once got home I should never want to go further afield again than say Cairo! I have certainly had a pleasant & interesting time … but I have felt, not once but often, quite homesick – rather a new sensation.15

As if to test these new and unusual feelings he stayed put in Britain, except for two brief trips to Germany, for the rest of 1897. All the same he kept a close watch on China. Although cautiously optimistic himself as to British prospects, he still preferred to tell Morrison that ‘over here we are only too prone to optimism & supineness, & the only way to react against that tendency is to be chary of painting things couleur de rose’.16 London’s attention at that moment was focused not on the Far East but on renewed violence in the Near East – business as usual in that part of the world. The Greeks and the Turks on the island of Crete were at each other’s throats, the renewal of a partisan struggle begun a year earlier and never resolved. Fighting there blossomed quickly into a full-fledged war between Greece and Turkey in the Balkans. Fearing an even wider conflict, the Concert of Powers in south-eastern Europe17 was wheeled, rather creakily, into action. When Wallace went out to the eastern Mediterranean to see things for himself, Chirol again took charge of the foreign room. Things went well this time. The independence and responsibility he enjoyed during his months in the Far East had restored his shaky confidence. His mood was pugnacious. In China he complained that a firm and forceful Far Eastern policy was missing; back in London he found fault with the government’s actions – and the paper’s as well – in Europe. He was against having 93

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England take part in any cooperative action on the part of the Concert of Powers and worried about keeping the paper ‘straight’ on that issue. He himself had long since given up on the nearly moribund Concert, and did not believe it capable of doing much more than acting in Russia’s interests. What he had seen in the Far East had made him highly suspicious of Russian designs there and he now connected Far with Near. Insofar as Russia’s policy in the Near East is directed at staving off of a general conflagration, I am convinced that it is largely inspired by considerations connected with the Far East. Russia wants time to mature her schemes in the Far East, & she is aware that, if her hands were full in the Near East, she would most probably have the Japs fastening onto her heels in the Far East.18

In spite of his distrust of St Petersburg, Chirol was willing to cooperate with her if that would put some backbone into English policy. ‘I should much like to know, for my own guidance,’ he wrote to O’Conor, what views you have formed as to the possibility of a rapprochement between England & Russia. I am not in the least opposed to it if it be practicable, but I am opposed to a policy of mere drift & continual subservience for which we get neither a quid pro quo nor even thanks.19

The important thing was not to go to the other Powers with mere suggestions or with hat in hand. ‘Lord S. seems to be full of excellent ideas & intentions,’ he complained to Cecil Spring-Rice,20 ‘but Petersburg raises some show of objection, affects to apprehend friction at Berlin or Vienna, & he at once withdraws into his shell. He is, I am told, worried & depressed.’21 Behind Chirol’s constant carping was his own fear that Britain, without a clear policy and the determination to back it up, would indeed lose her political and economic ascendency, whether in China, the Ottoman Empire, or Africa. He was the first to admit that Britain’s burdens were heavy. But to his mind they were in proportion to the positive good that she could do, and she must not shirk them or allow them to be usurped by others less worthy or able to bear them. Above all, her intention to carry on must be made clear to competitors. Barely a month after getting back to London and into the routine at Printing House Square, trying all the while to sort out the murderous doings in Crete and the Balkans, he was stunned to learn of Lady Lascelles’ death. He had, in his customary way, kept his obviously profound attachment to her to himself; his sorrow he could not. He wrote in great pain to Springy – who a few years later would marry the Lascelles’ daughter Florence – that the loss could never be made good. 94

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‘Kind and purehearted’, Mary Lascelles had been a true friend to him, ‘a thing so rare and precious that it can never be replaced. I alone know, and knowing can never forget, how much her gentle influence has done for me in bygone years.’22 Many years later, after Springy’s own death, Chirol wrote to Florence about her mother. Trying to console her, and himself, in the bleak hours of mourning, he spoke movingly of the power that makes certain people live on after death, as her mother had done for him. Next to my own dear mother, there are two people who had a very great & good influence upon me just at a period of my life when I was so to say at the parting of the ways. One was Lawrence Oliphant & the other was your mother … I was already then on the upward grade, but by taking me by the hand as she knew how to with her wonderful intuition of the good and evil there was in me, she it was who finally uplifted me, for I made up my mind to show myself worthy of her confidence & friendship & I think I may honestly say that I have kept the vow I then made to myself. And you, my dear, are the daughter of the best & kindest woman friend I have ever had.23

The world, of course, took no notice of private sorrows. As Chirol grieved, the muddle in the eastern Mediterranean grew more menacing. Having had his eye on the actions of the Germans at Constantinople for years, Chirol put the fighting between the Greeks and Turks down to the machinations of the Kaiser and his military advisors. The Greeks may have displayed criminal folly, but their (possibly rather shabby) calculation that they could rely upon the Sultan’s well known reluctance to take decisive action, in order to gratify the vanity of the nation by playing with impunity at the operations of war on the frontier, would have turned out correct but for the tremendous pressure brought to bear by Germany upon A[bdul] H[amid] through the German & Turkish military channels at Const’ple. At any rate Germany must share with Greece the responsibility for the war. Unfortunately it is perhaps not expedient to say all this publicly.24

Whether or not he made those views public, they were well understood at the Wilhelmstrasse and made his former friends angrier with him than ever. The end of the fighting brought Wallace back to Printing House Square and sent Chirol back to ‘special’ tasks.25 His mood was surprisingly positive. Having no precise idea when Wallace might turn over the foreign room for good meant also that there was time for travel and for extraneous 95

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writing assignments. He toyed with the idea of touring America or, alternatively, going out to India in order to study the growth of native disaffection. Both were very tempting and offered very wide and interesting fields for a series of special articles; unfortunately they also presented rather appalling difficulties. One way or another a decision would be made and he was ready, so he told O’Conor, to do his best, whatever it happened to be.26 As it turned out no decision was come to and neither project, nor Chirol, went anywhere. By September Wallace was once again away. Once in charge, both Chirol’s health and his spirits began to suffer. The flu laid him low, but no lower than the way Printing House Square seemed, once again, to shrug off news from the Far East. It was clear that things were heating up in China, but, between the pressure of other work and the general lack of interest among his colleagues, he could not pay proper attention. He was depressed and rather disheartened but still, as he wrote to Bland at Shanghai, not inclined to give in.27 This was not the ideal time to learn that Wallace had decided to hand over permanent control of the foreign department in the very near future. But did Chirol still want it? He hated the night work and feared, with good reason, that, over time, those late hours would play havoc with his health. Nor was he happy with certain procedures in the foreign department, let alone with current editorial attitudes in general. But if he simply gave up the idea of being foreign editor, then what? Confused and worried, he turned his prospects over in his mind – and his correspondence. The idea of going abroad as a correspondent no longer appealed to him. Like Wallace before him, he had come to prefer the ‘special assignment’ over day-to-day news-gathering. Plus he could hardly hope to have another Wallace as a chief. Somewhat surprisingly, the idea of returning to the Foreign Office again popped up. It is odd that he should mention this possibility to O’Conor, given the dead end of the latter’s previous efforts, but ‘perplexed & depressed’ Chirol knew no one else, not in London at any rate, with whom he could talk so freely.28 All of the soul-searching and worrying led nowhere in particular. There is no sign of steps being taken at the Foreign Office. His depression passed off quickly enough to make him wonder if it was simply a matter of insufficient sleep and not an emotional crisis. Unfortunately his better spirits did not lead to feeling better about the way things were done at the office. Even when things were going along relatively smoothly he felt that he was constantly ‘pulling against the collar’. He joked rather sourly 96

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to Springy about the deep-dyed caution and conservatism that was clearly getting under his skin. What do you think about the N[ew] Y[ork] elections? The spectre of socialism drives the Times to prefer … the old Tammany Cesspool to ‘a war against property’. As if it was not out of Tammany cesspools that the worst forms of destructive socialism are bred. It was in the same spirit, I suppose, that the classes in Jerusalem clamoured for Barabas … I am sure the Times would have been strongly pro-Barabas! But this is rank treason.29

As usual, a spot of travel was excellent medicine. At the beginning of November, with Wallace back in town, Chirol went off to Berlin to be with the recently widowed Lascelles. He made the rounds, visiting with old friends – not, however, with the still reluctant Holstein. While there he wrote a long, detailed letter to Buckle. Signed ‘An Englishman in Germany’ it was published on 25 November in spite of Buckle’s opposition to much that it said. The editor warned Chirol that his views would be ‘pulverised’ on the editorial page, but Chirol wrote to Spring-Rice a few days later that he could have rebutted himself in far stronger terms.30 The news from Germany that autumn was not just about commercial policy and reciprocal treaties. The murder in August of two German missionaries in China brought swift retribution. German marines landed at Kiaochow Bay, holding its port city as a pledge against the redress of grievances. By the end of the year Berlin was demanding that the Chinese government lease the city and its surrounding territory to Germany for use as a coaling station and trading port.31 London’s reaction was measured, as was, so Chirol thought, that of The Times. He was therefore mystified when Springy wrote from Berlin that the Wilhelmstrasse was in a lather over a leader on the subject, which appeared in the paper on 23 November. He himself had nothing to do with the piece as he had not been near the office since his return from Berlin.32 But he had read it and ‘except in so far as Germans cannot stand chaff’ did not expect them to be so offended. His time off might well have been the source of his breezy mood, although even when he did go near Printing House Square the cheerful note did not fade away. The goings-on in China actually buoyed him up in so far as they had reawaked some interest at Printing House Square in the situation in the Far East. Chirol graciously credited Morrison, telling him that his recent messages had been ‘miles ahead of everything else [and] have given it [the Far East] a considerable lift with the Editor: for which the Lord and you be praised!’. Even ‘Lord S[alisbury] can hardly remain indifferent to 97

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this redistribution of power. Hitherto his great argument against doing any thing was that we should be setting a dangerous precedent to others. I don’t think “the others” seem to care much whether we set them precedents or not!’33 He kept the foreign page full of China and had a lovely time doing so. ‘I was at the office last night,’ he wrote to Springy Wallace being away in the bosom of some duchess, and as I am perfectly sure that when he comes back there will be ‘caution’ enough & to spare, I could not resist the temptation of having my fling … And we have surely turned our cheek often enough to the German smiter … Nil desperandum. Things are never quite so black as they are painted, & if our rulers would only believe it, there is still plenty of grit in the old country. The misfortune is that Lord S. is too much of a cynic to be a great statesman. At any rate in a democracy a leader of men must have a dash of enthusiasm to carry them with him. That was the G.O.M.’s [Gladstone’s] redeeming feature.34

A few weeks later, when Chirol was en route by steamer to Cairo for the Christmas holidays, two Germans, one a naval officer fresh from a farewell audience with the Emperor, ‘chose to come and seat themselves within earshot’ of the inconspicuous, but deeply interested, Chirol. Naturally he did not feel called upon to disturb their exchange of confidence, nor to move so much as an inch further away. It seemed, he reported to Francis Bertie, then Assistant Under-secretary at the Foreign Office, that the two were headed ‘post-haste’ to China. The navy man went on at length about the Emperor’s parting words to him, which had placed particular emphasis on the size of the undertaking and the privilege of being a pioneer. China, the eager Kaiser had said, was the only region left where Germany could still create a great colonial Empire like British India and the opportunity was unique. Germany had a free hand now, for her understanding with Russia & France was ‘perfect’ & England dare not move. Let Germany once secure control over the Chinese markets, & the commercial ascendency of England would soon be a thing of the past.35

This particular item made the usual rounds – Foreign Office, Printing House Square, the British Embassy in Berlin – and Chirol made sure that all realised that both of his chatty neighbours were ‘thoroughly imbued with the idea that the whole undertaking was directed mainly against England’. It is as true in the realm of international affairs as in any other that crises do not take polite turns. A boundary dispute in one part of the 98

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world does not wait patiently until a native rising in another part is put down, or conflicting claims to trading status or fishing rights in yet another is resolved. Instead it is as if each country sat in its own cloud of mosquitoes, constantly swatting, first here then there, then back again and on to a third, and so on, occasionally also slapping his neighbour’s mosquito or, given certain conditions, refusing to help him do so. This was most particularly the case with Britain, involved as she was in nearly every part of the globe. When Chirol returned from Egypt in February 1898, rested and ready, he hoped, to take on the stresses and strictures of life at Printing House Square, the global air was thick with crises. China was on the simmer, west Africa heating up and an angry faceoff between Spain and the United States was serious enough to take Wallace to Madrid. With hot spots to the east and to the west impossible to ignore, Chirol still kept a steady watch on China. Convinced as he was of the enormous potential of the decrepit Celestial Kingdom, no move made by Russia, Germany or France escaped his notice. Morrison kept him splendidly supplied with fresh and reliable news; in one case he was so early with it that the Foreign Office was clearly furious with the paper for printing it. Chirol merely shrugged, suggesting that Whitehall should know better than to try and keep The Times not only in the dark but misled to boot. He assured Morrison that as long as he kept up his friendly relationship with the British minister in Peking – a man with sensible views – he himself was ‘quite indifferent to what they say over here’.36 The most encouraging sign of all, he thought, was that the Far Eastern question has assumed in the eyes of the British public a concrete shape which nothing hitherto had succeeded in imparting to it. [… ] What is perhaps still more important is that the country has at last realised that [it] is one which we may have to fight for that it is worth fighting for.37

At the same time he worried himself with the thought that Whitehall would not move quickly or decisively to protect the advantages she had or arrange for new ones. Thus far she had been ‘wise, moderate, & successful’, but she must not be afraid to be strong. It is one thing, an excellent thing of course, to stand for equality of opportunity, Salisbury’s preferred policy, but ‘it has got to be enforced and it is certainly … incompatible with the railway & mining monopolies set up by Russia & Germany in Manchuria & Shantung’.38 Nothing that happened in the following weeks was much to his liking and soon enough his uncharacteristic optimism faded. By the 99

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end of March he had all but given up hope that the Salisbury government could save the day when it came to protecting British interests in China. Once again he assigned to himself the role of the prophet Jeremiah, out in the wilderness, inveighing, full force but to little avail, against the fatal policy of ‘drift, drift, drift’. It was the old, bad tale of the House divided against itself, he told O’Conor. First of all the F.O. – Sanderson pulling one way, full of official optimism, delighting in diplomatic platitudes … Bertie boiling over with explosive language & contemptuously washing his hands of the whole business … Curzon chiefly absorbed in the question as to how things will affect his own position & prospects. Then in the Cabinet – Balfour, clearsighted & inclined to vigorous measures, but as he told me the other day ‘neither Prime Minister nor Secy of S. for F.A., but with all the responsibilities of both offices’ – Hicks Beach, sulking ever since he got snubbed for his ‘at the risk of war’ speech – Joe bent above all on scoring his own point in W. Africa – the Duke [of Devonshire] more bored than ever – Goschen desperately reluctant to any course that may compel him to take his dear little ships out of the cotton-wool in which he loves to keep them wrapped – Chaplin, absolutely ignorant of every question but with the old bull dog feeling that we ought to fight somebody – Lord George Hamilton with the whole Indian crowd behind him, looking upon China merely as a heaven sent safety valve for Russian activity in Asia – & the ruck dimly conscious that something must be done if ‘the party’ is not to go to the dogs! Altogether it is one of the most saddening & depressing exhibitions I have ever witnessed… The Govt complain that we [The Times] don’t support them – but how can one support people who confessedly don’t know what they want, who talk big & act small or not at all, who pass resolutions one day & say they didn’t mean anything the next?39

Not that the only problems facing the beleaguered Salisbury were those in the Far East. There, Russia and Germany were causing problems, in west Africa it was the French. Chirol knew more than enough to be concerned as to who had control of the Upper Nile. But his letters, full of China, say little about west Africa. At the end of February things looked ‘ugly’, less than two weeks later they were smoothing down. The French, he observed, had their hands full at home with the nasty Dreyfus business, which left them little time or inclination for foreign adventures. He thanked God for that as he, too, was horribly busy with other things. Amazingly enough his health held up. Even after months of hard and anxiety-making work he was full of energy and sleeping better than usual. Nor did the continuing uncertainty about his future seem to worry 100

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him. The idea of a continued sharing of the foreign editorship was mooted. Initially interested, he was not in the least disappointed when it was discarded, rather the reverse. At that point he claimed to be fairly well satisfied with things the way they were, that is with Wallace frequently away and himself in sole charge. Occasionally fretful at not having a free hand to reorganise the department as he wished, he was also prepared to be patient, since ‘so far I have had the good luck that, whenever I have been over-ruled, the event has justified me & thus strengthened my position against future divergencies’.40 Nor, with the Spanish–American problem making the international scene so volatile, did Chirol relish having a pro-Spain Wallace back to challenge his determination to keep The Times ‘straight’ – which meant generally sympathetic with McKinley’s policy.41 On this issue he and the government were for once in step and he even managed some praise for their decision not to become involved. ‘It is the only point of foreign policy upon which they are [sound], but we must be thankful for this mercy, and it is no small one.’42 Although life at Printing House Square continued for the time being to suit Chirol rather well, it was not uniformly pleasant. When Gladstone died that May Chirol was astonished at the way his colleagues, Buckle excepted, reacted. Admirer of Gladstone Chirol was generally not, but he was a man of propriety and that ‘Englishmen could be capable of such vindictiveness as the whole office seems to be permeated with’ shocked him. ‘They appear to think it monstrous that they should not be allowed to dance a breakdown on the old man’s grave,’ he complained to Springy. It was all too much and to soothe his wounded sense of decorum he took himself off and bought a thoroughly ‘patriotic’ picture, the original sketch for Hale’s painting of the drummers of the ‘Fore and Aft’.43 If owning and admiring the picture did not take his mind off the crass behaviour of his colleagues, the prospect that Britain might succeed in forcing the Chinese government to lease them the port city of Weihai-wei did. Chirol was not enthusiastic. British priorities in China, he continued, had almost nothing to do with the possession of Wei-hai-wei. Had the government leased Chusan and Nanking instead, it ‘would have enabled us to make our influence, material and moral, felt all the way up the YangTsze’. Nanking under the British guidance might have become, he continued, a model city, prosperous, well governed, with an enormous influx of Chinese from other cities who would have flocked to it as they flock to our ‘settlements’ at Shanghai & elsewhere, & it would have been a centre

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from which our influence would have radiated all over middle China … In fact from Nanking I believe we could morally conquer all Central China, & if the wretched Peking Govt continued to subsist, it would have to reckon with us far more effectually than if we simply have an outpost at Wei-hai-wei.44

When, in the end, Wei-hai-wei it was,45 Chirol counted it a blunder, but was more bemused than outraged. ‘We are all off on our Easter holidays,’ he wrote to Springy, (except your humble servant) & the British Empire must shift for itself with a Wei-hai-wei & a Hei-ti-tei! I don’t think Governments have often had such a gamble as this has been. They seem to me to have gone for Weihai-wei exactly in the same spirit in which after having had a bad night at trente et quarante at Monte Carlo, one tries to recoup himself before catching the last train to Nice by backing a numero en plein at the roulette table.46

China, of course, could not take his mind off everything else. At the end of March Chamberlain initiated a series of talks with German diplomatists in London with the idea of a future Anglo-German accommodation in mind.47 Chirol, having few, if any, illusions about German policy, or the politics determining it – and little enthusiasm about depending on either – reacted coolly to the idea. On the other hand his distrust of France and even greater fear of Russia made him reluctantly admit that ‘it would at any rate be better to have a try than to go on as we have been doing hitherto, alternately giving her the cold shoulder & then throwing sops to her’. Since Whitehall seemed to ‘recognize the impotency of this country to contend with [Russia] in Asia failing any means of pressure upon her in Europe, [an] alliance with Germany would give us the latter and we could give her a quid pro quo in the way of expansion beyond the seas’.48 But in the end he thought it less a question as to whether an alliance with Germany would be good or bad per se, than whether or not it was even possible. The idea would not be popular in England, although it might go down better if certain politicians – he had the right-thinking Lord Rosebery in mind – supported it. Then there was the problem of having to depend on the German government. The Emperor might very likely catch on to the idea at first in his own impetuous fashion, but would it commend itself to his Ministers, & even if his authority carried it through, might they not set to work to counteract it by some ‘reinsurance treaty’ à la Bismarck with St Petersburg?

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After all, German concerns were still mainly European. They were likely to complain if asked to stand surety for the empire’s ‘scattered interests in return for the increased security we could give her in respect of her own chiefly self-concentrated interests. Would she not at any rate demand exorbitant payment for what she might consider or allege to be a bad & one-sided bargain?’49 On 13 May, during a speech at Birmingham, Chamberlain aired his ideas about an arrangement with Germany. It was a dramatic oration that fell quite flat. Chirol was certainly not bowled over. ‘[T]he great Joe’s egg’, finally laid, had certainly set the ‘whole farm yard a-cackling’, and he himself had ‘chortled’ over the reference to the ‘Devil [Russia] and the big spoon’, but in the end the whole thing smacked more of a ‘schoolboy in a wax’ than the actions of a responsible statesman. Surely, if one was wanting an ally, it would hardly do to suggest that one cannot get along without him. That, in his view, was a direct invitation to him to put up the price … Nor can alliances be made like that … things must shape themselves slowly & gradually … They seemed to be doing so a few years ago, say from 1890–1894, but since then they have steadily drifted the other way, & we are now so far apart that we cannot be brought together again by a sudden wrench.50

The German government did not react enthusiastically either. All the same, Holstein had still not completely abandoned the idea of somehow drawing Britain into the orbit of the Central Powers. As it had in the past, and would again in the future, his mind turned to Chirol and the good offices he might be persuaded to perform. First some fences would have to be mended. One thing that had helped Germany and Britain to drift apart was a nearly constant and very cantankerous bickering, or worse, in the press of both countries. The foreign page of The Times was no exception. Although Chirol had been critical of certain aspects of German policy before 1896 – and would find positive things to say afterwards – the suspicions stirred up by the sending of the Krüger Telegram and the threatened dispatch of German troops, followed by the painful break with Holstein, led to a fundamental change in Chirol’s thinking. He had not seen or heard from Holstein since early 1896, though on at least one occasion he had tried – in vain – to arrange a meeting.51 Now, quite suddenly, he heard that Holstein was once again making positive noises about him. Although there can be little doubt that his complimentary assessment of Chirol’s usefulness was genuine, nothing much came of Holstein’s nice 103

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words about him, nor of Chamberlain’s efforts to forge a link with Germany. But the idea of having some sort of mutually advantageous arrangement had only faded, it had not died completely. Some small steps were taken. At the end of August the two countries arranged a joint loan to Portugal, but, as its details were being hammered out in London and Berlin, a confrontation about to take place in north Africa took minds off Anglo-German stirrings. The story of the encounter between Kitchener, sidar of the Egyptian army, and Captain Marchand, the head of the French Congo–Nile expedition, at the remote outpost of Fashoda, is one of the more dramatic in a period not lacking in dramatic standoffs. Chirol, along with observers across Europe, had been watching and waiting for months as the AngloEgyptian forces moved steadily up the Nile Valley, slowly taking back the Sudan from the remnants of the once great Mahdi movement. Kitchener and watchers alike knew that he and his soldiers were not the only men on the move in that part of the world. For more than two years Captain Marchand had been moving eastward, slowly and painfully, from the Congo Basin toward the headwaters of the Nile. Once he got there he planned to lay claim to the left bank of the river for France and to allow their Ethiopian allies to take the right. Although the Frenchman got there first, Kitchener, having decisively defeated the Dervishes at Omdurman in early September, was not long behind, nor slow to claim both banks by right of conquest, and demand a French withdrawal. Marchand declined to do so without specific orders from Paris. This was now a first-rate crisis and Chirol was off, or so he thought, to have a first-hand look. His plan was to leave London on 14 October and travel to Cairo via Berlin, Vienna and Rome, no doubt to check the pulses of possible allies lest things went really wrong. His goal was to reach Cairo at least a few days before the Kaiser, who was himself headed to the Near East on an extended tour. Chirol’s idea was to spend a few days in the Egyptian capital and then to go on at least as far as Khartoum and perhaps even to Fashoda. It was an adventure after his own heart, to be on the spot when history was in the making. In the meantime he did all that he could to keep the tone of The Times uncompromising. When Blowitz complained from Paris about some of his dispatches failing to appear, Chirol made his own point of view abundantly clear. It seemed to us that you were lending your authority to the theory that there is or can be room for negotiations as to the presence of the French on the Upper Nile … There is every desire here to build a golden bridge

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for M. Marchand to retire over, but there is also an absolute consensus of opinion that the character of the bridge, not the retirement, is alone a matter for discussion. It would be unfortunate were any illusions entertained on that point in Paris …52

14 October came and went and Chirol remained in London. For one thing he was no longer racing the Kaiser as the latter had decided not to include Egypt on his great progression. Chirol’s itinerary was readjusted as well, and he now planned to go out through Lisbon. Not only was it a more direct and therefore shorter route, the paper was wanting better information on conditions in Portugal as it seemed that the practical results of the Anglo-German agreement hinged on the financial situation in Lisbon. With Kitchener and Marchand at daggers drawn, the recent agreement with Germany was more comforting than its modest provisions might suggest. Half a friend was better than none at all. Crete provided another spot of cheer in a troubled season. Lord Salisbury, perhaps to Chirol’s surprise and certainly to his satisfaction, had stood his ground over the Cretan business, taking advantage, according to Chirol, ‘with no little skill of Russia’s & France’s desire to jeter un froid on the [German] Emperor’s visit to Constantinople’.53 It was a rare compliment for the Prime Minister, but he reverted to type in almost the next breath. ‘I am curious to see whether Old S. will keep a stiff upper-lip about Fashoda to the bitter end. … I am not absolutely confident. He is already beginning to talk about the Bahr el Ghazal being “a horrid swamp” & that generally means that he is going to give it away!’54 Morrison, too, sent modestly positive news about progress being made in China, and there were encouraging signs that London was coming around to the idea of ‘spheres of influence’. It was unfortunate that, just as this possibility seemed realisable, Chinese affairs were forced into the background by the crisis in Africa. If only the French were sane, Chirol noted, ‘there would be no cause for anxiety, but unfortunately the French are not sane at the present moment’.55 Nor were they, as October dragged to a close, leaving Fashoda. The threat of war was taken very seriously, keeping Chirol in London. If it came to fighting he would be wanted at Printing House Square. He himself doubted that it would come down to that, although the military element in France was all for it as one way to put a stop to renewed agitation for a rehearing for Captain Dreyfus.56 Whether it would come to war or not, the crisis in the Sudan seemed set to drag on for some time. Chirol, remarkably cheerful and unperturbed about his indefinitely postponed trip, confessed to enjoying himself 105

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greatly just where he was. Thanks in part to a long stay at the spa at Strathpeffer in Scotland he felt better & brighter & lighter than I have done for years. Touch wood, touch wood, touch wood. I like London at this season, & … am having rather an easy time. Do you know Tschaikowsky’s Symphony in E? The second movement, ‘Andante cantabile con alcuna licenze’, is divine … The lament of none but angels could attain to such exquisite pathos & then gradually transform itself into such a triumph of hope.57

It also seemed that something beyond Tchaikovsky’s music accounted for his sunny mood. He was in love. There is no mention of his feelings for Hilda Bell, Moberly Bell’s oldest daughter, in letters to his closest friends. One wonders if he confessed them fully to himself, at least until what hopes he had were cruelly ended with her sudden death from typhoid fever on Christmas Day 1898. Totally unexpected – she was sick for less than a week – her death led him to open his strictly guarded heart as he so rarely could or did, even to a friend as dear to him as Springy. (T)he sight of your welcome handwriting stirs me to write to you what, if you were here, I should most probably never dream of saying to you. Yesterday I saw the grave close upon a bright & fair young life in which I was deeply interested … I never realized until the end how fond I was of her. Sometimes I used just to think how happy a girl like her might have made me if I had met such a one fifteen or twenty years ago. But what had I, an old fogey nearer fifty than 40, got to do with a bright, winsome girl not yet actually 20? But I know now that … the room brightened up for me when she came in; whenever we went to concerts together, the music never failed to thrill me when she used to nudge me with her elbow at her favourite passages; whenever she talked, she always seemed to me to say the right thing & best thing; she was clever without being brilliant, she had not beauty, but she had the charm of easy, inborn gentleness, and we buried her yesterday & even when I think of her own mother’s grief & of her father’s which is scarcely less, I cannot shut out my own. My one consolation is that they allowed me to stand by them in their hour of need as one of themselves, & indeed I was the last to see her, for I saw her put into her shell & scattered lilies of the valley over her before it was closed down … But I should not be unhappy, for it is after all a sweet & tender recollection – a dream that could never have been anything but a dream … Forgive me, my dear old fellow, for inflicting all this upon you. But I had been sitting listlessly, moodily, staring at faces in the fire when your letter came … and I felt as if I must unburden myself to some one, & now I have done it, I shall feel better, I am sure. You are good & true & you have my secret. Bear with me kindly.58

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Before that sad and sudden blow, Chirol’s good mood was pervasive. Although initially disappointed when his proposed trip to Africa was ‘knocked on the head’ he realised soon enough that there would be no war and therefore no real need for him to be in Africa. By the beginning of November the French government, wedged between the growing turmoil over Dreyfus at home and London’s flat refusal to negotiate, ordered Marchand to retreat. Territorial details remained to be worked out, but the sense of acute danger evaporated. Chirol, pleased to have the world take note that there were certain ‘pin-pricks’ that Britain would not stand, was characteristically reluctant to give Lord Salisbury any credit. According to him ‘luck’ and Kitchener had saved the day. All the while, ‘the Govt smirk & smile & shriek in every key: What a good Govt we are! But at bottom I can see no change.’59 With the pressure off in the Sudan, Chirol’s eyes, and ears, turned back to China. Months earlier there had been a brief attempt at governmental reform in Peking. The young Emperor had looked favourably on the reformers, but not for long. As soon as their ideas threatened entrenched interests in any serious way there was a reactionary coup under the auspices of the Dowager Empress. Chirol and Morrison came down, rather hard, on different sides on this outcome. In early December the former wrote that he could not agree with Morrison that the ‘poor little Emperor was an ass and that the Regent is a “grand old woman”’. From what he could learn in London the changes made by the reactionary party did not look promising. But as he sincerely believed in Morrison’s ability, Chirol did his best to be reasonable about his views. After all, Morrison was ‘in the midst of it all [and had] shown such admirable discrimination so far … I dare say if we could talk it over together instead of exchanging chits at such a distance of place and time, you would convince me.’60 Two weeks later he sounded far less certain. Much as I trust your judgment, I am bound to say that nothing has yet happened to shake my belief that the downfall of the reformers has been detrimental to our interests … You must excuse the frankness with which I write. We cannot of course always see eye to eye on all questions and all I which to deprecate is any personal asperity where differences of opinion occur between those who are, each in his way, equally anxious to serve the paper to the best of their judgment.61

Kitchener’s triumphal return to London was the event of the late autumn, his success at Fashoda ‘scarcely less conspicuous than at Omdurman. [… ] He is one of those whom success mellows & improves, 107

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& except in certain military circles where jealousy is intense, everybody recognises it – at which I am naturally pleased as I have always spoken up for him when he had very few friends indeed.’62 He had less admiring things to say about the other man of the hour, the new Viceroy of India, George Curzon. The latter’s time in India would be a most interesting experiment, as he told Springy. His public speeches have been admirable, & if he acts up to their spirit one may hope for the best. But he is not straight. You may remember I told you of a conversation I had with him early in the year about the Far East & our Peking telegrams: from the Bluebook subsequently published as well as from the tone of Macdonald’s letters to me I felt convinced he [Curzon] had taken considerable liberties with the truth in the hope of influencing the Times.63

Kitchener and Curzon, unbeknownst to them and certainly to Chirol, were soon to work together in India and, before long, at serious crosspurposes. In their bitter conflict Chirol would play a not inconsiderable role. By the time he took it on he had done a complete turnabout as to the merits and faults of their respective characters. When Chirol wrote his customary ‘year’s end summary’ letter to Spring-Rice he was full of life and happy with it – and of course with Hilda Bell. Having not been able to travel south, he made up his mind to go in the opposite direction. He had some free weeks at the beginning of 1899 and decided that it would be both ‘novel and bracing’ to see the lands of ‘northern lights and midday moons’. It was another journey that did not come off. At the end of the year Bell suggested that Wallace should now devote his time and talents to the preparation of the supplementary volumes to the 9th edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. As it was beyond even Wallace’s capacities to continue even as a part-time foreign editor while doing this work, it was agreed that Chirol should take over the foreign room, finally and fully. It is easy to understand Chirol’s reluctance to talk about his passionate attachment to the young Hilda Bell, given his obsessive secrecy when it came to any intimate feelings. But why he kept so mum about his change of status at Printing House Square – at least in the correspondence that survives, and there is not a little of it – is curious. Reading his letters to Cecil Spring-Rice or Nicholas O’Conor at the end of 1898 and the beginning of 1899, men, along with Frank Lascelles, with whom he was most likely to share personal news, one would never know that anything had changed. He did, of course, discuss the move with Bell. 108

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As he was personally close to the manager, he spoke very frankly about his need for a fair degree of freedom so as to work to his own schedule. I don’t think as a general rule I am any more inclined than you are to ‘note accurately how many hours’ I give to my work. Where I do fall short of your standard is, I admit, in noting accurately how many weeks leave I get, & in being very loathe to sacrifice one iota of my privileges in that respect.64

He then provided Bell with a summary of all that he had been doing at Printing House Square, including work done for the paper while not actually at the office, since returning from his second trip to China in March 1897. With regard to the distribution of time between ‘office’, ‘elsewhere’ & regular leave, I know there must sometimes be difficulties about ‘elsewhere’. All I want you to bear in mind is that there is a considerable difference between the relative repose of ‘elsewhere’ & even other than night work here. […] Nor is it from sheer laziness that I attach what you may consider an unreasonable importance to the latter. My fitness during my spells of office work depends very much upon sufficient spells of rest. Don’t sniggle! It really is so.65

The History of The Times dates Chirol’s official debut as foreign editor as of 1 January 1899. From that point on the line the paper would take on foreign affairs would be up to him, although Buckle, as editor-in-chief, might also have a say. Given Chirol’s frequent references to the efforts he had to make to keep the latter ‘straight’ on certain issues, it was a good thing that the former took little interest in Continental or imperial politics unless they played a significant role at home. As it happened, 1899 was a year in which abroad and at home were firmly connected, thanks in the main to the Boer War, but throughout Buckle saw no pressing need to override the new foreign editor.

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The Foreign Department: Trial by Fire

The international scene was unusually quiet when Chirol slipped into his new post. A good part of the tranquillity he attributed to the show of grit at Fashoda. ‘A year ago everybody was convinced that we could not be kicked into fighting,’ he wrote to O’Conor, ‘and now we are almost universally suspected of wanting to fight à tout prix!’1 Bellicosity, British bellicosity, that is, suited him just fine; no one had been wanting a show of backbone more than he. Even with Chirol as foreign editor the usual routine continued. Wallace still took the helm on occasion, Chirol going back to his ‘odd jobs’. The back and forth between them was remarkably casual although Chirol grumbled mildly about the bore of having to constantly adjust his hours and then, when the pressure was off, being in danger of sliding back into ‘evil early ways’, whatever they might have been. This slow start was something of a blessing as Chirol remained worried and depressed well into the new year. Everything seemed hopelessly dreary, the world a sad and sorry place, the future ‘hemmed in with gloom’. He had trouble concentrating. Having long since wanted O’Conor to introduce him to Paul Cambon, the new French ambassador in London, he confessed to having been so morally ‘out of sorts’ and listless that he never got around to asking him for the favour.2 When Lascelles asked for an update on Anglo-German negotiations over the future of the Samoan Islands, then threatening to strain Anglo-German relations, Chirol’s answer was that he had not ‘been hearing much about anything lately, including Samoa’.3 110

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Some of his depression had to do with Hilda Bell’s untimely death. It also had to do with his mother. No sooner had he strewn flowers on the former’s grave than Harriet Chirol seemed headed toward the same destination. Weak and weary from a mysterious wasting sickness, she felt her life simply ‘slipping away’. Doctors could find nothing wrong, but Chirol, believing her the better judge, convinced himself that her end was almost at hand. It was not, in fact, and was not to come for another decade. But for the next several months her health fluctuated so wildly that he felt compelled to make daily round-trip journeys to Brighton in addition to his work at the paper. The much-anticipated trip to Norway fell victim to this schedule; instead he went to northern England for a week, hoping that fresh air and some rounds of golf – a bracing time of year for golf – would perk him up. Neither did and he came back to London little improved. Waiting for him was an offer that might well have given him a boost, had he felt able to accept it. The offer came from Sir Alfred Milner, then High Commissioner of South Africa and Governor of the Cape Colony. Milner was keen to find a reliable man to come out to South Africa, ‘nominally as Editor of the J[ohannesburg] Star but really as his “homme de confiance”. […] He expects important political developments in the course of the next two years & he wants the ground to be cautiously but energetically prepared.’4 If Chirol wanted it, the job was his. It certainly seemed tailor-made – exotic climes, imperial designs, behind-the-scenes politicking, liberal terms with ample pay. It would not have been his first abrupt change of direction, but this time he felt, tempted as he was, unable to make it because he could not subject his ‘poor old mother to the trial of a long & probably final separation’. Again it is odd that he said nothing at all of his new and important position at Printing House Square. Poor Chirol, he even worried about being worried, fearing that his endless brooding would drive away his old friends. It did not, and before long his mother’s gradual improvement and early hints of spring cheered him up again. He was amused that Wallace – who was, it seems, grousing about Chirol’s daily trips to Brighton – ‘seemed to resent the possibility of my mother receiving higher commands which might clash with those of his manifold Royalties!’.5 But, by that time, trips to Brighton or not, Wallace was out of the office more than in it. At the end of March Chirol wrote to Brinkley to say that from then on he was ‘likely to be for a considerable time in charge of the Foreign Department’ and thus ‘Japanese affairs will receive as much attention as we can possibly give them’.6 111

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The relative calm that marked international politics at the start of 1899 soon evaporated; the more customary jostlings and jockeyings returned. Anglo-German relations were less cordial than they had been at the start of the year,7 but in Chirol’s view the dangers posed around the world by the Franco-Russian combination in the great game of land grab far outweighed the actions of relative newcomers such as Germany and the United States. Although he would soon discover, or rediscover, just how vulnerable the Anglo-German boat was to colonial storms, it was the continuing disintegration of China rather than bad tempers or good at the Wilhelmstrasse that got the lion’s share of his attention in the spring of 1899. By the end of the century, Chirol, the paper’s acknowledged expert on the Far East,8 had the final say on the paper’s line out there.9 He fretted bitterly as he watched the Russians tighten their grip on Mongolia and Manchuria and the French move up the Mekong Valley toward Yunnan and Szuchuan, while London frittered away valuable time in pointless discussion. Salisbury’s latest attempt to keep the ‘semblance’ of an open door vis-à-vis Manchuria was, he feared, in vain, and ‘the sooner we make up our minds that the game is played out at Peking (since we are not prepared to save it by supreme measures) the better. We can then fall back upon the alternative policy of effective spheres of influence and make the Yang Tsze (and Canton) our own …’10 Ever since his first visit Chirol had both hopes and eyes focused on the Yangtze basin as it was the greatest emporium of British commerce in the Far East. Nothing probably would be better calculated to arrest any plans which may exist elsewhere for hastening on the dismemberment of China herself, than for us to make it clearly understood that we could under no circumstances allow the valley of the Yangtzse to pass under the control of another Power.11

For years it was French competition that Chirol put at the top of his list of concerns. By mid-1899, although the French threat was still there, he sensed that Paris was no longer doing the driving, but was being pulled along by a relentlessly expanding ally who had now landed ‘with her full weight’ on China. Although the timing was unusual, given a rather sharp fracas in the Pacific, there was that spring a renewed attempt to revive the idea of an Anglo-German accommodation. The Samoan Islands seemed an odd place to have a stand-off, but in mid-March the British and the Americans, co-administrators with the Germans of these remote bits of land, joined, first to protest, and then to combat, the actions of their 112

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German colleagues. Guns went off, some German property was damaged, messages flew back and forth between Foreign Offices and ambassadors, and the press in both England and Germany chimed in and not harmoniously. Chirol agreed, privately, that the situation was nasty, but drew the line at truly dangerous and worked to keep The Times relatively neutral. Out of the blue, but inspired perhaps by Chirol having kept the paper more or less quiet on the situation in the Pacific, Holstein began to make guarded, but friendly, gestures in his direction. In April Chirol wrote to Lascelles to say that he would be paying the ambassador a visit the following month. He gave no reason, nothing was said about needing a holiday, nor is there any mention, or record, of an invitation. Holstein was perfectly able, however, to float off the idea of a visit in the right direction. It seemed, yet again, that the old idea of arranging for an AngloGerman accommodation had resurfaced. When looking for go-betweens, Chirol was never far from Holstein’s mind. Chirol went to Berlin in mid-May. The anti-English conservative press was in full rant, but for some reason, no doubt an informed one, he believed instead that Holstein was more interested in discouraging than encouraging such attacks. All the same, the latter was still not ‘at home’ for Chirol. Nor was he, however, without plans for his former friend. As he explained at length to Hatzfeldt, I would consider it valuable to reestablish relations with Chirol since I know from earlier on that he would not hesitate to criticize Salisbury. Through him I might be able, under certain circumstances, to arrange to get around, legally speaking, Salisbury’s arbitrary and obstinate position as happened at the time of the Anglo-Belgian agreement. At the same time, Chirol is himself a difficult character, particularly in his present suspicious mood. One has to gauge every measure taken with him. For that reason I did not want to send him a card with my regrets [at not seeing him] as it might be overdoing things. Instead, I thought that whenever you might happen to be talking to Wallace … you could casually mention that: ‘My friend [Holstein] regrets to have missed Mr Chirol when he last visited Berlin’. Without some sort of encouragement Chirol would not try to approach me a third time. And he is, I believe, just the man to understand that England should not endanger her relations with Germany for these miserable Samoan Islands.12

Holstein was right about Chirol never having been unduly upset over the three-cornered tussle in Samoa, in fact might well have agreed with Baron Richthofen’s13 remark that all the islands put together were not worth 113

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the money spent in telegrams to and from them. He was also right to think that his former friend was in favour of their two countries having, if not friendly, then at least cooperative relations. What Holstein seemed not to realise – had no easy way to realise – was how appreciably the latter’s suspicions had both deepened and widened in the years since the rupture of their friendship. Chirol returned from Berlin to a deluge of work. There was no more talk, even casually, of sharing the foreign editor’s chair with Wallace. The men abroad – a dozen or so – would from now on get their compliments and critiques in Chirol’s readable, and seemingly tireless, hand. Over the years The Times had employed many a remarkable man as foreign correspondents. But the group that Chirol now directed, linguists, scholars, well-travelled and well-connected, writing from more or less permanent posts and using modern technology, made up the finest foreign news service in the business. Upon more occasions than one might suppose it worked almost as a ‘shadow’ diplomatic service. Intelligent, strong-minded, talented, these men were accustomed to considerable independence. Many of them had strong ideas of their own about both journalism and issues of contemporary foreign policy. But being in overall charge meant that Chirol – with some help from Bell and Buckle – had the deciding vote on how much, sometimes if any, of what they sent went into the paper. He had strong journalistic principles and clear ideas as to the kinds of information he wanted and the way he wanted it to be presented.14 Nor was he hesitant about pointing out problems, forcefully if need be. But he also gave his correspondents as much latitude for their own opinions as possible, defended them, counselled them and praised them generously whenever he could. Nevertheless, as he was proud and sensitive, and many of them were as well, there would be some notable clashes in the years to come. The care and handling of a group of high-strung, articulate and opinionated correspondents was only one part of Chirol’s job. He also had to cope with an ever-rising tide of foreign news as the world shrank and the empire continued to expand. It was no easy matter, as he had long since discovered, to get people – inside and outside Printing House Square – to pay attention to what was happening on the other side of the globe. With Germany it was different; the readers of The Times were clearly more interested in Germany than in China, Japan and, certainly, Samoa. But interest was only half of the picture, they must also be better informed, their interest fed. The public, even the rather superior public that read The Times, 114

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demands more and more to know something about the personality of the men who make politics as well as about politics in themselves … At home people get to know more or less by sight their Salisburys & Chamberlains, but how many are there who have the faintest [idea about] Hohenlohe or Bülow …? All they know is the label on the bottle, but whether it contains red wine or white wine, full bodied or thin, sweet or sour, they have not the most remote idea.15

Without resorting to the personal style of journalism so dear ‘to our cousins across the herring pond’ what he wanted from his men abroad, from George Saunders in Berlin, for example, was some human interest, put in with a ‘few deft strokes’, the way that old Morier, the former ambassador in Berlin, had been able to put life into the publication of a Bluebook. This was meant, he assured Saunders, to guide, not to criticise, and went on to praise his ‘soundness, accuracy & discretion’, which for Chirol were the paramount virtues of journalism.16 As for the news from France, it was human, all too human. The second Dreyfus trial opened at Rennes on 7 August. Chirol himself was in France that very day, not at Rennes – Blowitz and a young American journalist by the name of Morton Fullerton17 had that sensational assignment – but on a train headed for Bavaria and the second half of a six-week holiday. He could hardly have avoided thinking about Dreyfus; all of France and much of Europe were transfixed by the doings at Rennes. His sympathies – strong ones – lay entirely with the maligned Dreyfus, but at that moment he was not fretting unduly over the latter’s tribulations but looking forward to getting where he was going. This was his first real break since taking on the foreign department nine months earlier, and he was determined to make the most of it, which meant shutting out the outside world as best he could. The previous three weeks he had spent at Strathpeffer, resting his eyes, taking the waters, lazing the days away, sketching, walking, golfing, driving. ‘Except for your Wordsworth,’ he told Springy, ‘who grows upon me, I don’t think I read a line …’ It was a blissful time, spoiled, he perhaps only half joked, by the ‘ubiquitous Spa Band which even ventured this year to lay its sacrilegious hands upon Waggy!’, not to mention ‘the worst piper in Scotland although his was “music of the spheres” compared with that band of Satan’.18 The depression and anxiety of the past winter seemed well behind him. Passing through a quiet, summery London on his way to Europe, he poked his head into the office, in part to remind them that he still existed, but also to give ‘added jest to the prospect of a further three 115

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weeks’ holiday’. There he found the editorial mind occupied in equal part with an ‘archepiscopal decision with regard to lights & incense and [with] affairs in South Africa’, suggesting to his mind that both spiritual and temporal rulers in England were ‘at bottom wobbly, & The Times quite content to wobble in unison with them’. He himself was not exactly steady when it came to the disintegrating situation in South Africa. But Bavaria and Bayreuth beckoned and he was content, just then, to wobble off happily to hear proper Wagner.19 For once he was more than happy to be in Germany. Bayreuth was far from Berlin and the town of Rothenberg-ob-der-Taube, where he spent some time, was a perfect relic of medieval Germany. Its narrow streets and ancient houses sent him into a sentimental reverie to the point where ‘in the early morning, when the strapping Bavarian wenches come to draw water and gossip at the Renaissance well in front of the Stadthaus, one looks involuntarily for poor Gretchen’s shameful form & tearful face running the gauntlet of their jibes and jeers’.20 All the while he himself was hearing German jibes and jeers that were not coming from strapping wenches at the well. This was the summer of the Kaiser’s discontent. Invited a few months earlier to come to his grandmother’s birthday, William had decided that a family party would be the perfect occasion to present his entire family to her. The old Queen, reluctant to face so many Hohenzollerns, responded with the diplomatic equivalent of nothing doing. It seemed that her answer was not diplomatic enough for William, nor was her Prime Minister. A snub from his grandmother was bad but it was no less so than having to watch Salisbury treat Germany ‘in a way … utterly at variance with the manners which regulate the relations between great Powers according to European rules of chivalry’. He made up his mind that he would never again set foot in England.21 Not even an invitation to the Royal Regatta at Cowes, an event the Kaiser adored, could tempt him across the North Sea – although his yacht made the trip and won a prize to boot. But his subjects, he announced, could hardly take kindly to his being entertained by people so disdainful of them. The combination of unfinished business in the Pacific and the Kaiser’s petulant grievances made, said Chirol, for a very sorry state of affairs. ‘Bad blood’ between the ‘Royals’ was trouble enough in the family setting but worse still when it compounded the already complicated work of the diplomatists. Official relations between London and Berlin were not yet too affected but he was convinced that the ‘growing incompatibilité d’humeur between Old Sarum & William … leads to constant bickering & 116

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misconstruction on both sides. The former jeers, the latter scolds, & so we drift further and further apart…’22 His mind occupied by growing problems in the Far East and a disintegrating situation in South Africa, Chirol came down on the side of maintaining, if not good, then at least stable relations with Germany. This would be no simple matter, as he knew. In the autumn, Victoria, blessed with a robust temper of her own, was finally cajoled into trying one more time to woo her prickly grandson over the ‘herring pond’. At last, after making some cranky remarks about needing to see a proper, i.e. satisfactory to Germany, settlement of the long-running dispute over the Samoan Islands, he agreed to come on the condition that it was presented to the public as a purely private gettogether. The chauvinist press and the speeches of right-wing political factions, filled to the brim with Anglophobia, protested stridently against his going, private visit or not. Chirol, gritting his teeth, did not allow The Times to be drawn into responding in anything resembling kind. As he explained to Blowitz, it was quite desirable to have the Kaiser come and thus no effort should be spared to avoid ruffling his hyper-sensitive feathers lest it furnish an argument to those in Germany who are doing their utmost to dissuade him from coming. … [I]f we treated the question at all [in the paper], it would be difficult to avoid saying something about the deliberate attempt at political chantage the German press (& not merely the press!) has pursued in connection with the visit.23

Chirol did his best to put up with the provocations and to live with his concerns about Germany’s ultimate reliability. As the race for empire accelerated, he remained more focused on the problems and dangers posed by Russia. France no longer seemed so formidable. In the aftermath of Fashoda he was inclined to discount her military capabilities; thanks to Dreyfus he questioned her moral fibre and political stability as well. All the same he had an affection for, and an understanding of, the people and the country that he did not have of Russia or Russians, whose seemingly insatiable appetite for territory and resolutely despotic government made him deeply uneasy. The onward march of the Trans-Siberian Railroad, the occupation of Port Arthur, the infiltration of Persia and periodic agitations along the Indian frontier and at the Straits, all alarmed him more than having the Germans at Kiao-Chau or in Samoa. If it became necessary to have friends in Europe, and Chirol was more prepared than some to see this as a real need, then Germany, for all her distasteful behaviour, seemed the more 117

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likely candidate. Hence his willingness to promote – with some private reservations – if not a formal alignment, at least a positive, cooperative atmosphere. ‘As you will have seen from a recent leader,’ he wrote to O’Conor in September, ‘I am all in favour of working in common with the Germans if we can. But I confess I find it hard to trust them properly.’24 Chirol was back from Germany and hard at work by 1 September. Memories of his delightful days at Bayreuth faded fast, as did his health. Both Dreyfus and South Africa were issues he found ‘exceptionally difficult to put away from one’. At first he hoped that President Krüger might yield on the key question of the Uitlander franchise and not resort to fighting. All the same he could not see why the wily old Boer should give way since the pressure exerted by London was so inconsistent. If a credible threat, in the form of sufficient men and material, were not on hand, negotiations were bound to go nowhere. But, in contrast to his remarks about the situation in China, Chirol’s tone was not particularly strident. This initial hesitancy had nothing to do with a weakening of his imperialistic fervour, instead it was brought on by his dislike of the way things had been done at the time of the Jameson Raid. Even Chamberlain had behaved badly; he remembered all too clearly, and with great indignation, that the latter had got up in the House and called Rhodes ‘the soul of honour!’.25 By the beginning of October, as things went from bad to worse, Chirol longed for an absolute conviction of the rightness as well as the expediency of our policy which I had felt for instance with regard to the Sudan & the Spanish– American conflict. Like many others who now support the Gov’t, I felt that the white-washing of Rhodes after the raid had left part of his dirt on our hands.26

In the end his former ‘chum’ at the paper, W.F. Monypeny, now the editor of the Johannisburg Star, or someone else close to the action, convinced Chirol that Chamberlain was not ‘forcing the pace’ for his own ends, but was, even rather reluctantly, yielding to Milner’s imperative arguments. Hand in hand with that fortuitous insight came a second one, that Krüger had, from the beginning, been planning to substitute Dutch for British preponderancy in South Africa. The new certitude that Chirol now felt put him firmly in the Chamberlain–Milner camp and made him ready for action. ‘Nolens, volens, the Transvaal must have its claws pared. We cannot allow a powerful military organisation, which can be directed only against us, to subsist on the flank of our S. African colonies, ready to pounce upon them on the first favourable occasion.’27 118

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As Berlin continued to turn the diplomatic ‘thumbscrews’ over Samoa, and the possibility of war in Africa moved inexorably toward probability, the sombre proceedings at Rennes were also much on Chirol’s mind. The closer it came to a verdict, the more emotional his letters. Fear haunted him constantly, he wrote to Blowitz, and he positively despaired to think that ‘the civilised world [could] bow to the judgment of such a court’.28 But as outraged and fearful as he was he still urged Fullerton to make a supreme effort to remain impartial in his dispatches. I quite understand how difficult it must be when one is boiling over with legitimate indignation to preserve that judicial and ‘objective’ tone which our readers are accustomed to, and I thoroughly enter into your feelings. But I believe you can carry even more conviction with a British public by keeping them under rigid control than by letting yourself go too freely. What a thrilling and awful tragedy it is! For I fear the end will be as tragic as all the early acts.29

The end came on 9 October with a verdict of guilty. The explosion of public feeling in Britain was tremendous. As Chirol put it, ‘nothing like it has been known before, certainly not in connextion with any question in which no political or material interests are concerned … In railways, or omnibuses, in shops, in clubs & churches (other than R.C.) it is the one topic & no dissenting voice.’30 He himself forgot about impartiality and spoke in the paper of the ‘thrill of horror and of shame’ that had coursed through the ‘whole civilized world outside of France’. The sentence handed down was ‘the most appalling prostitution of justice which the world has witnessed in modern times’. France herself was now on trial before the court of history, ‘a tribunal far higher than that before which Dreyfus stood’, and it was up to her ‘to show whether she will undo this great wrong and rehabilitate her fair fame or whether she shall stand irrevocably condemned and disgraced by allowing it to be consummated’.31 It was an impassioned and impressive piece of journalism. But it was not his final say on the subject. Ignoring his own strictures, Chirol gave in to ‘legitimate indignation’ when it came to the part played by the Catholic Church and the French clergy. He could not help but reflect on what that Church had done to his own childhood, remembering bitterly how it ruined my father, destroyed my home, [and] when I was a child placed before me the worst temptation of my life, had I succumbed to which I should have become a sort of Esterhazy, & even now its implacable resentment threatens from time to time to cast a cloud over the one family affection I have left to me, my mother’s.32

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When the Archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Vaughan, then ‘had the audacity to set up a claim for his Church as the one qualified guardian of social morals [just when it] stood convicted of complicity in one of the most odious conspiracies of all times’, Chirol decided to settle some old scores. But, because he believed what he had said to Fullerton about the virtues of objective reporting, he kept his attack on Vaughan confined to the ‘Letters to the Editor’ page and wrote under the name Verax. Chirol very much liked fighting the good fight, and, even with the coming war quickly taking people’s minds off what that Church had done, he was pleased to note that the controversy that he had begun with the attack on Cardinal Vaughan ‘would not pass into oblivion without having made its mark. If that be so, I shall, for that alone, never regret my connexion with Printing House Square.’33 Hard on the heels of the ‘thrill of horror’ over Dreyfus came the sounds of guns from South Africa. The fighting began on 12 October and the Boers, fast off the mark, capitalised on British unpreparedness. Nevertheless Chirol was encouraged by the determination at home ‘to see [things] through to the bitter end come what may’, and by the fact that for once no one was more pugnacious than Salisbury himself. Although none of the European Powers were actually taking up arms for the sake of the Boers, they did take up their pens. From one end of the Continent to the other the press was overwhelmingly critical. It was irritating, offensive, and all too typical of the new ‘yellow journalism’, but most galling of all were the comments in the Dreyfusard press. Chirol, having championed their cause with great ardour, ‘did expect & what, I think, one had the right to expect from them was that, after their own experience, they would at least take the trouble to study the facts & weigh the evidence before joining hands with their former foes [the Germans] in denouncing us’.34 His own health was one of the war’s first casualties. Worn out with emotion over the Dreyfus Affair, working harder than ever before, the news of defeats and deaths in South Africa finished him off. First it was a touch of the flu, then lumbago; by the beginning of November, unable to sleep and on the brink of a nervous collapse, he took a week away from the office. He thought of giving up journalism altogether but couldn’t, compelled as he was to keep The Times from wobbling, especially now. Any remaining doubts that Chirol might have had as to the rightness of the British position in South Africa evaporated, and he went instead in fear of halfway measures. ‘Annexation with self-government,’ he wrote to Leo Amery, who was in South Africa for the paper, ‘must be the final solution.’ Neither the flood of criticism from Europe, nor the demands 120

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for compensations that were sure to come, seemed to bother him. He was fully expecting the screw to ‘be put upon us in other directions – William is doing so already in Samoa – but the shorter the war, the fewer the turns of the “screw”’.35 Little did he realise that, in Berlin, Holstein was proposing that he, Chirol, turn it. Only days before war broke out in South Africa the former wrote to Hatzfeldt that the Prime Minister seemed deaf to threats from abroad, in fact gave the impression that no sacrifice was too great to avoid making concessions. But what, he wondered, might be the effect of pressure applied from within Britain. Surely Lansdowne or Chamberlain could be brought to see that it was folly to think that a small island in the Pacific Ocean is of greater significance to England than the development of the Sea of Marmora, opposite the Suez Canal, into a Russian naval base? [… ] Doesn’t Rothschild know anyone who could present the matter to the Queen in all its enormity: giving up of the Straits in order not to allow the Kaiser to get the tiny island of Apia?36

Would it do any good to appeal to the Prince of Wales? And there was always Chirol. My instinct is that with him and through him something might yet be done. He has a very clear head and would quickly notice the disproportion between our paltry claims and the means which Salisbury is prepared to use to resist them. With your brilliant logic and dialectic you will be certain to convince him [to help us]. Is it possible for you to see Chirol? [… ] If you consider it useful I will telegraph, or if there is time, write to him [as follows]. ‘If Count Hatzfeldt expresses the wish to speak with you, please do me the favour to call on him. You may be called upon to render an important service to both countries.’ A telegram would perhaps be better because no explications are then needed, of course it is less private than a letter but that, to me, is beside the point. Chirol and Wallace are friends but are, from all that I hear, very different men. I believe that Chirol will step in without reservation if it seems to him a useful thing to do, while Wallace follows the wind and the current. Elements exist that could influence Lord Salisbury but they are scattered; an article in the Times would give the signal to rally, even the threat of an article in the Times would be sufficient. Speaking of threats, it occurs to me that vis-à-vis Chirol, in case you speak with him, anything that might seem in the nature of a threat should be strictly avoided.37

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on 1 November. In fact the way Berlin took advantage of Britain’s all too evident difficulties to get its way left a distinctly bad taste in his mouth. The Kaiser’s behaviour – to use a private ‘visit to the Widdy’ as a form of blackmail – was positively indecent. But, if blackmail it was, it seemed to work. Less than three weeks after the agreement was signed the Kaiser, accompanied by his wife and Foreign Secretary, were with the Queen at Windsor. In spite of his pronounced dislike of William’s methods, Chirol insisted that the paper put ‘a good face on things’ and indeed personally hoped, now that it was finally happening, that the meeting would go smoothly. He was not unduly sanguine, but the visit, which began on 19 November and lasted more than a week, went swimmingly. Kaiser and Queen found congenial things to say to one another, and happily for William, who had little or no desire to deal face to face with Lord Salisbury, the latter was in mourning for his recently dead wife and unavailable. Balfour and Chamberlain did the talking for him and Chamberlain, in particular, was much impressed with William’s ‘versatile ability in ranging over matters large and small’.38 The evening before the visitors were due to return to Berlin Bülow wrote a detailed summary of the visit, reviewing the discussions that had taken place and his own and the Kaiser’s observations on the state of the British state – and statesmen. All in all he, Bülow, was much encouraged by the way things had gone. Both Balfour and Chamberlain had been not only positive in their attitude but remarkably forthcoming and open. It could only be to Germany’s advantage, he thought, that the politicians with whom he spoke were so woefully ignorant of the European continent. They knew, he wrote, little more of conditions across the Channel than their German counterparts did of conditions in Peru or Siam. They were, in fact, remarkably naive …in their candid self-seeking, and again in the easy way in which they give their confidence. They believe with difficulty that others have bad motives … The country breaths wealth, comfort, contentment, and confidence in its own strength and future… The people have never seen an enemy in their land, and do not believe that anything could ever really go wrong, either at home or abroad … There is no doubt that feeling in England generally is far less anti-German than German feeling is antiBritish. Therefore the most dangerous Englishmen for us are those who, like Chirol and [George] Saunders, know from personal observation how sharp and deep is the German dislike of England. If the British public realised the feeling reigning just now in Germany, it would cause a great

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change in their view of the relationship between England and that country. I consider that Germany’s future task will be, whilst possessing a strong fleet and maintaining good relations on the side of Russia as well as of England, to await the further development of events patiently and collectedly.39

According to the official history of The Times it was Chirol’s ‘personal, honest, and firm conviction’ that an understanding could be reached with Germany, if based on purely diplomatic solutions to problems such as Samoa. But any such understanding should be one with a small ‘u’; there is nothing to suggest that he wished for anything more binding. All too painfully aware of the tight place Britain was in at the moment, he appreciated the importance of keeping official minds on both sides thinking positively. Thus the paper praised William’s ‘enlightened sense of duty’ as well as the ‘solid common sense’ of the German people, and he pointed out to his readers that ‘the present campaign of misrepresentation and abuse against England [within Germany] is, to a great extent, directed towards weakening the position of the Emperor’s responsible advisers … ’. But the editorial ‘we’ at Printing House Square was satisfied to think that the latter shared the conviction which prevails in this country that the interests of the German Empire run in a very large measure parallel with those of the British Empire and that nowhere can they come into irreconcilable conflict. It is upon this community of wide-spread interests that the friendship of the two countries has been built up in the past, and will, we trust, endure in the future …40

Get rid of the ‘responsible’ men, he warned, and then what – or who – would face England? Reactionary parties such as the Anti-Semites and the Agrarians, special interest groups such as the Navy League and the Pan-Germans, all of them antagonistic, and most of their members intent on seeing Britain, and her empire in particular, cut down to size. The sun shone on Anglo-German friendship as the Kaiser’s yacht, the Hohenzollern, headed for the fatherland on 30 November. As the visitors sailed for home, Chamberlain, apparently encouraged during his pleasantly open conversations with the German high and mighty to endorse the idea of an Anglo-German agreement, gave a speech at Leicester in which he did just that. Britain should, he said, reconsider her current position in Europe. Sensible people would realise that Germany was Britain’s natural friend and most promising ally. The following day The Times also hailed the royal get-together as a reassuring success. It also carried the gist of Chamberlain’s remarks at Leicester. The Hohenzollern was hardly in her 123

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berth and Chamberlain’s remarks still fresh when the Colonial Secretary discovered that his enthusiasm, and conclusions, were not shared across the ‘herring pond’. The consequences were regrettable. While the Kaiser, Bülow, Holstein, et al. might have been privately pleased to see just how accommodating Chamberlain was prepared to be, the German people were outraged to have the Colonial Secretary, who they blamed more than any other English statesman for the infamous war against the Boers, suggest that the two countries had anything in common, let alone be prepared to act in support of one another. The anti-English press, already venomous, exploded in fury. The government made some effort to distance itself from the torrent of abuse, but then, realising that it might help float a large naval appropriations bill, entered carefully into the dispute as they wished to play both sides. This duplicity was not lost on the foreign editor of The Times – he who knew at first hand the way things were done at the Wilhelmstrasse – but he kept the tone in The Times muted, feeling that the news coming in from South Africa was too gloomy to stir up extraneous quarrels. Privately of course he spoke his mind freely, not just about Chamberlain’s ‘fatuous’ and ‘undiplomatic’ remarks about ‘natural alliances’,41 but about the Germans in general. Since the Leicester speech the foreign room had been deluged with Schmahbriefe from Germany. The sheer intensity of the reaction stunned even him and gave him a new appreciation of the depth and virulence of German animosity, this being the very feeling that Bülow was so anxious to keep hidden and which Chirol was in such a position to make public. Bülow could not long resist taking more evident advantage of the useful anti-English emotion to get his Naval Bill into the choppy channels of the Reichstag. In seeing it safely through them it was his turn to make a speech that had unforeseen – and unfortunate – results. His tone was the opposite of what Chamberlain’s had been; he spoke stridently of his country’s imperial destiny, not only to get more ships for the Kaiser’s beloved navy, but to give a nod in the direction of critics who had been so hostile about the recent trip. Touching on Chamberlain’s generous references to British desires for good, indeed closer, relations with Germany he said that those relations might remain peaceful and friendly but only if based on ‘complete reciprocity and mutual consideration’. Germany, he reminded his listeners, enjoyed a favourable position in the world at present, but it must be made more secure for the future. Hence the need for a bigger navy, ‘for without might, without a strong army, without a strong navy we cannot become a world power. 124

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In the coming century the German nation will be either hammer or anvil.’42 No one who heard or read his speech thought he had in mind the role of anvil. Bülow’s ‘hammer and anvil’ analogy went over poorly across the North Sea, however well it played to his own gallery. Chamberlain, for one, felt badly used, and so he should, said Chirol. But what stuck in the foreign editor’s retentive mind was not the slap at Chamberlain but the unmistakable undercurrent of hostility on the part of those official Germans he had been trying so conscientiously to pat on the back. Bülow’s tone, let alone his references to England and to the war, seem to me, I must say, anything but friendly … & [have] been enhanced by the silent approval with which Chancellor & Secretaries of State listened to Bebel’s fervid oration praying for more Boer victories. Social Democrats do not as a rule enjoy so much tolerance at the hands of German ministers … All this, I believe, the country will not forget in a hurry, & I for my part hope it will not be allowed to forget it.43

All this made it a poor time for a rumour to run through London claiming that the Germans were giving aid in various forms to the Boers. Berlin denied it, but the damage was done, especially as people were looking desperately for reasons to explain the unexpected and nearly continuous successes of the Dutch farmer-fighters. Though tempers continued to fray, the diplomatists managed to keep the official temperature in both countries above freezing.44 Chirol, too, kept the lid on at Printing House Square, although it was no easy task. For all his early optimism about the eventual outcome of the war and his brave words about the nation’s reassuring determination to win, things were indeed going very badly. The Boers proved to be brilliant, resilient fighters, and very well armed – with guns made in Germany, of all places. ‘The situation is certainly bad & unless Buller can deal a severe blow … we shall find ourselves in one of the tightest places we have been in since the Mutiny,’ he wrote to Lascelles in mid-December, during a week in which the Boers won a series of back-to-back victories while the British made no progress whatsoever.45 Chirol shared his fears and doubts not only with his friends but even, in a roundabout way, with Holstein. Not long after Bülow’s ‘hammer and anvil’ oration, Chirol and Carl, Graf Pückler, then first secretary at the German Embassy, spent an afternoon together. The latter reported to Hatzfeldt – which always meant Holstein as well – that Chirol was depressed to the point where he was uncharacteristically reluctant to 125

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talk politics at all until Pückler baited the conversational hook with a complaint about Saunders. The reason he had decided to avoid political talk, Chirol confessed, was not merely because the subject was particularly distressing just then, but because he feared to lose his temper and damage their friendship. It was true, he went on, that he was quite puzzled, but distressed even more than puzzled, by the depth and extent of German Anglophobia. He had tried to account for it but could not come up with a plausible explanation, not in the commercial sphere, and not in the colonial one either. The British people had not complained when their government concluded agreements with Germany in the past year or two, but in Germany, when the dealings were with Britain, there was an explosion of rage, and no statesman who has the courage to put a stop to it and to say, ‘If you continue like this it will have the worst imaginable effect on England and poison our relations for years to come.’ Bismarck … sometimes did us real harm, but he knew how to … turn [public opinion] quickly in an entirely new direction if it went too far. There is no such authority now [in Germany and] our relations will suffer greatly as a result.46

Pückler, for his part, freely admitted to Hatzfeldt that the justice of Chirol’s remarks made it difficult for him to make a case for ‘our crazy German philistines’ and, not wanting to sharpen the discussion any further, merely pointed out that recent German history showed that German foreign policy was conducted independently of, and even against, public opinion.47 Holstein, in turn, made another effort to show Chirol that he himself did in fact have Britain’s interests at heart. On 26 December he wrote to Hatzfeldt that the German General Staff was convinced that, should the war in South Africa not be won, and won decisively, by Britain, the Russians would move, probably successfully, on the Indian border. Without a new recruitment policy and better scientific training of its officers, the British army would not be able to stand against the Russians and thus, within a decade or two, there would perhaps be no more ‘englischen Weltreich’. Will you not have Pückler say as much to Chirol? It will take a lot to shake up the English, who have become lazy and fat, but I believe Chirol would be the man for the job. But he should not mention the German High Command in the Times since the information from them is naturally private.48

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Holstein was right, Chirol did want to shake up his ‘fat and lazy’ countrymen. The drawback, which Holstein underestimated, was that he was steadily coming around to the idea that one of the things that they had to wake up to was the fundamental hostility of the Germans – even ‘responsible’ ones. And, even if Pückler had given Holstein’s warning to Chirol, it would not have added much to the worry he already felt about the future of the empire. Plus he was long since critical of the British army, ‘in quantity inadequate for the needs of our immense Empire & in quality obsolete & gangrened with … favouritism & red-tapeism’.49 But it was not Chirol’s awareness of the army’s inadequacies that would have undercut any warning from Holstein via Pückler, but an initially rather insignificant-seeming incident in the waters off the South African coast.

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The new century was only two days old when Moberly Bell wrote to Leo Amery in South Africa that Chirol ‘comes in every afternoon with the latest news. If he has had a bad night he damns me, Buckle, and the office. If he has had a good night he damns Buller and the War Office.’1 The steady stream of bad news not only depressed The Times’ foreign editor, it shocked the British public, and, finally, stirred the War Office into action. By the end of the first week of January General Redvers Buller – or General Reverse Buller as he was dubbed2 – was no longer in supreme command of British forces in South Africa. General Lord Frederick [Bobs] Roberts took over, with Kitchener, hero of Omdurman, as his Chief of Staff. Many welcomed the changes and none more than Chirol. Dame Rebecca West was a child of eight in 1900. When, later in life, she looked back to those days of war, she seemed to see in her clear mind’s eye a crowd standing quite still in the first darkness of evening, in some wide space, the gas street lamps shining down on them as they all look southwards, towards the Home Counties and all those ports from which the soldiers sailed across half the world to South Africa, where a grossly abundant crop of corpses lay buried, and the reputations of generals and even regiments lay buried deeper still.3

At first the new men seemed to make little difference. The doughty Boers were canny and resilient; each day’s telegrams continued to be grim. In far-off Tehran, Springy wrote that waking ‘in the morning or late at night is a terrible thing; one lies alone with a living and growing fear 128

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staring one in the face’.4 Nor did it help anyone’s mood to read the torrent of abuse appearing daily in the foreign press. Rumours of pro-Boer intrigues were in constant supply, as were warnings about the possibility of outside intervention. If those in charge in London seemed unable to look the situation in the face, as Chirol claimed, he himself stared at it with such persistence that he made himself ill. The government was not, in fact, as ‘supine’ and dangerously unaware as Chirol made out. Two days after the war began they signed an agreement with Portugal in which the latter promised not to allow arms to pass through the port of Lourenço Marques to the Transvaal, nor to declare neutrality, which would have made it impossible for British warships to use it as a coaling station. Meanwhile the Prime Minister, although not wanting to provoke his neighbours across the Channel, warned them that they should not expect to find a place to coal in South Africa. He also alerted all the technically neutral, but vehemently protesting, Powers that the rules concerning blockade and the supply of contraband adopted at the Congress of Paris in 1856 should be considered to be in effect.5 This was neither a surprising nor an unusual thing to do but soon led to trouble. In the final days of December, acting on tips that turned out to be false, the British seized three German cargo steamers off the west coast of Africa. The ships, filled with mail and other innocent goods, were taken to Durban to be searched. Two were released almost immediately. But the third, the Bundesrath, stayed put in Durban for more than two weeks. German tempers flared; their papers blared and blustered. In the midst of all the official and journalistic hullabaloo, Chirol and Holstein had another of their regrettable misunderstandings. The average German took the news of the captured ships rather badly, the far from average Holstein even worse. This time, he fumed, the bone-headed English had really gone too far. If this was an example of their naval strategy, it appeared to be matched only by the ingenious direction of their forces on land, which, as he had earlier remarked, had not progressed since the days of Wellington. Holstein knew as soon as he heard of the Bundesrath that it would be impossible to keep the German press reined in. It was difficult enough to keep the government’s totally justified protest within bounds. As for using Chirol to prod his own government, [o]ne can conclude from the tone of the Times and the fact that Saunders is still here that it is unnecessary to try and take any steps with Chirol. Perhaps he is also of the opinion which Saunders expresses here so often:

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‘Sooner or later England and German must come to blows, for England sooner would be better than later.’ Such convictions point to a complete ignorance of their own capabilities …6

The longer the British held the German ship, the louder the noise from the German press, the stiffer the official posture. The arrogance, then the slowness, of the British naval officials was given as the reason for the flapping lips in the press and the tight ones at the Wilhelmstrasse and the palace. But there were other reasons and they were not entirely overlooked, certainly not by Chirol. He knew that Bülow, as well as his colleagues and his master, counted on gaining popularity at home by standing up to Britain. In addition – not a small addition – they were also well aware that this naval ‘affront’ could be put to good use in easing the passage of yet another, and even larger, naval appropriations bill. In mid-January a rumour made the rounds to the effect that a German admiral was on his way to London. He was coming, so the story ran, to demand redress for the insult suffered by the German navy. Should the English resist, he was authorised to break off official relations with London.7 The admiral never appeared, but the Bundesrath sailed out of Durban almost immediately. Unfortunately, the Germans could not give up their anger as quickly as the British had the steamer. Instead, Bülow seized the moment to give another brusque speech in the Reichstag. Neither its tone nor content pleased London. Chirol, having said relatively little about the Bundesrath incident per se in the paper, could not overlook the Chancellor’s latest words. People in Britain were surprised, he pointed out, at his language. Even the Chancellor might, in the end, find it less than wise ‘to push too far the practice of exploiting international questions of a delicate character, even for the furtherance of a big navy Bill’.8 Writing privately, he admitted that the sheer offensiveness of the speech had finally ‘dispelled the optimism which still lingered here in official quarters’.9 He himself was determined to spoil Bülow’s attempt to emulate Bismarck. At the beginning of February, in a leader on ‘Russia and Persia’, he pointed out to ‘our German friends’ that they were proving themselves not up to Bismarck’s standards if they meant to create tension between England and Russia over the Persian question. ‘The old Chancellor knew how to keep the secrets of his diplomatic strategy to himself. He was content to achieve his objects without allowing his Press to betray them by a premature revelation … ’10 Chirol commiserated with Lascelles, who, he was sure, must be finding himself in a tight spot in Berlin. Things were indeed rather ‘wiry’ in the German capital, but Lascelles, trying to smooth 130

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ruffled feathers, chided his friend for being ‘too hard on Bülow’s speech [as] he was speaking to a German audience and had to adopt a tone in harmony with it … [I]t would be almost, if not quite, impossible to concoct a speech which would give satisfaction in both countries.’11 Chirol did not answer Lascelles for three weeks, a rather long time. Perhaps he had been put off by the latter’s defence of the Germans, but he was also in a funk, as he told O’Conor, and disinclined ‘to put pen to paper’. The painful lack of progress in South Africa made him anxious; anxiety combined with long hours at the office wore him down. Impending illness only heightened his already overheated imagination. He saw enemies everywhere, but nowhere, it seemed, were they as determined, or as dangerous, as in Germany. ‘My distrust … ,’ he told Lascelles when he did finally respond, ‘becomes, if anything, more firmly rooted, and though I do not imagine [Germany] will take any overt action against us anywhere of her own accord nor even join in any overt combination, I believe her hand is everywhere secretly against us.’ He focused his fear and resentment on the way the Germans were behaving in Washington, especially as in his view any disruption of transatlantic relations would prove more damaging to imperial interests than a Continental coalition. ‘The latter would be a grave, but temporary danger. The former would be a permanent one.’12 It was more of the same to Amery, Steed and O’Conor, but particularly to Springy, who had close personal relations with Vice-President Roosevelt and John Hay, the American Secretary of State. ‘So far, the good feeling & common sense of the better elements … has just been able to hold its own against the imported influence of the Irish & German elements,’ Chirol wrote, and especially against the strenuous efforts of the German government, working ‘tooth and nail’ against any Anglo-American accommodation. I do hope that the eyes of [our] country will at last be opened to the futility of coquetting with Germany. Never have her ways been so crooked & perfidious as during the last few months, & never has she been found out in such unblushing duplicity. Even old S[arum] has turned at last. But can one rely upon the turning of an invertebrate?13

Chirol had never looked kindly on Lord Salisbury, now British officialdom in general came in for the rough side of his tongue. According to him Whitehall had been in a state of absolute chaos for months on end; had any of Britain’s Continental ‘friends’ really understood what was going on, or rather not going on, the temptation to take advantage of the confusion 131

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would have been overwhelming. He was disgusted by the thought that the world’s greatest empire had been reduced to waging war by private enterprise, but it was clear to him that it was the latter that had reinforced the armies and supplied, in some measure, the want of backbone in high places. People were wont to ask why the paper was so tough on the government. The reply is simple, though one cannot make it publicly. Their speeches are bad enough, but what one has in one’s mind are the sins of omission & commission which lie behind their speeches & about which one is compelled for obvious reasons to preserve silence until the country is out of the wood. Then I hope the day of reckoning will come for the cynics & philosophers who have brought the Empire to the verge of such a catastrophe …14

He wished fervently for more men such as Rosebery, unafraid to speak out as a real statesman. As for the war, it must be won, decisively, in the field. Should it peter out due to Boer exhaustion or lack of supplies there would be an immediate clamour at home for generous treatment. Nothing, in his view, could be worse. The outside world must see that Britain was not so ‘fat and lazy’ that she was unable to defend her extensive and legitimate interests. The Boers were in the wrong and he instructed Amery to gather as much evidence as possible about the long history of their conspiracy, much as he disliked that particular term. ‘[P]robably a good deal of circumstantial evidence could be collected from the files of the Afrikander press. I don’t know how far you may have time & opportunity … but the further back you can trace any such evidence – especially into pre-Raid times – the more useful it would be.’15 Chirol was over-worried. By the end of February there were substantial gains. London virtually erupted with joy when news came of the relief of Ladysmith, and Chirol put aside his abiding fear that the British army would be forced to surrender to a ‘primitive peasantry’, no matter that they had up-to-the-minute guns. When Mafeking was relieved on 17–18 May, London again went wild, and never again, said Chirol, would anyone be able to call the British people stolid and unemotional. The city was awash in bunting and the crowded buses looked like ‘huge flower beds, every outside passenger flag-wagging for all he or she is worth! It really is a wonderful sight.’16 Once Chirol allowed himself to be more confident of victory, and that victory would mean the annexation of the Orange Free State and the Transvaal,17 he gave the paper more scope to be critical of the Germans. The shift in tone bothered the Wilhelmstrasse to the extent that Holstein 132

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suggested to von Eckardstein, then first secretary in the London Embassy, to try and have a friendly chat with Chirol in order to calm him down. If their talk began on a friendly note, Chirol soon goggled to hear from Eckardstein that it might well have been the steady friendliness of the German government that kept the fighting ‘localized’. In return Chirol noted, rather sharply, that the speeches of the Foreign Secretary hardly gave the impression of either friendliness or support, just the reverse. From where he sat both official policy and public opinion in Germany seemed thoroughly unfriendly. ‘The British public,’ he went on in this unfriendly mode, had never expected very much from France and Russia, ‘but, after the Imperial visit and the hearty reception given the Kaiser, we expected better things of Germany. It is a question whether it would not be preferable to join with open enemies like France and Russia, even at the greatest sacrifice, than with a double-faced friend like Germany.’18 Although these words – which went directly back to Holstein – are clear evidence that Chirol’s confidence in German trustworthiness was at a new low, it was destined to sink lower still. George Saunders, who, a month before the war began, advised Chirol that the wise course would be to give the Germans as wide a berth as possible, supplied him with particularly violent attacks on Britain culled from numerous papers, not to mention with his own well-informed observations of their government’s conniving behaviour. Throughout much of 1899, wanting to keep the paper ‘steady’ on the subject of Germany, Chirol tended to tailor Saunders’ dispatches. But, as his own suspicions began to get the upper hand, he used his blue pencil more sparingly.19 By early spring the combination of his own mistrust and all that Saunders was passing along seemed, at least to Holstein, to have triumphed. It was not a good omen. For Holstein The Times on Germany was Chirol on Germany, pure and simple. Saunders, although offensive and more than bothersome, was merely the former’s mouthpiece – his parting gift to Germany. As he told his friend Mrs Hainauer, who happened to be Saunders’ mother-in-law, the correspondent had never been so offensively critical when writing from Berlin for the London Morning Post; it was therefore obvious that he had picked up his animus from Chirol.20 As for the latter, Holstein wrote sourly to Eckardstein that it was no longer consonant with our dignity to go on running after him. It will be quite enough if you can keep in touch with such papers as are less supercilious towards Germany. The English will need us more than we do them for some time to come; for, even if they succeed in holding the Boer

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Republics as conquered territory, our attitude will mean a good deal to them.21

On that same day Lascelles wrote to Chirol to ask if he might rein in his Berlin correspondent. At the very least ‘his tone might be more conciliatory. He has got I think a little over suspicious, and Bülow talked about him today as though his presence here was a calamity. [He] also asked whether it would not be possible to get another Times correspondent, but I told him I could have nothing to do with that …’22 Chirol thanked Lascelles for his concern, but gave not an inch. Bülow would simply have to put up with the calamity of Saunders’ presence in Berlin as long as he, Chirol, had any influence at all. ‘To sacrifice him,’ he said bluntly, ‘would be not only a gross injustice but a gross blunder.’ Ambassadors were obviously trained in the arts of conciliation. But the business of a correspondent was to put down what he sees, ‘without fear or favour’. Besides, he added with some relish, the Chancellor deserved to be discomforted since he had ‘evidently yet to realise the full effect produced upon public opinion in this country by the attitude of Germany towards us during the last four months’. The ill-will of France & Russia was to be expected & to a certain extent excusable. But that Germany should have displayed such rancorous hatred has come as a surprise even to those who were under no illusions as to the unscrupulousness of her policy. Her hand has been against us everywhere, her press as the Berlin Post itself tardily acknowledges has exceeded in brutality that of any other nation, her Government has been more openly & covertly hostile than any other, her Sovereign has by his silence at any rate acquiesced in a campaign of insult directed against the Queen, his grandmother, the Royal family, his kinsmen, the British army of which he is an honorary member, & the British nation whose guest he has repeatedly been … I for my part earnestly hope that we shall not forget all this in a hurry simply because, her hopes having proved abortive & her schemes come to naught, Germany now finds it expedient to profess a tardy repentance & gives us perfunctory assurances of a friendship which her acts still in a great measure belie & of which the value to us, even if it were sincere, is being every day discounted by the general improvement of our position.23

Having had his fling, Chirol paused to regain some of the ‘diplomatic balance’ he so valued. He got as far as admitting that the interests of Britain and Germany might well draw them back together at some point, and that eventuality would not necessarily bother him. But should they find themselves pulling together on some issue or other he hoped that 134

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statesmen in Britain would now know that the way to do ‘business’ with the Germans was – as with France and Russia – ‘with unhesitating firmness & without any sentimental optimism’. Although Saunders had clearly gone a long way toward recruiting Chirol to his point of view, neither the correspondent nor the foreign editor had much, if any, influence on Whitehall’s German policy at that point. Official relations remained correct. On 7 March Count Metternich,24 standing in for an ill Hatzfeldt, wrote to Holstein that Salisbury, ‘on his own initiative, mentioned the Emperor’s recent conversation with Sir Frank Lascelles and begged me to express his thanks for His Majesty’s very gracious sentiment for England’. Still the Wilhelmstrasse, and Holstein in particular, took the Saunders–Chirol problem just as seriously, the latter forwarding Metternich’s letter to Bülow with the comment that it must permanently injure Sir F. Lascelles’ position with His Majesty, if the Emperor sees in what tone the ‘Times’, which is directed by Lascelles’ friend, Chirol, [allows] … Saunders, who is in almost daily touch with Lascelles, [to] continue to write. As I do not know Lascelles, I cannot judge whether a warning would be useful.25

Before Bülow had a chance to say anything to Lascelles, The Times let off another blast. In early March the British government published a Bluebook on Africa and the controversy over the detention of the Bundesrath. In response to the publication Chirol wrote a leader entitled ‘A New War Map’.26 Into it went much of what he had said in private to Lascelles the week before. The Foreign Office wrote at once to Lascelles that it was a pity to have The Times go off with such a big bang just as the Kaiser was doing his best to be friendly. I need not say that they never consult us before they go off into one of these tantrums. Nor, if they did so, do I think there could be say chance of their taking our advice … Lord Salisbury tells me that he has several times impressed on Metternich that the Government not be identified with the manifestations of Jupiter.27

The following day Lascelles wrote to Chirol to say, among other things, that he was spoiling your case by too great violence, and that you are unjust to the Emperor… You say that they will come to heel of their own accord and that the worst mistake of all is to run after them… [A]lthough I will certainly not make use of your metaphor in Berlin – as no one likes being treated like a dog – will pursue it so far as to suggest that a prudent sportsman after having rated and chastised his dog for running after a hare does not send him away altogether.28

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Lascelles’ words sent Chirol post-haste to the Foreign Office to have, as he put it, ‘his head washed’. Sanderson did what he could and hoped for the best. I believe that Buckle, Moberly Bell and Chirol regard the British Empire as a sort of elephant whose business it is to rush about trampling and trumpeting and knocking down everything that comes in its way. I told Chirol that I thought the Times had blown all its steam off about the mailsteamers a long while ago. He laughed and said they had always plenty of hot water on tap. I don’t think he has ever forgiven the lectures he received when he was at Berlin from Hofmann [sic] and others … He is not particularly fond of Lord Salisbury … and I am sure in his heart he regards me as culpably weak. If I have to go at him again I shall say he is causing you personal inconvenience. I believe that argument would have more effect on him than most.29

Chirol’s leader, naturally enough, was not read with relish in Berlin. But, bad as it was, it was made much worse by a story carried in the paper on the following day. Under the heading ‘German Animosity’ it reported that German sailors on the Deutschland, then in Portsmouth harbour, had cheered the Boers as their officers stood by and watched. The Emperor at once telegraphed Metternich to prevail upon the paper to withdraw it, and Bülow announced that he was considering lodging a complaint with the English government in order to get them to look into the incident and publish the results. English officials were also concerned and sent another appeal to Lascelles to please give a ‘hint’ to Chirol as he was ‘far more likely to listen to you than any one else’. Von Eckardstein had recently been lamenting the foreign editor’s determination not to forget “l’affaire Holstein’’, and even old Hohenlohe was thoroughly indignant.30 Lascelles did what he could to smooth things down, telling the Kaiser, among others, that both the Queen and Lord Salisbury were, and had been, most grateful for the ‘supportive gestures’ of German officials. But unfortunately it was not very easy just now to advertise German friendliness to the British public, the result being that ‘newspaper writers could only form their opinions from what they learnt from the ordinary channels of information’. The Emperor, according to Lascelles, seemed rather ‘struck’ by this observation, but his sole response was to suggest that, as the ambassador’s close friendship with Chirol was well known, he might be in a position to tell the latter what he, the Kaiser, thought of him. I observed that His Majesty had not yet deigned to communicate his thoughts to me, upon which he told me a story about an English Admiral who had once used the expression ‘d----d fool’. I then said that

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I would be indiscreet and admit the fact that I had [already] written to Chirol who was certainly a great friend of mine, and although I had not used the forcible expression to which His Majesty had alluded, I had, I hoped, conveyed the impression that I considered ‘The Times’ had gone on a wrong tack.31

Chirol’s deepening suspicion of Germany was only one of many worries on his mind in the spring of 1900. As much as he might have enjoyed discomforting Holstein with talk of Britain’s coming to terms with France and Russia, much would still have to be done to convince him of their reliability. He no longer feared that they would meddle in South Africa, but there were other ways that they could make themselves irritating, if not dangerous. He sensed that the Russians were bent on making another move in Persia or the Far East before Britain ‘had got clear of our S.A. entanglements, and I should not be surprised if the French were to follow their example in Morocco’.32 Nor were all of Chirol’s bêtes noires to be found on the other side of the Channel. The question of army reform, a need brought forcibly home by the early catastrophes in South Africa, raised his ire just as quickly as did tales of presumed plotting on the part of Continental enemies. As things looked up in South Africa, he tortured himself with the thought that a few victories might lead people to discount the need for reform. Everything he heard about the War Office at home confirmed what he was hearing from Leo Amery about military ineptitude in the war zone. What he hoped was that the colonies, who were also sending troops to South Africa, would keep Britain ‘up to the mark’.33 The colonies were Chirol’s great hope for the future. They were ‘youth knocking on the door’, poised, he fervently hoped, to rouse the sluggish English out of their dangerous complacency. Although the ‘old’ country still had the advantages of experience, knowledge and tradition, what they needed now was ‘quickening with the fire of youth & energy’. It was all too typical, for instance, how slow the War Office had been to take advantage of this immense reservoir of men and material. According to Kitchener the colonial troops in South Africa had given their British fellow fighters a much-needed shaking up; Chirol wanted the same thing to happen to parliamentary and bureaucratic mandarins in London. Each of Chirol’s passionate campaigns – against the shifty Germans, the obstructionist War Office, the supine Salisbury, etc. – took its mental and physical toll. Finally, with spring in the air, the news from the Cape continuing to improve, and the fracas with Berlin dying away, Chirol took to his bed with a bad bout of flu. The fever and discomfort passed 137

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off in the usual course, but he did not bounce back. In April, barely able to travel, he tottered off to build himself up again in Tangier. Sir Arthur Nicolson, whom he had known since Sofia days and was now minister to Morocco, reported back to the Foreign Office that his friend had arrived in a terribly ‘seedy’ state but after some days of ‘puttering about’ was finally brightened up.34 Chirol was enchanted by the beauties of Morocco and wondered why, given how far and wide he had travelled, he had never been there before. It was all he could have asked for, tropical, exotic, and just five days from London. The country was interesting for other reasons as well. When Chirol made his enthusiastic discovery of its many charms, it was virtually without any effective government. Taking advantage of the anarchy, French forces in Algeria had begun moving into what had once been Moroccan-controlled oases along their south-western border. As he pottered about, Chirol also did a bit of poking about in order to get some understanding of the rudiments of the situation. The French were definitely on the move, ‘evidently bent on making hay whilst the sun shines … though nobody of course at home pays any attention to it …’.35 Although the government seemed to be turning a blind eye to a penetration that might well have future consequences, Chirol did not hurl his usual accusations about spinelessness, no doubt because he too thought that London had more than enough to worry about. With South Africa finally looking up, a plan in mind for the battle for army reform, and the benefits of Morocco not yet completely dissipated, Chirol hoped for a relatively calm and recuperative summer. He actually began to enjoy life outside the confines of the office, falling all over himself in praise of Eleanora Duse in d’Annunzio’s new play ‘La Gioconda’. Never in his life, he told Springy, had he been so deeply, so passionately stirred … It is art, if you like, but it is art quickened and rendered perfect by inspiration, like the Sistine Madonna, or my Bellini’s Pieta, or Schubert’s unfinished Symphony, or Beethoven’s Eroica, that lifts one on to a higher and purer plane … one of those experiences which make life richer and more beautiful for all time.36

Life, in his case, remained richer and more beautiful for a very short time. His hopes for a restful summer died abruptly with news from China. Men who had been in the Far East knew that trouble was brewing but few seemed able to judge the danger correctly. In Britain news from ‘abroad’ generally meant news from South Africa and too many people did not seem to care enough about that. Thus the tumultuous onslaught of the 138

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Boxers, savage in their xenophobia, came as a bolt from the blue, shocking in the extreme. Even Chirol, more aware of what was going on in China than the great majority of his countrymen, was stunned by the rapidity with which the Boxer Movement appeared and the ferocity of the feelings involved. In part that is explained by his absorption in the South African war and related threats in Europe, also by the fact that Morrison had said little or nothing about the growing unrest. No one knew better than he that brutality and aggression were part and parcel of imperial expansion in China, but he still failed to connect the rising Boxer menace to this these ugly processes. In a letter dated 10 April he remarked on the impressive growth of prosperity in China in general but said not a word about the growth of severe unrest in the provinces at his very doorstep.37 Nevertheless some diplomats in Peking did pick up the warning signs and by the beginning of the year were showing enough alarm to demand action on the part of the Chinese government. The latter did nothing and the attacks continued throughout the spring until, in mid-June, the despised and badly threatened foreigners retaliated. With that the Boxers declared open season and Peking was engulfed in fighting. The German minister, Baron von Ketteler, was murdered on 20 June, the foreign legations besieged that same day, one day after being ordered to quit the Chinese capital. Few, if any, of their residents got further than the British compound, where they remained, cut off from the outside world, for the next two months. From mid-June to mid-August the fighting in South Africa was overshadowed as governments from St Petersburg to Washington struggled, first to find out what was happening in Peking, then to take some kind of coordinated action. It was not at all easy for the various Powers to act in concert given their deeply ingrained suspicions of one another, and Peking was already in the hands of the Boxers when Chirol sent off a worried letter to Morrison. From what little he could gather in London, he feared that things were likely to become quite ‘sticky’. Although relatively confident that the British could hold off any ordinary attempt to overwhelm the European quarter of Peking, the idea that the attackers might try and burn the compounds crossed his increasingly worried mind. But for this personal anxiety, I should say that good was certain to come out of this evil. It has brought the question to a head and certainly stirred official as well as public feeling… I only wish it had not come quite so soon, for we cannot ignore the fact that our hands are still pretty full in S.A.38

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Chirol mailed his letter on 15 June; Morrison did not read it until the end of August. Things in Peking were, as it turned out, not ‘sticky’ but deadly. Hearsay and rumour bounced from paper to paper, the lack of reliable news made the suspense ghastly. It was bad enough, Chirol wrote to Bland, ‘for those who like myself have only friends and acquaintances at Peking, but for those who have kith and kin there it is horrible beyond words’.39 Still, this latest crisis tested him sorely. As much as he wanted, and tried, to believe that there was some hope, his imagination continually offered up lurid images of murderous goings-on in the British Legation, that ‘bright compound’ where he had spent so many happy weeks. He did what he could to shut his mind’s eye by concentrating on making what sense he could of the genesis and aims of the rebellion. From what he already knew from his own personal observations, and what new information he could gather, he decided that this was no revolution from below but an outburst organised and orchestrated by the Manchus in order to save their tottering, discredited dynasty. The action had begun in and remained confined to the north, in Shantung and Chi-li, the so-called Metropolitan provinces. There it must stay, for should the

A corner of the British Legation, which was attacked during the Boxer Rebellion © Getty Images.

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chaos and carnage spread to the central and southern provinces the catastrophe would be complete, particularly for British interests. Stopping the Boxers was crucial, but it was only the first step. They were a symptom, the disease was China, and this hideous eruption served to highlight issues that he had been trying, with depressingly little success, to publicise ever since he wrote the series of articles that grew into The Far Eastern Question. The disintegration that he had stressed in his book was now far advanced and still progressing. And where, in 1895, there had been one dominant Western Power – Great Britain – in that part of the world there were now at least four, five if one counted Japan, which he certainly did. This development meant that the defeat of the Boxers was just one thing, any agreement as to how to do it, not to mention what would come afterwards, something else altogether.40 He was right. For once, the British government did Chirol proud. Not only were they encouragingly ‘alive to the dangers ahead’ but willing to work with their political opponents to arrange a mandate for the Japanese – with armed forces both ready and ‘on the spot’ – to go into China at once. Parties at Whitehall might agree that this was a crucial step, the other Powers concerned could not. France and Russia would hear nothing of the idea and together defeated it, fearing that the Japanese, once in China and backed by the British, would be sure to make the most of the situation to arrange things to their own advantage. This made it clear, certainly to Chirol, that, although the Powers would be forced by circumstance to work together to squash the revolt, they would be hard-pressed to forget their rivalries and suspicions in order to resolve the larger problem of China’s future. As the need to organise a relief effort became more pressing by the day, if not the hour, the fissures between the Powers kept pace. It was all too depressing, given the stakes, and Chirol fretted and fumed and felt generally hopeless. ‘Is there anywhere enough strength of purpose to dominate the divided counsels of the Powers? That is the crucial question & it fills me with dismay.’41 He was also desperately gloomy because he believed that any relief effort was now too late, not, perhaps, to salvage the ultimate political situation in China but almost certainly to save the lives of those trapped in the legations. In the midst of all the bickering and diplomatic back and forth over the make-up and leadership of a relief force, the Daily Mail, having not much to go on besides rumour and the power of invention, did the Boxers’ work for them. The defence of the legation had been 141

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desperate and valiant, its headlines proclaimed, but in vain. Everyone, or so it said, was dead. After all the weeks of uncertainty and anguished worry it seemed somehow better to feel that one actually knew something, even something so horrible. Chirol, and the paper with him, had clung with grim determination to a shred of hope that some, even if not all, of the people might survive. Chirol, for one, was sure that it would take a very great deal to put an end to Morrison. But the piece in the Daily Mail was powerfully done and a combination of things finally led The Times to follow in its wake.42 Chirol wrote a powerful and moving leader, crying out, Kaiser-like, for ‘righteous vengeance’ and for an immediate ‘display of foreign force adequate to deal with the hordes in northern China’ before ‘a universal uprising of the yellow race’ should follow the fall of Peking. Although he admitted that there were no confirmable details as to what exactly had taken place in Peking and perhaps might never be any, there were, as it turned out, more than a few invented ones in the lines he went on to quote from the Daily Mail. The Europeans fought with calm courage to the end against overwhelming hordes of fanatical barbarians … When the last cartridge had gone their hour had come. They met it like men. Standing to their battered defences they stayed the onrush of the Chinese, until, borne down by sheer weight of numbers, they perished at their posts. They have died as we would have had them die, fighting to the last for the helpless women and children who were to be butchered over their dead bodies …43

Chirol dedicated a full paragraph in the leader to Morrison. He also wrote an obituary bordering on the fulsome that Morrison lived not only to read but to resent.44 Having thus ‘given Christian burial to [his] poor Peking friends’ he fled to the north to rest and play golf. The Boxer crisis had been very hard on everyone’s nerves, but now, at least, the horror was over, or so he thought. But no sooner had The Times buried Morrison and the others with full honours than news that they were still alive began to trickle into the office. Chirol was ‘bidden to hope once more’, but half afraid to do so.45 If he had, he might have spared himself a few further weeks of grief and anger. By mid-August a multinational force under the command the German General von Waldersee was in Peking, where they found the legation’s desperate defenders still holding on. Morrison, although slightly wounded, was very much alive. For once Chirol was delighted to be proved wrong. As it happened he was at the Foreign Office when 142

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the news first came in. He hustled back to Printing House Square with his scoop and to write a personal letter to Morrison. It is just a month ago today since we published what we believed to be your obituary notice, and I hope that when you read it, so strange an experience will at any rate make you realise how warmly and sincerely we value you, and how hearty is the friendship and admiration of the writer.46

Even before the Boxer disaster Chirol had been making noises about taking a longer than usual break from the stresses and strains of his daily stint in the foreign room. This would not be a vacation nor a rest-cure, but something along the lines of a ‘look-see’ tour and a series of special articles based on what he saw. The only question was where to go, South Africa or the Far East, and he could not decide between them until he saw how things were shaping themselves in both cases. Thanks in part to the sheer drama of recent events the question was resolved in favour of the Far East. But first he went north, to Strathpeffer, hoping to build himself up a bit for the long trip. Back in London, somewhat refreshed and buoyed by the thought of a journey, Chirol wrote to the recently resurrected Morrison to say that he would see him in China in the winter. He then set sail for Yokohama via New York and San Francisco, thinking that the bracing breezes of the Atlantic and Pacific would complete his Scottish ‘cure’. During the weeks of hand-wringing, decision-making, and then preparing himself for an extended journey, the Germans seemed to all but drop out of Chirol’s world picture. Anglo-German negotiations were well advanced at that point over an agreement concerning future arrangements of their interests in China. Apart from noting that William II would be unlikely in the extreme to do anything that would estrange the Tsar, Chirol passed over the terms of agreement itself without comment, at least any that has survived. This document was signed, in all its open-ended vagueness, only a day or two before he sailed. By the time he got to China, early in the new year, what little positive value it did have, in his view, had vanished and the Germans were back in the picture and in his black book as well. Chirol arrived in Japan in late November. Though constantly on the point of moving on to China he found it hard to leave. His friends were treated to long, glowing – and frequently identical – accounts of the perfection of the climate, the beauties of nature, above all of Mt Fuji. It was no wonder that the Japanese people worshiped this unique peak, ‘with his silver mantle of snow down to his waist and the blue mist 143

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curling about his train of russet brown & purple, [as] he soars heavenwards like a god in his isolated majesty …’.47 In Japan he finally finished the health cure begun in Morocco six months earlier. When he finally did tear himself away he was back in fighting form, a ‘totally new creature’. He had been so tired, so relentlessly sick, such a miserable ‘slave to his body’ for months on end, that the world had been ‘black as black could be’. Now nothing seemed to depress him, not even the gloomy outlook in China and in South Africa. ‘I sleep well, I eat well, I feel altogether five years younger & so perish the Empire, what care I? This is a most humiliating confession, but it is so.’48 Good health was a major asset in the sort of travelling that lay before him, as he well knew. And, as soon as Chirol turned from the beauty of the countryside or the innate courtesy and kindliness of the simple Japanese peasants to the world of politics, both internal and external, the outlook was not always so pleasant, even in Japan, let alone China. The intricacies of Chinese and Japanese politics were many and obscure, and, when the political and strategic objectives of the various European Powers, plus the United States and Japan, were added in, sorting things out was anything but simple. One thing, however, seemed brilliantly clear to him. While the Celestial Empire was rapidly sinking, Japan was, in every sense, the land of the rising sun – and the coming men. On his first visit to the Far East in 1895–1896 he described his trip eastward across the Yellow Sea as, almost literally, a voyage from night to day. On the western shore … [the traveller] has left behind him a countless agglomeration of human beings which no homogeneity of race, language, or religion has availed to weld together into a nation … On its eastern shores he lands amongst a people whose national vigour has been strung to the highest point of tension by a strenuously centralised administration, which itself responds in complete sympathy of intellect and heart to the touch of enlightened and resolute rulers. Alone amongst all Asiatic nations, Japan seems to have realised in its fullest sense the modern conception of patriotism, such as we understand it in the West.49

On this later visit Japanese officials were friendly enough but hard to read, leading their astute visitor to worry a bit about whether or not he was getting ‘the right end of the stick’. He could see that they had a game of their own in mind, ‘and though I am very confident that their game is to a great extent ours, some people whose judgment I cannot overlook are equally convinced that they are gradually moving over towards Russia’.50 144

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Chirol had been feeling Russia’s hot breath on Britain’s neck in the Far East ever since the Port Arthur business in 1896. Recent troubles had given her an excellent excuse to tighten her grip on Manchuria and squeeze further concessions out of Peking. London’s apparent passivity – ‘criminal lethargy’, in his words – continued to torment him. In The Far Eastern Question he had stressed the need for Britain to take a clear direction in the Far East. Now, with more players and bigger stakes in the game, he was correspondingly angrier at the way Whitehall was still thoughtlessly squandering what had once been British dominance. His letters home were full of Russian troop movements, political manoeuvrings, diplomatic demands and the reactions of the other Powers to all of the above. The effect in Japan was certainly deplorable, as their Prime Minister made plain. ‘Japan had always reckoned upon England,’ Prince Ito told Chirol – and Chirol told O’Conor, as an active & powerful factor in the maintenance of the status quo in the Far East & that her complete effacement during the present crisis had been a grievous disappointment. Even the S.A. entanglement did not explain the absence of any definite policy on the part of England which more than anything else had discouraged the best elements in China & rendered the indefinite prolongation of the crisis possible. [… ] In adhering almost with her eyes shut to the Anglo-German agreement Japan had given a substantial proof of her confidence in England’s good intentions, yet she had failed to elicit any manifestation of reciprocal confidence.51

His first inclination, Chirol told O’Conor, was to take these complaints with ‘a very large grain of salt’. But what he found in China, when he finally got there, seemed to bear the old man out. Shanghai, though cold and wet, was a perfect ‘vortex of gaiety’, with neither the weather or politics dampening peoples’ spirits. Although there were troops of five, and warships of 11, different nationalities on hand, one was reminded more of the Tower of Babel than stung by the realisation that ‘we were in the midst of a China crisis. [… ] Fortunately the predominance of our British tongue is still left to us – about the only thing that is!’52 What scandalised him was not so much the mindless frivolity but the way London seemed to discount, if not ignore, the provincial administrators in the Yangtze Valley. These men had done Britain a remarkable service – with no help at all from the British – by keeping the marauding Boxers at bay in what London had always liked to think of, but not meaningfully maintain, as her sphere of influence. For years he had been urging officials to concentrate their efforts on this region and leave Peking to the corrupt Manchus and the other competing foreign 145

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Powers. To concentrate any energy on getting things done there was to ‘plough the sands of the seashore’ while ignoring the enterprise and vitality available in the territories bordering the great river. It was these that should be preserved and strengthened ‘if we really have the maintenance of China at heart as well as on our lips’.53 Chirol went on to Peking via the provincial capitals of Nanking and Hankow. ‘I should like to have the whole Front Bench up here for a week,’ he thundered to O’Conor, & ask them how they justify to their own conscience the conviction with which they have hypnotized the British public that come what may in other parts of China, British ascendance in the Yang Tsze Valley is…beyond dispute. Why, instead of being ‘Anglicised’, the valley is becoming every day more & more ‘internationalised’ … All the other Powers seem agreed to deal with us on the principle that ‘yours is ours, but what we have is our own’, & we apparently accept the principle. The Russian sphere is a Russian sphere, the German sphere a German sphere but the British sphere is an ‘international’ sphere.54

Even the much-admired Morrison, judged guilty of helping to undermine the position of the local Chinese Viceroys, came in for some sharp words.55 But his real fury was saved for the Salisbury government. Fatal hesitation and astonishing lack of vision condemned negotiations to be carried on in the ‘fetid atmosphere’ of Peking. Neither the Foreign Office in London nor the British minister, now Sir Ernest Satow, seemed to realise that the true centre of stability was no longer there. As for the British public, the sooner they realised that there was no real British sphere of influence the better. ‘Any idea of converting the YangTsze Valley into one has disappeared now for ever, as I have no doubt Bülow knew what he was about when he referred to the Anglo-German agreement as the ‘Yangtzse [his emphasis] agreement’!! This is evidently the sense in which the Germans construe it.’56 When Chirol finally got to Peking his complaints increased in volume and scope. Satow was not very well and going downhill as delay followed delay in the proceedings. No one in London seemed to be taking notice of either his poor health or need for direction. The conference itself was an incredible circus. There were quibbles over petty questions while the problems of internal reform or foreign occupation were left hanging. Worse of all there was no visible leadership. The President is the old Spanish Minister, who happens to be Doyen of the Diplomatic Body. He is absolutely soft & incapable of expressing his ideas intelligibly, if indeed he has any ideas. Powers like Belgium, Italy, Austria,

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Holland, Spain that have no interests of any importance in China, have the same voice & vote as ourselves, Germany, France, Russia, the US & Japan, & their representatives do by far the most talking. They often are all shouting at the same time at the top of their voices, & the more trivial the question, the more excited they get. Satow, Rockhill, Mumm, & Komura the Jap. are the only men of any intellectual ability, & apart from certain disadvantages peculiar to each of them, three out of the four are placed at a disadvantage also by the proceedings being conducted in French.57

Almost more than anything else, Chirol minded the fact that commercial matters were barely mentioned. And then there were the Germans. He could only shake his head over Bülow’s declaration that Manchuria was to be left out of the provisions of the recent Anglo-German agreement. Not only did the omission strengthen Russia’s hand enormously, ‘as it was doubtless intended to do’, it further upset the Japanese, who very rightly complained that they should have been told of the limitation when they proposed to join in the agreement. When in Japan he had taken care ‘not to encourage any hopes that we could do very much to enforce the Agreement in regard to Manchuria, but I certainly did not think we had absolutely excluded [it altogether]’.58 When he arrived in the Far East Chirol was under the impression that Whitehall and the Wilhelmstrasse were working together to keep the Russians from forcing China into an early and disadvantageous peace, also to maintain at least the ‘fiction’ of the Open Door. It was his understanding that the agreement signed the previous October was designed with these goals in mind. But no sooner than it was signed than Berlin and London discovered that their interpretations of the agreement varied and the usual bickering and blustering began. The way Berlin interpreted the agreement was bad enough. Chirol was almost personally affronted by the way General Waldersee had been forced on the allied troops. For the Kaiser, long obsessed by the Yellow Peril, the Boxers were his lurid imaginings brought to life. As it was his minister who was murdered, his general should lead the forces sent to deal with the Chinese killers. London grumbled a bit, but in the end the Kaiser got his way and saw Waldersee and a German contingent off with some overheated rhetoric about acting like ‘Huns’ so as to cow the Chinese for once and for all. Chirol hated the idea that British troops were under the command of a Prussian, hated the idea that British officers were reduced to being little more than ornamental attachés, ignored and powerless to do anything to control the behaviour of the German troops. The vaunted discipline 147

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of the Kaiser’s avengers had not held up well; acts of wanton brutality toward the Chinese were far from unknown. But most of all he hated the way that British military subservience undermined British interests both political and military. ‘We have suffered in prestige,’ he wrote to Bell at the beginning of April, ‘both in the eyes of our Indian troops and of the Chinese – and we have had to bear the odium of many things for which we were not responsible.’59 England and Germany were committed, on paper, to working together in China. But the longer he was there himself and the more he heard and saw at first hand, the more Chirol came to believe that Berlin was playing a double game, that she had armed herself not only with the October Agreement with London, but had a ‘reinsurance agreement’ with Russia to offset it. As usual, once such suspicions were raised, it was a struggle to stay balanced. ‘I keep constantly putting the drag on to my feelings with regard to the behaviour of some of our dear allies up here [in Peking],’ he wrote to Leo Maxse, ‘lest I should be betrayed into unparliamentary language. It is simply sickening.’60 In mid-April Chirol said a not reluctant goodbye to Peking and headed home, tracing his outbound trip in reverse. Although his stopover visit in Japan was overclouded by a domestic political crisis, he managed to see ‘a certain number of people’ and came away reassured that coming changes in the Cabinet in Tokyo were unlikely to affect Japan’s clear desire to have closer relations with Britain. He was also most interested to see that the Germans, even more than the Russians, were in the government’s black book, due not only to inflated indemnity claims – which had already elicited a sour remark or two on his own part – but to those punitive expeditions that had so upset him. Once again it struck him as most unfortunate that Britain had to have anything to do with the Germans and he deplored the fact that the difficulties in South Africa still seemed ‘to tie us more or less to her apron strings’.61 A month after leaving Japan Chirol was back at his desk at Printing House Square. While in the Far East he had thought he detected a change of mood in London, a sign that people were waking up to the fact that important things were going on out there. He based this rosy belief on the fact that he had been wiring his lengthy dispatches home with some abandon and Bell, whose concern with purse strings was paramount, had not been cursing him for doing so. Bell might not have been cursing, but that was not because Chirol’s reports were feeding a public hungry for knowledge of China and Japan. It took less than a day to see how wrong he was about their waking up. 148

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Along with many other things that had not changed in his absence, people still cared nothing for subjects that had been constantly on his mind – and before his eyes – for the best part of the last eight months. It was apathy as usual, and as usual he took it rather personally. The subject of China, he complained to O’Conor, was every bit as dead as Queen Anne. Grey’s admirable speech was delivered to an empty or yawning house, & Arthur Balfour expressed the almost universal feeling when, being asked whether he had read one of your humble servant’s letter in the Times, replied that he would as soon study a Chess Problem … I cannot for the life of me discover what people do take any interest in nowadays, beyond HM’s carryings on with Mrs K. or his relations with the Liptons & Cassels et hoc genus omne … Even the war has sunk into the category of subjects which it is bad form to talk about as being ‘such a bore, you know’. The day of reckoning will come, but I pray it may not be in my day!62

Alas, it would be in his day, but one rather far ahead. In the meanwhile he plugged away at the Chinese question, partially consoled by the thought that a new cable arrangement that he had done much to set up would at least commit The Times to maintain ‘more or less permanently the prominence it has been the first to give to affairs in the Far East’.63 Nor did absolutely everyone ignore the work he was doing, as Gertrude Bell let him know. Leo Maxse – and he was not the only one, she assured him – looks upon you as the one bright spot in a world otherwise plunged in the darkness of ignorance and indeed conversation with the ordinary F.O. young man leads me to believe him right. The other night I had a long talk with Lewis Mallet about China – he was very indignant with the Times attitude and wishes to know what you want changed in our policy! [… ] He ended with this luminous remark – ‘As for Japan and Manchuria, I don’t know what will happen and I don’t care’.64

Curzon, now in India, also signalled approval. He himself was angry about the lack of a clear British policy for Persia. It was another version, he pointed out to Lord George Hamilton, of the problem currently undermining the British position in China; but at least there Chirol was fighting the good fight through ‘his temperate and well-informed letters in the Times’.65 Well-informed Chirol almost always was, temperate not as frequently, try as he might to stay on an even keel.

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Through the summer and into the autumn of 1901, as the Boer War dragged on into its sorry last phase and the Powers wrangled over the Chinese indemnity question, Chirol was ‘up to his eyes in work’. Things, precisely what he didn’t say, had slipped back ‘rather badly’ in the foreign room during his long absence. But, now that his working vacation had put new life into him, he felt ready to do the same for The Times’ foreign pages.1 He wanted to attract new readers. The lack of interest in China he could more or less explain to himself, that morass ‘with its uncouth names and barbaric grotesqueness repels the uncurious mind of the average Briton’. But what attracted it, other than gossip, he could not say. Was there any ‘watch’ being kept, were ‘compasses tested’, was the captain ‘asleep or awake’? All of that was apparently no one’s business, instead it was ‘Have another glass of wine? No? Nor a cigar? Well then let’s go to bed, and if you hear the world straining and creaking outside, and that happens to bother you, just pull the sheets over your ears!’2 He geared himself to pull the sheets off people’s heads and make them see what was happening outside the confines of their tight little island. If it took a more colourful style and some human interest to get what he had to say across then that is what he would have. What he would not have was anything smacking of sensationalism. There were just then a number of hotspots here on the globe – besides China – and Britain, sprawled as she was every which way across it, was 150

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sensitive to most of them. The Russians were putting pressure on Persia, the French moving to tighten their grip on Morocco and the Sultan – prompted by Berlin, Chirol suspected – claiming the right to intervene in the affairs of the tiny desert sheikhdom at Kuwait with its inviting harbour on the Persian Gulf.3 Looming over all these potential problems was the very present trouble in South Africa. If the Boer War didn’t actually add to the list of Britain’s envious competitors and possible enemies, it made those on it louder and ruder and none more so than the Germans. Bülow’s sleight of hand in connection with Manchuria seemed to Chirol more of the usual Berlin game, officials playing up to an easily swayed ruler and an increasingly vocal chauvinist element, while simultaneously posing as London’s honest friend. This was irritating to be sure and it irritated him greatly. But as there was little in the world that Chirol held dearer than honour – his own and then, by extension, that of England, her empire, her government, diplomats, sailors and soldiers – to have that of the British army called into question because of the brutality of German troops and the arrogance of General Waldersee was more than irritating. The Germans were not being ‘straight’, and he was determined to say so. The business in Kuwait had been solved with a little firmness and both Berlin and Constantinople took ‘the little snub’ without causing a fuss.4 But Kuwait was a very small part of a very big world picture. In early October Chirol wrote a remarkable letter to his old friend Charles Hardinge, then serving as secretary of the embassy at St Petersburg. No one who knew Chirol doubted his deep-dyed anti-Russian sentiments, certainly not Hardinge. But he now held in his hands a letter asking if there might be any serious desire in influential quarters at his end to come to any sort of fair agreement with us about Asiatic questions, China, Persia, etc.? […] We are so sick over here at the slipperiness of our German friends that I think there would be a much greater disposition … to respond to any such desire on the part of Russia than at any time in my memory almost.5

As it turned out the nature and the future of Anglo-German relations had been on more minds than his that year. In the spring, when Chirol was away, efforts were once again made to bring the two countries closer. By May they had hit their customary snag, Lord Salisbury, and seemed to be finished.6 Chirol’s later recollection was that when he returned from the Far East he was told that talks had got to a certain stage, not that they were over. Nor were they. 151

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Two weeks after complaining to Hardinge of the intolerable ‘slipperiness’ of the Germans, Chirol was on his way to Berlin. He claimed, in 1914, that he went at Holstein’s suggestion, the latter apparently wanting to ‘remove some of the misconceptions under which The Times evidently laboured as to Germany’s attitude toward England’.7 In his memoirs many years later what had been Holstein’s ‘suggestion’ had become his ‘pressing invitation’ to come to Berlin to talk with Bülow about AngloGerman relations.8 Whatever the truth about why he went and at whose suggestion or invitation, the trip seemed unplanned. None of the letters Chirol wrote that autumn mentions anything about needing or wanting to travel anywhere. He had not been back from the Far East very long, was horribly busy at the paper, feeling healthy and therefore not looking for an escape or a rest – for which Berlin in November would have been a most bizarre choice. A case can be made for the idea that he was somehow contacted by Holstein, who certainly knew ways of getting in touch outside official channels and had, always, a very high opinion of the authority of The Times and an equally exalted view of Chirol’s ability to shape and wield its power. The idea of making a serious effort to mend fences with France and Russia was a threat that Whitehall, and The Times, liked to trot out in Berlin from time to time. No matter that he denied its possibility, or its importance, Holstein was very concerned to make sure that it did not happen. There remains one account of Chirol’s visit which is hard to reconcile with his version of things. Friedrich Rosen, a colleague of Holstein’s, wrote in his memoirs that during that time he had been invited by Lascelles to luncheon at the embassy, where he was most surprised to find his old friend Chirol. During the meal Rosen brought up the subject of the latter’s estrangement from Holstein and what a pity it was ‘that two men of so much knowledge and political understanding should now be enemies’. At that Chirol paused momentarily then said that although a visit to the Auswärtiges Amt was not on his agenda he would be pleased to go, but only if he could be assured of having a polite reception. After the luncheon Rosen went, so he said, straight to Holstein to tell him that Chirol was in town and willing to call on him. Holstein replied that ‘nothing would induce him to receive Chirol after his virulent campaign against Germany’. It took the intercession of the Under-Secretary of State, von Mühlberg, to persuade him not only to see Chirol but promise to be civil to him.9 On the face of it Rosen’s account seems to settle the question. Surely Holstein would never have pressed an invitation on someone he had 152

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to be forced to see. But during these last efforts to get to some sort of agreement, or arrangement, each side preferred to have it look as if the other was the suitor. Holstein was a man of powerful feelings and convoluted methods. He was also, according to Rosen, ‘seriously alarmed at the hostile tone in The Times towards an Anglo-German rapprochement’.10 Holstein’s private letters make it clear that for him, and for others in the Auswärtiges Amt who favoured an Anglo-German accommodation, it was not so much a question of whether such a thing was a good idea, but how to go about getting the one they wanted. A reasonable first step would be to try and reduce the increasingly impenetrable barrier of sour words and mutual misunderstandings that was building up between London and Berlin. On 31 October Holstein noted that he had received, ‘according to order, Mr Valentine Chirol’ for the first time since January 1896.11 The wary old wire-puller kept detailed notes of the talk that followed, in part to guide Bülow when it was his turn to meet with Chirol. According to these notes, Chirol began by saying how much he regretted the negative effects that apathy in Britain and anti-British sentiment in Germany were having on relations that for many reasons should be better than they were. Holstein’s answer was that people in Germany, including those who like himself knew well the long and detailed history of Anglo-German relations, were not so much against Britain as deeply distrustful of her. As Chirol surely knew, he continued, the reasons for this lack of trust themselves had a history. From this rather touchy beginning the talk ranged widely over issues then troubling, although not quite threatening, Anglo-German dealings – Kuwait, the Baghdad railroad, the Far Eastern agreement and the exact status of Manchuria. Not one to pass up the opportunity of lecturing, Holstein made it clear that, given the current state of the world, Britain must adapt herself to [changed] circumstances … [A]t the end of the first Napoleonic era and even afterwards England had been the ‘paramount power’ everywhere in the world outside Europe. To-day this state of affairs could not be restored by anything, for to-day there were four first-rate great powers beside England, and an English attempt to play the role of the ‘paramount power’ could hardly lead to anything else but an antiEnglish combination.

Only a very dense Englishman, Chirol replied, ‘could nowadays stick to the idea of the paramount power’, to which Holstein retorted that ‘at least in the English press this sticking-to was still occurring quite frequently’.12 153

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At that point talk turned to the relations between Britain and Russia and between Britain and the United States. Chirol, at least according to Holstein’s notes, dismissed the idea of an Anglo-Russian rapprochement out of hand. The Anglo-American link was something else. That friendship was crucial, ‘if only because in a conflict with America, England would always have to sustain the main shock, even should she, contrary to expectation, have any allies’. With the desired topic now on the table, Holstein remarked that in his view Britain would be better off with allies, ‘[f]or in case of war she would be secure in other directions, and – that’s the main point – the enemy would view the war situation very differently if England were part of a group instead of being isolated’.13 On the other hand, he also thought that, at present, the alliance question was not ‘topical’. For one thing, as long as Salisbury remained in office he saw little chance of anything being arranged, and, for another, Germany was not particularly in need of new partners. Russo-German relations were in good repair, the two Emperors ‘firmly convinced of their mutual peaceful intentions’, and there were signs that all was not well with relations between Paris and St Petersburg. All the same, he himself remained ‘one of those who assume that the current of the times will step by step draw together the two great commonwealths of Germany and England, [although] perhaps only when I shall have gone’.14 This opinion is shared in Germany by the leading personalities, i.e., His Majesty and the Chancellor of the Empire. One has to judge a policy not by words, but by deeds, and … Germany, since the beginning of the Boer war, has, on two repeated occasions, refused official suggestion that she should take part in so-called good offices. Loyal sentiments prevent me from mentioning, or hinting at, the source of these suggestions. If Germany had taken part, probably all states, certainly all European states, large and small, would have joined, and it is easy to realize the repercussion such an event would have on the population of [the] Cape Colony.15

The following day Holstein wrote a plan of action memo to guide Bülow in his own talk with Chirol. In it he stressed the need to make it clear to the latter that Britain was courting great danger by clinging obstinately to an outmoded policy of isolation. Nor would it be an error to bring up the idea of an Anglo-German alliance, but only if it were done ‘with an appearance of unconcern’. He went on to say that any agreement that considered only an English–German connection, instead of attaching England to the Triple Alliance, ‘would be a kind of halfmeasure which, from the outset, must be described as unacceptable’.16 This qualification, in the end, doomed all future conversations about the 154

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possibility of an alliance, including the one that Bülow was about to have with Chirol, to go nowhere. Unlike Holstein, Bülow kept no record of what he said to Chirol during their interview. In Chirol’s later accounts one gets a sense that the Chancellor, urbane and cordial, did his best to steer his guest in the direction laid out by Holstein. All the previous problems came up, and, finally, when it came to talk of the future, he, Bülow, suggested that it could best be assured by Germany and Great Britain working together instead of at cross-purposes. To Chirol’s observation that he had reacted rather differently to Chamberlain’s earlier, and quite similar, proposal, the Chancellor said merely that Chamberlain was no diplomat. Things were being done differently now. People on both sides had been ‘very discreet’ and he was completely confident that Chirol would be as well. He then outlined a possible defensive arrangement between Britain and Germany, at the end of which he all but ‘begged’ him to use his unique position in The Times, to help repair the rift in Anglo-German relations, as he rated its influence very highly. Chirol’s response was that he had lived too long in Berlin not to know how dependent [the German press] was on official inspiration, and that I should therefore look for some echo in its columns of the friendly sentiments and hopes which he had been good enough to express. Leaning forward then towards me, and taking my hands in his, he gave me with the utmost earnestness an assurance which I recorded, I think, almost textually after I left him. ‘Believe me, and I give you my word of honour as I sit in this chair as the Chancellor of the German Empire, not only shall I never countenance the hostile attacks upon your country of which I know a large – too large – section of the German Press is often guilty, but I shall never allow, as in the past I have never allowed, the anti-British sentiments of an ignorant public to deflect me by so much as a hair’s breadth from the policy of true friendliness towards England which lies nearest my heart’.17

Chirol had little liking for Bülow, nor trust in him. But the man’s impassioned sincerity made a strong impression. On his return to London he wrote quite optimistically to Hardinge. A month earlier he was full of complaints about the ‘slippery’ Germans. Now, thanks in large part to his recent experiences in Berlin, he had a more positive view. And yet he was quite aware that, if they took so much trouble to convince me, it is simply because they are beginning to feel alarmed at the change in public opinion in this country toward Germany, [and] all the more disposed to … a certain amount of interested sincerity … The long and the short of it is that they

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entertain profound distrust of Lord Salisbury, & it appears to me they have good grounds for doing so.18

Shortly before Chirol’s visit to Berlin, the ‘undiplomatic’ Chamberlain gave a speech at Edinburgh in which he warmly defended the muchcriticised conduct of British soldiers in South Africa. Their behaviour, he insisted, was no different from that of any other army faced with the difficulties of guerilla warfare. To illustrate his point he mentioned the actions of the French in Indochina, the Russians in Poland and in the Caucasus, and, finally and unfortunately, the Germans during the war with France. During his visit in Berlin Chirol could not have been unaware of either Chamberlain’s words, or the unpleasant reaction to them in Germany.19 He said later that he had mentioned the attacks in the anti-British press during his several conversations and was told that they were unimportant because confined to ‘quite irresponsible’ papers. Chirol was very clear in his mind as to the distinction between the responsible and irresponsible press in Germany and particularly sensitive to the way that the Auswärtiges Amt used certain papers. In large part it was the all too frequent discrepancy between official assurances made by the government and remarks, which he knew came from those same sources, directed to the readers of responsible papers that fed his distrust. For a brief time, however, he allowed himself to be beguiled by Bülow’s smooth words. But when ‘the whole semi-official Press began to give tongue’ to the attack on Chamberlain – and on the British army – he realised his mistake. Three days after telling Hardinge that he no longer took such an unfavourable view of Germany’s attitude, Chirol published a leader entitled ‘German Anglophobia’. In it he asserted that, while it was very unpleasant to see how the ‘wells of German public opinion’ were being poisoned against Great Britain by a systematic production of ‘foul and filthy lies’, it seemed particularly appalling, indeed almost incredible, to have a serious and responsible paper such as the Cologne Gazette – a favourite tool of the Wilhelmstrasse’s Press Bureau – accuse Chamberlain of having insulted the German army. If it were true that some officials in Berlin were trying to curtail the current outbreak of vicious Anglophobia, they had not done it soon enough. By now it was simply impossible to ignore the part the official world was playing in persuading the German people that British soldiers were ‘bloodthirsty ruffians’, her officers ‘cruel, licentious brutes’, and the concentration camps set up by Kitchener ‘deliberately conceived with the purpose of killing off the Boer women and children’. In Germany, 156

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where ‘the majority of respectable newspapers are amenable to more or less direct control in all questions connected with…foreign policy…, such a widespread and protracted campaign against a foreign country could hardly have assumed these overwhelming proportions, had it not been regarded at first with official tolerance, if not with indulgence’.20 Having so recently been on the receiving end of German warnings, Chirol was happy to do some warning of his own about the present campaign against Britain. Popular sentiment may be powerless to affect the foreign policy of the German Government, but in this country popular sentiment does in the long run exercise a considerable amount of influence even on foreign policy. These daily manifestations of German hatred, which at first caused surprise rather than indignation, are gradually sinking into the heart of the British people, and it would be an unfortunate day for both nations if the belief were to gain ground in England that, in spite of many common interests and many common traditions, the passionate enmity of the German people must be regarded as a more powerful and permanent factor in moulding the relations of the two countries than the wise and friendly statesmanship of German rulers.21

These words brought, within a day, a long and angry ‘screed’ from Holstein, bemoaning the way that Chirol had made a bad thing worse by reminding people of Chamberlain’s exact words. If his intention was to exonerate the latter, he had failed. What was said in Edinburgh was rankly ‘offensive’, a ‘real bona fide insult’ to the German army. And then, by trying to explain why he had spoken as he had, Chamberlain compounded the insult by speaking like ‘a schoolmaster admonishing a lot of very stupid little boys’. He was convinced, Holstein went on, that he, Chirol, was interested in conciliation, not further animosity. The same was true in his case. As it remained impossible for the Germans to say that they were wrong to be offended, if London would only say, ‘simply and plainly’, that no offence was meant, it would at least ‘give a firm standing ground for discussion to those who like you and me wish that there may be peace and good will between the two countries’.22 Chirol read the letter carefully. When he was through with his night’s work, he wrote back. While making it clear that he shared Holstein’s ‘friendly intentions’, he allowed that he was as much amazed as he was regretful at ‘such a deplorable misconstruction’ of Chamberlain’s words. If [the] German Government endorses the view that comparison between British and German methods of warfare is ipso facto offensive it can only

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mean that it endorses to some extent charges of disgraceful conduct brought against our army. Please remember that we have sons, brothers, friends fighting in South Africa and that it makes our blood boil to see them vilified every day in German newspapers by odious accusations which we know to be absolutely untrue. The Times defended German action in [the] French campaign and it cannot now admit that Chamberlain either meant or has given grounds for offence in alluding to it as a precedent for our action in Africa.23

What had become, he went on, of the assurances made to him so recently about public clamour making not a hairs breadth of a difference to Berlin’s ‘friendly and fairminded policy’? He then made copies of Holstein’s letter and his answer to it and sent them off to Lord Lansdowne and to Lascelles, warning the latter that Holstein’s remarks surely presaged some unpleasant statement in the Reichstag. While the comments in the kept press were nasty, Holstein’s ‘simulated’ wrath ‘savoured strongly of bad faith’, a far worse offence in Chirol’s eyes. He was certain that both men knew what Chamberlain had said in Edinburgh when they were laying on the charm and holding out the prospect of future good relations with England during his meetings with them in Berlin. If they had honestly placed upon [the speech] the construction they are now dishonestly placing upon it they would assuredly have referred to it and included [it] in their long list of grievances against H.M.G. But they never said a word of remonstrance … & their present affectation of resentment is merely an attempt to disguise their own surrender to the anti-English agitation.24

Just the thought of being so cynically used by Bülow and Holstein brought Chirol’s ever-warm blood to a boil. He was pleased to hear, via the Foreign Office, that Lansdowne thought his answer to Holstein excellent and that neither Whitehall, nor Chamberlain himself, would make any further explanation and certainly no apology for what had been said. He girded himself to stand equally firm in The Times. If Germany’s friendship can only be secured by our spreading the King’s uniform in the dirt for Bülow to wipe his Parliamentary feet upon, then I say, regretfully but firmly, that her friendship is not worth having. I would rather face ‘a world in arms’ against us & go down before it as a gentlemen than do it.25

Over the course of the following days wires continued to go back and forth between Chirol and Holstein, with copies to Lascelles. Holstein, as Chirol told the ambassador, would no doubt get back on ‘his high horse 158

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and say that I am imputing bad faith to him’ – which in fact he was. All the same he had written as he had because Holstein’s letter made him more certain than ever that his former friend was simply working himself up ‘in order to justify an impending surrender to popular clamour after all his and Bülow’s brave words …’.26 In spite of his suspicions Chirol made one last effort to resolve his differences with Holstein. He was sorry, he wrote, that neither Holstein nor Bülow had made it clear to him when he was in Berlin just how much damage Chamberlain’s remarks had caused. At that point one might have arranged a ‘frank and spontaneous explanation in order to remove any chance of misconstruction’. But the chance was lost and Chamberlain had come up with an explanation, which had clearly made things worse instead of better. As for himself, even if he were ready to admit in the paper – and he was not – that the Colonial Secretary had said anything about the German army that could ‘rightly give offence’, his hands were tied as it was impossible to have it seem as if The Times were buying into German slander and distortion.27 ‘We too have our feelings,’ he told Holstein. His ‘we’ was an editorial ‘we’, but Holstein knew perfectly well that Chirol was speaking personally as well. [I]magine the cumulative effect produced [at Printing House Square] by the steady stream of insult and abuse which has poured in … from Germany for the last two years: insulting letters, some anonymous, many of them signed apparently by people of fairly good position, not a few of an absolutely disgusting and obscene character, cuttings of all the most rabid articles in the German papers … unspeakable cartoons …28

Recent efforts on the part of the government in Berlin to ‘curb the most outrageous manifestations of Anglophobia’ had come too late; the ‘agitation has acquired such proportions that it is becoming more and more difficult to stem it. And on this side too the resentment is growing proportionately deeper and stronger, and amongst all our national faults national pride is by no means the least – if it is a fault.’ Given all this, what Bülow might say in the Reichstag was deeply important. If he could only take the opportunity of saying something in condemnation of the outrageous charges brought against the British army, any moderate criticism he might make of Mr Chamberlain’s language as having been open to a misconstruction which was doubtless very foreign to his intentions would, in my opinion at any rate, be accepted here as a legitimate and not necessarily unfriendly expression of opinion.29

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Chirol had every right to be concerned at what the Chancellor might say. Just as he had passed Holstein’s letters on to Lascelles and to Lansdowne, Holstein gave Bülow a copy of this latest letter from Chirol. The Chancellor freely admitted that much in it was absolutely true. Chamberlain’s remarks were not ill-intentioned. All the same he could never say so to London, nor to the German people. It was up to the English to be fair enough and intelligent enough to realize that a German Minister, too, must reckon with public opinion in his own country, and must stand particularly firm in questions affecting military honour. Nothing could be more stupid than [a] request for repression of the anti-English trend from above. Quite apart from the fact that the English have never condescended to act in this way in a similar situation, we would only be pouring oil on the flames here.30

That same day, 25 November, Chirol wrote to Lascelles, telling him that he had warned his one-time friend that, if the current breach were not to be widened, then Bülow should ‘take the opportunity … to repudiate in emphatic terms the calumnious assertions too frequently made by German newspapers … with regard to the gallant army of a friendly nation. We shall see whether he has the pluck to take the hint. There can be no harm in giving it.’31 That was wishful thinking. Two days later a long letter over the signature ‘An Old Berlinner’ appeared in The Times. It was Chirol’s public nod to Holstein and another attempt to lay the ghost of this latest quarrel. Although he could not go so far as to excuse the ‘outrageous campaign of calumny and abuse…directed with increasing virulence against the British Army’, there was in Germany, he was sure, a small but not uninfluential section of Germans who, though they may sympathize with the indomitable pluck of their South African kinsmen, and regret the extinction of the Boer Republics, which formed a valuable political counterpoise to British supremacy in a region where Germany has considerable interests, nevertheless deplore the estrangement between the two great European branches of the Teutonic race which must result from the misguided heat of passionate and uncalled-for controversies.32

It amused Chirol no end that Lascelles failed to see who the ‘old Berlinner’ was. ‘You who have studied my despicable style and criticised my idiotic writings – these are mere flowers of Chinese polite letter writing – ever since 1881, should surely have detected the misshapen hand of your miserable and like-a-doormat-to-wipe-your-feet-upon-slave!’ For some 160

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hard-to-discern reason Chirol now was ready to believe that the AngloGerman storm had ‘blown itself out’, that Holstein’s letters were mere ‘try-ons’ and now abandoned as unsuccessful. Some of his confidence might have been due to Saunders writing from Berlin that it was unlikely that Bülow would say much in the Reichstag beyond the usual remarks about the honour of the German army being above any criticism. ‘In fact the whole thing,’ Chirol assured Lascelles, ‘will end, I believe, in a “colossale Blamage” for them – and serve ’em right.’33 In mid-December Lord Lansdowne met with Count Metternich, then on the point of leaving for his Christmas holidays in Germany. Several weeks prior to their meeting Lansdowne circulated a ‘most secret’ memorandum to the Cabinet. In it was his final, and much-delayed, assessment of the alliance proposal as put forward by Hatzfeldt the previous spring. It was finally clear, Lansdowne wrote, that it was ‘out of the question that we should entertain the German overture in the form in which it was presented by Count Hatzfeldt’, a form that would have tied Britain to the Triple Alliance as a whole. But, he continued, ‘the objections to joining the Triple Alliance do not seem to me to apply to a much more limited understanding with Germany …’. Although he well knew that a ‘limited’ arrangement would not appeal to Berlin, Lansdowne reasoned that simply to make the offer ‘would, at any rate, place it out of the power of the German government to say that we had treated them inconsiderately or brusquely rejected their overtures’.34 He would discover, at least according to Chirol’s reading of the events of January 1902, that they might not actually say that, but would act that sentiment out instead. According to Lansdowne his talk with Metternich was cordial, in spite of the rather negative message he conveyed. Within a few days Metternich was in Germany, where Lansdowne fully expected him to pass on at once the gist of what had been said. As it happened the ambassador said nothing at all for several weeks. Chirol was in the habit of sending year’s-end greetings to absent friends. That year, for the first time in years, he sent one to Holstein. Opening with the wish that 1902 would bring better, if not formal, relations between Britain and Germany, he went on to give Holstein scant reason to hope for them. I have taken every opportunity since I was in Berlin to broach in conversation with people whose opinion was worth having the question of a permanent and stable agreement between England and Germany …, and I confess I have been surprised at the almost universal consensus of opinion that…the idea was quite futile… The action of diplomacy is buried

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away in secret archives and the ‘man in the street’ who has perhaps too large a share in ruling this country is influenced by what he sees and hears. The hostility of the German people may not have been greater than of other continental nations, but they have shown more ingenuity in driving it home to us.35

After a page or two of examples of this German ingenuity, Chirol suggested that perhaps only ‘time and the logic of events’ could mend the Anglo-German rift. He was sorry, he said in closing, that he could not bring himself to write a more cheerful new year’s letter. But at the same time he felt certain that Holstein, of all people, was not one who would want or expect ‘pleasant platitudes’ just because they were traditional at the season. Neither time nor the ‘logic of events’ improved Anglo-German relations at the start of 1902. Nor did Chirol–Holstein relations prosper. In his response to Chirol’s prickly message, Holstein began by wishing him good health and good humour in the coming months, especially the latter as it was ‘very essential’ and must not be lost even in the midst of a war of words. With what passed for pleasantries out of the way, he then launched into his favourite subject, the long history of English unfriendliness to Germany. It seemed to him that Chirol, harping continuously on German hostility, was all but blind to the fact that his countrymen had brought that hostility on themselves by decades of either sympathising with or materially assisting Germany’s enemies and, while steering clear of any specific entanglements, directing British foreign policy so as to bring off a Continental war that she could, and would, avoid. As for the question of an alliance, or arrangement, or understanding between England and Germany, the idea had come from Britain, from Chamberlain specifically. Lascelles had mentioned the subject to the Emperor as early as August 1898. Having thus been broached, the idea sank, resurfacing in early 1901 only to sink once again. There the matter should have been left to rest. Instead Whitehall – after first taking advantage of Hatzfeldt when he was fatally ill – dawdled over the proposal for months, then more or less gratuitously rebuffed what they cast as a German initiative.36 This apparently premeditated snub, he went on, would hardly improve the outlook for any future cooperation between their two countries. After a few more sour-tempered observations, Holstein closed with the wish that in the new year Chirol might make ‘a mark at ping-pong’, which he had heard was the ‘sensation of the hour’. How Chirol was to read that odd remark remains a mystery. Chirol forwarded Holstein’s letter first to Lascelles, wanting his comments on it before sending it to the Foreign Office. The answer 162

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came back quickly. Having checked the notes of his talk with William II in the summer of 1898, Lascelles saw that he had indeed told His Majesty that the idea of some sort of an arrangement with Germany had been discussed at a private luncheon at Chamberlain’s house. Although the Kaiser, all too typically, had blown up a private gathering into an official Cabinet Council, the essence of what Holstein remembered was correct. All the same, Lascelles also remembered stressing to the Kaiser on several later occasions that what talk there had been was completely informal. Where Holstein, he continued, either through ignorance, or a desire to create a grievance, was truly wrong was in assuring Chirol that subsequent steps toward reviving the idea of an alliance had come from the British side. They had not, but from the meddlesome Eckardstein, and also from Hatzfeldt, who indeed was very ill at the time and might have said more than he should have. Because Lord Lansdowne did not want to seem rude in leaving this suggestion simply unaddressed, Lascelles continued, he sent a memo to the German Embassy, then spoke directly to Metternich on 19 December. Chirol sent both letters, Holstein’s and Lascelles’, to Lansdowne. At the time the Foreign Office was not in the habit of discussing sensitive topics with journalists, even such a special one as Chirol. But, as Holstein had already spoken so frankly to him, they felt it necessary to correct any misconceptions the latter might have conveyed.37 Well before Chirol’s talk at the Foreign Office, Bülow finally had his say in the Reichstag. Saunders, who six weeks earlier had predicted that it would amount to little, was proved very mistaken. The Chancellor was caught in a tight spot between the desire to lessen Anglo-German tension and the need to win the support of his own Anglophobes. In the end he opted to mollify the angry men facing him in Berlin rather than smoothing down feelings in Britain, concluding his remarks with some advice to his listeners and to Germans in general. The only attitude to take to criticisms such as Chamberlain had made was summed up by a quotation from Frederick the Great. ‘Let the man be and don’t get excited, he’s biting on granite.’38 His success at home came at the cost of an explosion of wrath across the North Sea. Unfortunately the nasty feelings stirred up in London by Bülow’s speech were all too quickly intensified by a subsequent exchange, which was occasioned by another remark of Bülow’s. In response to an intemperate anti-British tirade in the Reichstag, in which Chamberlain was cast as the most ‘villainous knave on God’s earth’ and the British army in South Africa as ‘barely more than a mob of thieves and robbers’, 163

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the Chancellor said merely that he ‘deeply regretted’ such talk and warned – rather mildly to British ears – that it was not good to fall into the habit of making such remarks about foreign statesmen and armies of friendly countries. After Bülow’s ‘biting on granite’ speech King Edward expressed concern that Lascelles was not combative enough in his dealings with both the Kaiser and his Chancellor. The ambassador must make clear to both men, no matter how cordial they were to him personally, the ‘depth of the indignation’ throughout England in response to the behaviour of the German publicists and how disappointed people were to see that their nasty work seemed to have the approval of the German government. He was, the King went on, considering keeping the Prince of Wales, due to travel soon to Berlin, at home as a gesture of his personal protest.39 Much to Chirol’s satisfaction Bülow’s effusions had also caused ‘quite a flutter in the Foreign Office dovecote’. He wrote to Lascelles to say he was sorry, as he was sure that the ambassador was having a ‘wiry’ enough time, but could not, on that account, keep from doing a bit of plain speaking in The Times. In a two-part special article, entitled ‘The Literature of German Anglophobia’, published on 13 and 14 January, Chirol ‘reluctantly’ – one wonders how – tucked into Bülow for pandering to the passions of his countrymen, inflamed as they were by the ‘foul and filthy lies’ manufactured for them with ‘ingenious industry and on the most extensive scale’. These remarks did not make for pleasant reading in the Wilhelmstrasse and a very bitter Bülow made a point of complaining to Lascelles about being so unfairly treated. All the same, Chirol had more to say. In his second piece he spoke of the numerous anti-English pamphlets then circulating in Germany, assuring his readers that their message, when boiled down, was simply that England was the enemy and ‘to deal with England and lay hands upon the world’s inheritance of which she has acquired too large a share, Germany must have a fleet’. On the day before the first of these articles appeared, Chirol finally answered Holstein’s cranky new year’s letter. Itching to give him a piece of his mind in private, before having his say in the paper, Chirol’s letter was more frank than friendly. It was a pity, he suggested, that Bülow had said precisely what he, Chirol, had warned Holstein he should not, thereby destroying for the present the hopes and [rendering] futile the endeavours of those who looked to a narrowing rather than to a broadening of the estrangement between the two countries. I do not imagine that, absorbed as you are

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by the loftier and more practical aspects of diplomacy, you realize the sentimental effect produced by the torrents of abuse which have been poured out upon us in Germany for the last two years. Perhaps you are not even aware of what that abuse has been. But sentiment plays a much larger part over here than foreigners are inclined to allow to the British character, and there is no disguising the fact that the sentiment which Germany has aroused is growing intense. Nor can I honestly deny that it is to a great extent natural and even legitimate.40

Holstein, with or without Chirol’s lecture, was not in a positive frame of mind about the Chancellor’s ill-timed remarks. They were, he noted in his diary on 11 January, Bülow’s ‘greatest mistake’, one that he himself had tried very hard to prevent.41 All the fuss and bother, he wrote again in his diary three days later – having then read Chirol in The Times as well – reminded him of the days after the Krüger Telegram. His analysis of Bülow’s motives in making his unfortunate speech do not materially differ from Whitehall’s; like them he spoke of internal political pressure and a desire to court popularity. ‘Externally the speech does harm; I only hope that the internal repercussions, that is on the Kaiser, will not also end up by being unfavourable … for example if the English visits cease.’42 For some days it seemed that Holstein’s fears might come true as the Prince of Wales’ trip to Berlin hung in the balance. The Cabinet discussed the matter, Salisbury and Lansdowne met with the King. Chirol told Sanderson that a cancellation would be very popular; the paper had got upwards of fifty letters, some from very influential people, and all urging that the visit be given up. After some discussion at Printing House Square it was decided not to publish any of them, ‘thinking that a matter which so nearly concerned the personal relations between the two Sovereigns should not be so discussed’.43 In the event the Prince did go to Berlin and Chirol wrote to Lascelles in early February to say that from what he heard in London things went well, even though His Highness had made some frank remarks about Bülow’s unfortunate speeches. By this time tempers were more or less under control on both sides of the North Sea. Chirol noted that the Germans were ‘sobering down’, but was rather more concerned to see whether or not they had learned their lesson – ‘permanently’. It pleased him no end that Britain had finally stood her ground and shown them up to be the bullies that they were. It also pleased him to think that he could say, although he never was likely to have the chance, ‘I told you so’ to Bülow, having warned him – through Holstein – not to say what he went ahead and said, unless he wanted another outburst like that which followed the Krüger 165

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Telegram. The whole thing Chirol laid down to Bülow’s bitterness over failing to corral the skittish British and join them to the Dreibund.44 This latest storm blew over as had its predecessors, but Chirol, for one, was ‘inclined to think that it will leave a more permanent mark upon our relations with Germany than even that which followed the Krüger telegram’. On a more positive note, all the hoopla seemed to have cured Chamberlain of his pro-German sympathies. Better even than that was the strong change Chirol saw in Lansdowne. Toward the end of January the Foreign Secretary had told him that, after all the recent hullabaloo, the Kaiser’s professions of great friendship for Britain, if even they were genuine, could no longer be regarded as more than a mere factor and by no means a dominant factor in Anglo-German relations; that we should probably have to be more careful … not to assume that our relations with Germany could be placed on a different plane, i.e. on one of greater mutual confidence and goodwill than those we entertain with other Powers also technically ‘friendly’, and especially that in view of such a dangerous tendency towards wilful misrepresentation as the German F.O. had betrayed in its communications to me, it would be necessary to insist upon written communications instead of relying upon verbal explanations and assurances which seemed liable to very rapid evaporation.45

Chirol, still personally smarting from once again being used by the Wilhelmstrasse to spread their ‘wilful misrepresentations’, nevertheless put the lid back on at Printing House Square. ‘We have had our say,’ he explained to Lascelles, ‘and like Chamberlain I don’t think we could have said less, and we might easily have said a great deal more.’ From what he had heard at the Foreign Office relations with Berlin would now be no different than with other countries. Whether or not relations with other countries – and he mentioned France and Russia outright – would now improve was hard to tell. But, should those two in particular be ‘at pains to improve the opportunity, they would find us in a much more responsive frame of mind than … hitherto …’. Certainly he was in a more receptive mood and from this point on profoundly convinced that Germany ‘wanted’ England very much more that the other way around. He warned Lascelles not to be taken in by either the Emperor’s or Bülow’s soft words. When I remember how elaborate was the comedy played for the benefit of my humble Wenigkeit when I was in Berlin and how … I was for a time bamboozled by it, I cannot help feeling some apprehension that even your greater experience may not be proof against the far more lavish efforts that would naturally be made to capture your judgment.

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Speaking in general terms, he told Lascelles that the ‘active’ resentment would subside – and actually was subsiding – but that ‘distrust has come to stay’. If nothing else were true of Chirol himself, that last phrase was.46 The year 1902 was still new and memorable for more than Bülow’s weak-kneed ‘truckling’ to German Anglophobia.47 January, the same month that saw a newly intense distrust of Germany take root in the minds (and hearts) of English people from the man on the street to the men at Whitehall and Westminister – and the court in particular – also brought an end to Britain’s venerable policy of ‘Splendid Isolation’. This tradition, pride of Salisbury and bugbear of Holstein, was finally abandoned as impracticable. Holstein had been telling Chirol that for years. But when the step was finally taken it wasn’t toward Berlin.

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‘What say you to the Japanese Treaty?’ a buoyant Chirol asked Springy on 19 February 1902. He himself was pleased as punch by this ‘very remarkable departure from all our traditions’.1 First it was a definite movement in place of the despised drift, second it was with the Japanese, a people embued with a clear-eyed futurism, ‘disciplined, dutiful, and filled with an innate love of order’, a people ‘bright and light-hearted [and] instinct with the joyousness of life’.2 Over time this initial admiration became more nuanced and his assessment of Japan’s future more pragmatic, particularly as it had to do with the future of her relationship with Britain. But throughout he felt that Englishmen would be wise to find common cause with the enterprising genius of another small, seafaring, island nation like their own. One reason for his busyness in Tokyo in the winter of 1900–01 had had to do with preparing the ground for this document. At that point there was some worry at Whitehall among those who had an interest in the Far East that Japanese officials were beginning to turn toward Russia to settle the Manchurian and Korean problems then at issue between them. Chirol himself was not unduly concerned. Although officials in Tokyo were holding their cards close to the chest and surely playing ‘a game of their own’, he remained fully confident that it was a game that to a great extent was England’s as well.3 Having been kept roughly abreast as negotiations continued, he was told by Lansdowne himself toward the end of January that all was going well. Even so, he at least claimed to be 168

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surprised when Sanderson summoned him to the Foreign Office on 11 February to say that the document would be laid before Parliament that very evening.4 Not for nothing did Teddy Roosevelt call him the godfather of the 1902 alliance, and Chirol had every right to be proud of the work he had done to realise it. At the same time he never deluded himself, or tried to convince anyone else, that it solved all Britain’s problems in the Far East. As he told Bland, surprising and welcome as this step was, it would only be as favourable to England as the use made of it and it was certainly folly to look on it as ‘an end in itself’.5 Berlin, whose own attempt at an accord with London had just fallen flat, was told in advance of the actual signing that an agreement had been reached, perhaps out of consideration for the fact that, in the earliest stages of the discussions with Japan, Germany had been scouted as a possible third party to the arrangement. Whitehall was not unconcerned with how she might react. Chirol also paid close attention. In due course he had to admit that, at least on the face of it, Berlin received the news ‘favourably’. All the same he grudged giving the Wilhelmstrasse credit for having either good sense or good grace, commenting sourly to Lascelles that they had smiled on the Japanese treaty because they believed that it ‘would accentuate our antagonism to Russia’, something they much desired. From what he could see their belief was unwarranted, his own calculations pointed to a controlled and circumspect reaction in both St Petersburg and Paris. Neither, of course, and particularly the Russians, could be expected to really welcome the new arrangement. But the Tsar was in a pacific mood, and the admirable firmness with which the new allies had told Russia she might go so far and no further would, he liked to hope, give pause to the military hotheads and freelance diplomatists in Russia, who behaved as if Britain could be squeezed whenever they cared to do so. From all that he heard, and he heard more than many, the Russians were, at the moment, simply not in a position to run any serious risks of provoking a collision. And the rather sober-minded group who now held the reins in Paris might well relish the chance to be able to point out to their more impulsive compatriots the disadvantages of being pulled along blindly in Russia’s wake. ‘It is one thing,’ he went on to Lascelles, ‘to join with Russia in armed demonstrations or even in hostilities against Japan alone, and another to court a conflict with Great Britain.’6 Thanks in large part to Bülow’s solemn assurances to him of the previous November – assurances that had been so damningly exposed 169

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as existing only in the Chancellor’s imagination – Chirol had all but permanently parted company with the idea of a friendly Germany. Now he watched attentively, but not overly anxiously, as the disgruntled Wilhelmstrasse, their kept press in tow, did what they could to upset, or at least offset, Britain’s new arrangement. He may not have been overly worried but there was still a war going on, and, even if he could agree that things looked more promising in South Africa, he was not yet ready to wager on the way it would end or when. He was outraged by the proBoers at home, concerned about their counterpart in the United States and convinced that the Germans were somehow trying to encourage and exploit both groups.7 In spite of progress being made, news from the war was not particularly inspiring at the start of 1902. Chirol was suddenly concerned about the possibility of foreign intervention, or at least interference, to a degree that he had not, or rarely, been during far more difficult times. Even if intervention amounted to nothing more than an expression of sympathy with the beleaguered – but seemingly never quite defeated – Boers, such a thing would be regrettable. Not only would it encourage the latter to fight on and on, but might put Britain into a disagreeable position vis-à-vis possible peace terms. He warned his correspondents abroad that, until things brightened up a bit in South Africa, the paper must walk warily and try to avoid putting everyone’s back up at the same time. At the beginning of March an interesting bit of gossip came Chirol’s way and, with it, a small light appeared on the horizon. Up until then Kitchener, very recently appointed commander-in-chief of the Indian army, had not been able to leave the struggle at hand in South Africa. But, with his sudden announcement that he would be in India by the autumn, Chirol sat up and took notice. ‘As optimism has not been his besetting sin’, Chirol decided to ‘drop anchor on that one little bit of firm ground amidst the shifting sands of war news’.8 With that, talk of the war all but disappeared, at least from his private letters. Although he wrote several more leaders on the subject, it was clear that he felt increasingly free to turn his attention, and devote his pen, to other topics. Chief among them was the ongoing and increasingly blatant perfidy of the men at the Wilhelmstrasse. He ground his teeth to think of ‘the constant parade of animosity in public, the secret attempts to make mischief in every direction, and the “private and confidential” assurances that she is at bottom our best friend and merely dissembles her love for the sake of prudence!’.9 170

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High on his list of complaints about Berlin was the continuing effort being made to stir up trouble between Britain and the United States. Springy, personally close not only to Teddy Roosevelt but to other pivotal officials in Washington, certainly prompted him to take the German danger seriously. Toward the end of February the Kaiser’s brother and sometime envoy, Prince Henry of Prussia, was sent off on a well-publicised trip to the United States. His main, if not admitted, purpose, according to Chirol’s sources, was to organise and presumably influence the German– American vote so as to bring it into line with the policy of the Wilhelmstrasse. Nor was this vote a negligible matter; both Springy and Smalley, the Times man in Washington, assured him that this bloc had now overtaken that of the Irish as a factor that must be reckoned with by those in favour of maintaining Anglo-American friendship.10 Whether or not the Prince made any headway with the German– American voters – apparently the tactic of flooding the German–American newspaper market with pro-Boer propaganda ‘made in Germany’ had borne little fruit – he fell rather flat with the men at the top in Washington. It gave Chirol abundant satisfaction to hear that His Royal Highness had been told, both in public and in private, that, as much as the United States appreciated the offer of German friendship, she would on no account ‘forgo her friendship with England pour le roi de Prusse’. It was just what the Germans should be told, said Chirol, given their none too obscure game-playing. ‘In Washington for instance,’ he pointed out to Lascelles, ‘they represent themselves as the prompters of the AngloJapanese agreement. In Petersburg they bewail our deafness to their urgent entreaties not to desert the Western cause by committing ourselves to an alliance with Yellow Men!’11 But the fact that their tricks were visible, at least to him, did not make them less unsettling, and Chirol continued to feel that people in Britain – the people who mattered – were either unaware of, or refused to see, what their so-called friends in Berlin were up to. Needless to say he assigned himself the task of waking them up to the situation. The German government was also busy just then with an irritating problem in their own midst, the increasingly unwelcome presence of George Saunders. Although happily married to a German woman, and capable of enjoying some aspects of life in Berlin, Saunders had never had a high opinion of the German government, nor made any discernible effort to ingratiate himself with its officials. By the beginning of 1902 the latter were making ‘considerable efforts’ on both sides of the North Sea to rid themselves of their Times correspondent. Baron Richthofen had gone 171

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so far as to invite him to a private party at his own house, where he proceeded to take him to task in a most unmannerly way, then add insult to injury by having this scolding published in the semi-official press. Chirol worked himself into a state over this affront, convinced that Richthofen would never have behaved like that if not instructed to do so by Bülow, behind whom he saw the hand of Holstein. When it came to the efforts being made within Britain, Chirol seemed more amused than offended. Apparently the German Embassy had gone so far as to approach Chamberlain, of all people, and there was a rumour that Holstein had been angling to meet with Lascelles for the same purpose. What he wouldn’t give, Chirol wrote to his friend, to be an invisible witness at any such meeting. What a queer people [the Germans] are! Eckardstein has of late been making tender enquiries about me! [… ] I can’t understand how a man of the Emperor’s intelligence and knowledge of England and English ways can imagine that that sort of thing can have any other effect than to strengthen Saunders’ position with us.12

As entertained as he claimed to be by such behaviour Chirol was, at bottom, concerned enough by it to warn Lascelles that he would be letting down the side should he agree to sacrifice Saunders in the interests of maintaining good relations with Germany. As for the paper, it stood by its man, as was the custom. If that should change then it would clearly be time, as he told Lascelles, for him to consider whether or not he himself should stay at Printing House Square. He need not have worried about Lascelles. The latter wrote back to say that he would rather have Saunders’ position strengthened than weakened, in fact strengthened a good deal. But he did admit that, having lived a long time in Germany and got to know the people well, the correspondent knew ‘exactly what irritated them and seemed to take pleasure in making them squirm’.13 Between Chirol and Saunders The Times made for unhappy reading in certain circles in Berlin in the summer of 1902. Bülow, Holstein, Metternich, even the Emperor, continued to try and stem the damage; certainly they complained bitterly given any opportunity. Metternich made it clear to leading politicians in London, and to the King himself, that the paper was creating serious problems. The latter demurred, showing the ambassador a copy of the paper in which Saunders had quoted from a particularly anti-English article in the Berliner Neuesten Nachrichten and pointing out that German papers were not above trouble-making themselves. Metternich’s response was that for anyone 172

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to take one instance of adverse criticism and pass it off as representative of public opinion in general showed just how malicious and distorted The Times’ coverage of Germany now was. The following day he told Bülow that, in spite of the fact that his rejoinder seemed to have had an effect on the King himself, even His Majesty could do little to control The Times. Two weeks later it was Asquith who condemned the behaviour of the paper, and who told Metternich that he feared it could poison relations between Germany and England in ways that could have serious consequences. Unfortunately it was also the case, as Asquith made plain, that people in Britain, generally quite ignorant about events abroad, got the bulk of their foreign news, and opinions on the same, from The Times, either directly or through provincial papers that depended on it for their foreign coverage. Although Metternich never singled out Chirol as the chief reason for the paper’s anti-German stance, Bülow had few doubts on that score. ‘In recent days,’ he noted at the bottom of another message from Metternich describing how the British were beginning to take German enmity quite seriously, ‘I have heard from various sides that the anti-German mood in England can be traced back to the influence of the Times, and the attitude of the Times back to Mr Chirol.’14 By that point things had quietened down all around. Metternich allowed himself to hope that the let-up was not merely accidental but an indication that someone responsible at Printing House Square had come to realise that among influential Britons not everyone was anti-German, therefore it was in its own best interests to tone things down.15 What he did not attribute it to, although had he known he might have, was that the foreign editor was off on holiday. At the end of May Chirol, feeling stale after a strenuous nine months in the foreign room, went north to visit with Springy at his family home in the Lake District. Although the weather was disappointingly cool, the setting was all he could have wished for and the conversations with his dear friend – whom he saw too infrequently – even better. Springy was just back from a visit with the Roosevelts in Washington, and much of the talk had to do with the subjects long since uppermost in Chirol’s mind – the Americans and the Germans. From Ullswater Chirol went on to do his now customary cure at Strathpeffer, returning to London toward the end of July. When away, especially when away taking care of his petite santé, Chirol’s habit was to shut out to the best of his ability all that pertained to the world of affairs. That May he turned 50, a milestone that he seemed to ignore. He was tired, and said so, but by comparison to the previous few years neither 173

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bleakly depressed nor tottering about on his last legs. Little, except now and again the bothersome Germans, appeared worthy of comment. In the few letters that survive from those weeks he said nary a word about the end of the war in South Africa and had neither complaint nor praise as to the terms of the peace. Nor was there the least mention, snide or otherwise, of the fact that, while he took the waters and walked the hills, an era came to a quiet close in London. Lord Salisbury, one of Chirol’s favourite targets, the man who he claimed would have given away the Yangtze – if not the Nile – Valley and heaven knows what else, retired. In the summer of 1900, ageing and weary, he had given the Foreign Office to Lord Lansdowne. Now, older and wearier, he passed on the office of Prime Minister to his nephew, Lord Balfour. In a year he would be dead, another event Chirol let pass without comment. Germany was obviously much on Chirol’s mind in the first half of 1902, but there were other topics clamouring for his attention. High on that particular list was Persia. It was no secret – to Chirol or anyone else remotely concerned with international affairs – that the ancient country was in terminal, and accelerating, decline. Nor could anyone deny that the Russians were firmly in control in Tehran and the north, and now looking hungrily toward the south. When Chirol learned that he might help save a bit of the Persian corpse from the Russian vulture, the news did what even his holiday could not; it put the Germans on the back burner – for a while at least. On 4 July Bell wrote to Lord Curzon concerning Edward VII’s Coronation Durbar, scheduled to take place in Delhi on 1 January the following year. The Times would of course send a special correspondent. Curzon had initially wanted Buckle himself to make the trip, but the editor had decided that Chirol, their ‘common friend’, as he put it, was the right man. ‘India is one of the very few important portions of the earth’s surface that he does not know; and it seems to us very important that The Times’ Foreign Secretary should have a personal knowledge of India. We could send you no better man, as I am sure you will agree.’16 As it turned out Curzon did agree, all the more so when he heard that Chirol’s itinerary would bring him to Delhi via a trip through Persia. The Viceroy was himself something of a specialist on Persia, and all too aware of the serious problems posed by having it sink ever deeper into the arms of Russian bankers and army men. Chirol had not been to Persia since he dragged Nordenfeldt’s machinegun over the Bakhtiari Range and up to Tehran in 1884. On that fascinating, if fruitless, trip he had been unable to travel home through 174

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Russia. Now, almost 20 years later, he was allowed to make the once prohibited trip in reverse. He was to take the Petroleum Express from Moscow to Baku, from there he would make his way across the Caspian and down to Tehran, on to Isfahan, over the Bakhtiari, and so end up on the Gulf coast. While eager to witness the splendours of a durbar and to get to know more of India, he was hardly less eager to see what was happening in Persia as there were more than a few indications ‘that the next big political question will arise in the quarter, especially with regard to the Gulf and Indo-Persian communications’.17 The first stop on his long journey was Berlin. Less than a year before he had been listening to Bülow’s earnest assurances; this time no one in official Berlin had much desire to see him. Before leaving London he had another go in The Times on the Anglophobia of the German kept press, reminding his readers – those in Berlin as well as London – that [t]he attention which the utterances of the German Press deservedly attract in this country and the effect which they produce upon the British public are due, not so much to their intrinsic merits or demerits, as to the light they throw incidently upon the temper which for the time prevails in responsible German quarters. [… ] The mot d’ordre of the Wilhelmstrasse may no longer command quite the same implicit obedience as in the days when Bismarck piped … the tune to which the whole German Press danced … But the same machinery exists to the present day in the Press Bureau of the German Foreign Office, and it is worked with the same industry if not perhaps with the same intelligence.

In recent days, he noted, it seemed that some people in Berlin, including those who had engineered the recent newspaper war, were now anxious to stop it. The sooner that happened the better, and he accepted cordially, if a tad condescendingly, their new interest in reducing ‘the evil effects of a deplorable and, on our part, unprovoked estrangement’.18 From Berlin Chirol travelled on to Moscow. He was clearly fascinated by the huge straggling city of brown and green roofs … out of which emerge more than 2000 churches and convents, each … crowned with from 3 to 9 bulbous shaped domes, many of them heavily gilt, and almost all the others painted a vivid green or blue and above each a shining gilt cross – some 10,000 of them at least in all. Just substitute a crescent for a cross and you could not but believe yourself in the heart of Asia. And one has somehow the feeling that the cross is merely an accident and fails even to disguise a spirit as alien to that of our Western civilisation as the crescent itself.19

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The following journey to the shores of the Caspian Sea was Chirol’s first close look at the enormous country he had so long feared. As his train travelled day after day through an ‘unutterably flat landscape of stunted forest, yellow stubble and parched steppe … without an embankment or a cutting to vary the monotony’, he was struck by the extraordinary sameness – except in the Caucasus – of its landscape, its towns and villages, down even to the clothes that people wore. It seemed to him an uncanny uniformity, cast-iron in its application, the rigid skeleton of the whole, and alien, Russian system. It could not be natural, this sameness, and he soon began to sense dark movements underneath the static surface. Did those who kept the lid clamped down so tightly sense that such was the case? What else, he wondered, could explain the amazing number of prison vans he saw during his five days on the train. There were sometimes as many as three of these attached to every train that passed and many more sitting on the sidings of every sizeable station along his route. And it seemed to him that the faces that looked back at him from those grim carriages as they passed ‘were not of the ordinary criminal type. They were in every case travelling in the direction of Moscow, and thence whither? To Siberia? It was an uncanny sight which set one a-thinking not a little.’20 His voyage across the Caspian from Baku to Resht was as much of a delight as his long days on the train had been unsettling. The weather was quite good, the sea tranquil, and he had time to practise his Persian on a fellow passenger and his charming little black-eye son. The father was ‘an important personage’ who explained, as he ‘nibbled alternately a bit of chocolate and a bit of garlic’, that he was the contractor for taking both mail and passengers on what he called the ‘Russian’ road from Resht to Tehran. For his part, Chirol was less impressed by his importance in the Persian scheme of things than he was by the prospect of arranging through him ‘some of the better crocks in his stables’ for his own trip to Tehran. Although Chirol had sensed Asia in Moscow, it was that magically calm voyage, complete with full moon and bracketed by magnificent sunrises and sunsets, that really bore him, once again, ‘through the gates of the Orient’. The drive from Resht to Tehran – he never mentioned the quality of his horses – was exceptionally interesting, and after two weeks in the capital he had an equally good trip down to Isfahan. The climate was superb; no matter how hard he travelled or worked he felt exhilarated, particularly by nights spent ‘in a tumbledown Balakhaneh, open to the four winds of heaven, with Jupiter gleaming out of the purple blue vault…’.21 176

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All the same, the climate was one thing, the condition of the country something else altogether. What a place it is, he wrote to O’Conor. Eighteen years before he had found it bleak and ruined; what he was now seeing ‘exceeds all my recollections of squalor and decay’.22 He was circumspect about putting his political impressions down on paper, promising O’Conor he would do when the route a letter would take was safer. If, in the meanwhile, the latter wanted some idea of those views, he should read the material he was sending back for The Times. One did not need to peer between the lines, he assured his friend, to get a good sense of just how gloomy he felt British prospects were in that benighted country. Springy, recently moved from Tehran to Cairo, had written to Chirol about what he might find once across the Caspian. That letter reached London just as he was leaving; and he read it cursorily, not wanting to be led astray by what he thought at the time was his friend’s undue pessimism. Six weeks later, leaving Isfahan, he wrote to say that, if The Times were printing his Persian letters, ‘you will have seen how quickly my appreciation of the situation has jumped to yours, and I might add, how unwillingly’. But, as pessimistic as he too now was, he wanted to talk to people in India, particularly Curzon, before Chirol published his final conclusions. Still, he was fairly certain that the rather broad facts that he had thus far given the British public were enough for any intelligent member of it – ‘if there be such’ – to draw his own inferences. As for Chirol’s own, still private ones, they were dire. The British policy in Persia was fool-pidgin, and whatever one’s views may be about the importance of our interests here, we are altogether on the wrong tack. If they are of Imperial importance, we are trifling with them; if they are not we are merely creating unnecessary friction to no useful purpose. With regard to our position in the North, … it is clean gone, and I don’t see how anyone can hope to retrieve it except by force, and if force is to be used, that is not the quarter in which it should be applied.23

How on earth Whitehall could imagine weakening a Russian ascendency based on geography, armed force and unrestricted financial support of a depraved Shah, he could not even guess. Not only was it too late, it was simply impossible for London to buy out the Russians at Tehran. If Englishmen were fools enough to try, the Persians would happily take their money, ask the Russians for more, and ‘we should find ourselves as before but minus our millions’. What London must do – and for Chirol this was the crux of the Persian problem – is decide, and firmly, whether 177

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or not to hang on to its rather better situation in the southern half of the country. Could Britain really afford to allow southern Persia go the way of the north? If not then it was clearly time for statesmen to be ‘up and doing with … eyes open to the facts and to the consequences’. If the decision went the other way then Britain must cut her losses and get out of a struggle that looked set to end in undignified failure. In Isfahan he had spoken with the Zill, and, although too savvy to put complete trust in the latter’s apparent frankness, could not but agree with some of what he was told.24 Along with an ingrained dislike of waffling, Chirol was very sensitive when it came to Britain’s reputation for straight talk and honest dealings. Thus it registered when the Zill reminded him that the time had come when England must stop simply saying that she was a friend to Persia and make the meaning and value of that friendship clear. Words were one thing, deeds something else. No one could have believed that more profoundly than did Valentine Chirol. Leaving Isfahan Chirol said goodbye to mail and telegraphs for the time being. His next letter to Springy was posted six weeks later in Quetta, in what is present-day Pakistan. From there he was headed for the Khyber Pass before ‘dropping down on Delhi’ for a few days to have a first look at preparations for the durbar and then going on to meet with Curzon in Calcutta. Over the past six weeks his views about the future of southern Persia had hardened. It was too bad, he said now to Springy, that the two of them parted company on that question. The idea of allowing the Russians, or for that matter anybody else, to come into the Gulf was wrong. [W]e have no right to give away in that fashion the interests of India, and to give them away gratuitously. A Russian port more especially would mean a Russian railway, or vice-versa, and we cannot afford to have a Persian Manchuria on the flank of our Indian Empire… I cannot imagine anything more disastrous than a repetition of the Kiaochau-Port Arthur – Weihaiwei episode in the Persian Gulf … And why should we run the risk? We have built up by a century of effort a position in the Gulf which, so long as we are masters of the sea, we can keep. Why not keep it? … I am convinced that if we had only the pluck to speak out and say definitely to all whom it may concern, at Teheran and at Constantinople and elsewhere, that we would tolerate no interference of any kind with the Gulf, we should nip the danger of foreign intrusion in the bud.25

With that he turned his attention to his new surroundings. During the following months his interest in the Indian subcontinent, and in the English presence there, although not entirely new, became an abiding and passionate cause. The physical reality of the English settlement at Quetta 178

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brought home to him in a tangible form the civilising mission that was his consoling, reassuring vision of the Raj. There, in that remote city, tucked well away in the harsh, arid hills of Baluchistan, were all the comforts, or almost all the comforts, of home, ‘well-made roads, trim gardens and autumn foliage just beginning to fall under the touch of winter frosts, comfortable houses with roaring fires, and long lines of symmetrical camps and barracks, all as neat and smart as can be’.26 Chirol was a serious man and fair to the best of his ability, but he had, for all his rationality and analytical ability, a passionate nature. Little perhaps did Buckle realise when he told Curzon that it was high time that Chirol got more familiar with India that he would fall so deeply under its spell and under the spell of Britain’s mission there as well. While in Quetta he stayed with the local Agent and Chief Commissioner for British Baluchistan. Along with a few fellow Britishers, this man managed a territory bigger than all the British Isles combined and filled with half-savages who ‘but for us would be flying at each other’s throats as they have done for centuries. The British Government of India,’ he went on in a letter to Mrs Bell, ‘is one of the greatest achievements of our race.’ Half, but only half, teasing, he told her that, while her daughter Enid might have been thrilled to drive with Indian Princes behind royal liveries in London, such could hardly compare with driving into an Indian town behind the scarlet liveries of the representative of the great Serkar, ‘the Indian Government, i.e. the embodiment of Providence, inscrutable and all powerful’.27 Just as much as Chirol regretted parting ways with Springy over the question of who was to have the upper hand in the Gulf, he was gratified to find himself in agreement with the Viceroy on that issue. For some time Curzon had been trying to rouse his colleagues in London to an awareness of the deteriorating situation. Now that he was Viceroy his frustration over their ignorance and neglect grew correspondingly more intense. While in Karachi Chirol familiarised himself with Curzon’s current views on the subject and before leaving for Quetta wrote to say that ‘on a naturally much less comprehensive survey of the situation’ his own conclusions, very fresh ones, were in full agreement. He liked to think that what he had been sending to Printing House Square would no doubt please him. That it surely did, and Curzon made a point of telling the Secretary of State for India to read those articles. Not only did they represent the views of ‘a sensible and clear-headed Englishman, who was in Persia fifteen [sic] years ago, and who has recorded the situation as he now finds it’, but 179

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every word in them ‘confirms what I have been saying and writing for ten years …’. Nor had he, Curzon, influenced any part of Chirol’s views; what was sent to the paper was written entirely independently. But did Chirol’s, or his own, warnings do anything to stir people up at home? To the contrary, [t]he Foreign Office appears to shy from any suggestion that entails the least initiative or implies the most microscopic element of risk. [Chirol] says, as I have many times told you, that our officials are led by the nose by the Belgian Customs officers, that they are hoodwinked by the Persians, and scored off and defeated by the Russians at every turn. Under existing conditions he does not see the slightest chance of bettering the state of affairs in Persia, but, as he says, it is not from Persia or from India, but from London, that the change must come.28

Curzon also forwarded a long memo to Lansdowne ‘written for me at my special request by V. Chirol…after his tour in Persia. I asked him to put down on paper what he had not dared or liked to say in print; and I told him that I did so with the object of sending it to you.’29 In his memo Chirol dealt with things he felt were responsible for the shocking decline in British influence throughout Persia. Chief among them was the condition of the British Legation itself. No matter how brilliant the diplomatist on the spot might be, he was necessarily dependent on a permanent staff, ‘equipped with a thorough knowledge of the language and of the people of the country and trained and organised with a view to the special services it has to perform. Alone of all the chief European Legations, the British Legation does not possess, and never has possessed, such a staff.’ Nor did it pay proper attention to local interests that might be of help. It seemed to Chirol that the policies pursued by that mission were designed to support the centralising tendencies of the Persian government – as directed by the Russians – at the expense of factions ‘whom we have hitherto regarded and taught to regard themselves as our special friends and clients. […] One would hardly have expected us to lend ourselves to the weakening of such centrifugal forces as still exist in Persia just when Russia’s hold on the central Government of the country is getting stronger and stronger.’ If one applies the formal test of treaty rights and international engagements, the situation in Persia today is exactly the same as it was when I was there 18 years ago: the status quo has been maintained. But if one applies any other test than that of verbal technicalities, the situation has been changed almost past recognition to the advantage of Russia and to the detriment of England.30

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All this had been done under the very noses of the complacent, disorganised British. There must be a change, it must come now, and it must come from London. If statesmen and politicians there continued on their present path we shall find ourselves … confronted in an hour of crisis with a Persia which, instead of being the friendly or at least neutral State we have hitherto relied upon to cover the western frontier of Afghanistan and of British India, will be, in perhaps all but name, a dependency of Russia, and effectually as integral a part of her Asiatic dominions as the Khanates, or Manchuria, already are today.31

Chirol’s roundabout route to Delhi next took him along the Indian– Afghan border, the troubled and troublesome north-west frontier of India. As geopolitics were at that point still the main item on his journalistic menu – and, as he told Mrs Bell, the kind of work he most cared about and was fitted for – he wanted to see for himself that supposedly weak spot in the Indian defence. At Peshawar he travelled up the Khyber Pass and spent a night at the fort at Lundi Kotal. At this last outpost of the British Empire he could look down into the valley of the Kabul river and the strange, closed land of the Afghan tribes. Tiers of mountains faced him, with the mighty Hindu Kush in the background, ‘white and remote and mysterious’, and as he gazed ‘Chitral and Ghilgit and all the names one has heard of and read about’ seemed to materialise before his eyes. Again he noted the effect of the English presence in an utterly remote place. The local people, he explained to Mrs Bell, both recognised and respected the influence of the outsiders, but within quite specific limits. Otherwise they lived as they had for countless centuries. British law was in effect only on the roadway up the pass. On either side, a mere stone’s throw away, were walled settlements whose inhabitants shot at each other whenever the spirit seemed to move them. That very morning as he and his small group returned from peering into Afghanistan they passed two such settlements exchanging fire with great abandon not half a mile from the British fort. Soon afterwards, they came upon an armed man squatting in the road, covering his family as they worked a nearby field. ‘He couldn’t be shot at by his enemies because he was on the road, and though he also couldn’t shoot from the road, he could always run out a hundred yards and then shoot, if they came out to attack his people.’ Chirol, half intoxicated by the scenery and the wild exoticism of the barbarous natives, decided that the latter were simply ‘splendid ruffians … withal as cheery and good tempered as possible’.32 But of course when he met them he was on the British road. 181

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At long last he turned his face toward Delhi. He got there on 6 December, ready to write at once of the preparations for the great event and send it off so that people might read about the setting just as the ceremonies were happening. That, as it turned out, would be impossible. Delhi was in a state of total chaos, with acres of camps only partially set up and miles of roads clogged with every conceivable type of wagon and cart, over it all a pall of dust inches deep. Unable to do anything there for the moment and having had enough of a look to describe the scene to Mrs Bell, he set off for Calcutta, eager to talk with Curzon in the comparative peace and quiet of the great Bengal city. Chirol and Curzon had met and become friendly when both were in Cairo during the winter of 1895. Although their friendship never developed into the sort of relationship Chirol had with Lascelles, O’Conor or Springy, when the two of them found themselves on the same side of a given issue, as they were in the case of Persia, they clearly appreciated each other’s worth. Chirol had been much dismayed by the chaos at Delhi, but after seeing Curzon in action he decided that, if anyone could bring order to it, it was he. Not only was he a ‘marvellous man for work’, he was also a master of detail, an impresario of efficiency. He seemed almost tireless, could spend all night on a train from Calcutta to Delhi, have a quick bath and quicker breakfast, spend the day inspecting every detail and the evening testing the electric lighting of the great fort, and then, at midnight, board the train to return to the capital.33 But, as impressed as Chirol was by all this superabundance of energy, he still feared that the actual festivities might not be ‘all beer and skittles’, as the sheer numbers of people involved would be fantastic. With that in mind he did not stay long in Calcutta and was back in Delhi on Christmas Day in order to get his own lodging and contacts organised. He also found time, as he always did, to send greetings to his dearest friends. He could not possibly let the holiday pass without sending the Bell family a message of his own ‘ever-constant memory and affectionate good will’. As he mused about the different scenes in which he had passed Christmas in the course of his life, the one in front of his eyes was surely such a thing as the world had never seen. There were tents of all shapes and sizes, tent palaces with many rooms draped with decorative fabrics and lined with fabulous carpets, and tiny servant tents in which half a dozen ‘coolies’ would squeeze themselves every night, crowded but at least warm. Temperatures swung from daytime heat that made pith helmets mandatory to fierce night-time cold. His own tent, large enough for a bed, writing desk, armchair plus two 183

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other chairs, was all he could have wished for – except for a bigger petroleum stove. Because of the cold he found it difficult to get out of bed early enough to get any work down without feeling half frozen. But, as much as he longed to have a fire in his stove, he feared what fire, if it got out of control, might do. By Christmas Day there had already been six small fires, all safely contained. All the same there was no real water supply and had a wind come up and any of them caught a whole block of tents it would have been devastating. His horror of that possibility even made him look into renting a hotel room in town as a back-up. In the end, having pictured Bell’s reaction to hearing that the paper would be out £4 per night for a ‘mere off chance’, he decided that he would rather try to put his fears out of his mind. The great fête began on 1 January with the arrival in Delhi of the King’s brother, the Duke of Connaught and his Duchess. The huge procession – one hundred men of the bodyguard, heralds and trumpeters, the Imperial Cadet Corps on their black chargers, the great personages on their elephants – moved slowly through the [thronged] streets, decorated with innumerable pictures of the King and Queen … In the amphitheatre were gathered nearly thirty thousand, amongst them

Procession in Delhi in January 1903 © Michael Maslan Historic Photographs/ Corbis.

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one hundred ruling chiefs; all the great Indian feudatories, Arab sheikhs from Aden, representatives from Muscat, the Trucial states and the Gulf; the rulers of the marches of India, from Dir, Chitral, Hunza, Sikkim, Maniput and Nepal to the borders of Burma. The sweep of the territories they represented extended over 55 degrees of longitude.34

It was an extraordinary spectacle. And as the ruling chiefs came forward to offer greetings to the Duke of Connaught, and present to Curzon their homage to the remote King-Emperor far away in London, it seemed as if an older India was miraculously revived. Along came ‘Hindus, Mohammedans, Mahrattas and Sikhs in traditional costumes, accompanied by forces in suits of mail and many-coloured coats, mounted on elephants, camels and horses, even on stilts, carriages, litters, musicians, dancers, men fighting, men in masks, giants, dwarfs, hunting hawks and hounds’.35 It was indeed ‘the gorgeous East’. But the festivities were more than a feast for his eyes and ears, they offered Chirol an unparalleled opportunity to meet and talk with men – all gathered together in one convenient, if exhausting, setting – whom he would need to know in order to get a grasp on the enormity of the British enterprise in India. The celebrations went on for two weeks, and toward their end Chirol was nearly at his. The opening day itself left him exhausted and depressed, convinced that he could never take in all that he saw before him and describe it, let alone gather its meaning. He felt, so he said, as if he ‘had been struggling in deep waters full of unknown rocks and shoals’. Some of his angst was dispelled by a telegram of satisfaction from Printing House Square, and he wrote to Mrs Bell that it was a great relief ‘to know that my poor little craft had not come altogether to grief’. But comforted as he was there was a great deal more that he must do. It was pleasant and useful, but still a strain, to meet, every day at both lunch and dinner, new people, all enormously interesting, deeply involved in a wide variety of problems and issues, and ‘thoroughly keen about their work and not ashamed to take pride in it and talk about it …’.36 Unfortunately there was, or so he felt, not sufficient time for him to take proper advantage of all the information on offer and he was clearly frustrated as the great tent city slowly emptied, leaving him with much still to learn. By 12 January the tents were finally coming down. Chirol hoped fervently not to be summoned home at once as he was deadly keen to see some of the most interesting of the Rajput states and had wangled invitations from several of the British residents. He wrote to ‘the big B.’ 185

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to ask if he could have another month or six weeks. London agreed, but on 19 January Bell wired that he must, without fail, be home by the end of February, nor was he to stop anywhere en route. By the time he left, Chirol was entirely smitten by India; not even Japan had enchanted him so. He wrote Springy a rapturous account of riding on the backs of ancient elephants along roads made smooth by their patient footfalls, then up to rocky summits where medieval castles perched, or along the edge of vast man-made lakes on whose mirrored surface trembled the reflections of marble halls and pinnacled temples, all the while being entertained by troops of long-tailed monkeys hooting and screaming in the overhanging boughs of the sacred fig trees or by sacred peacocks carrying on stately flirtations with sacred peahens, and green pigeons and purple-throated doves cooing in every bush. Sometimes he travelled by red-domed bullock cart, the horns of its locomotive painted either red or green depending on whether he was dedicated to Vishnu or to Shiva, ancient axles creaking and groaning, or by slow, steady camel, whose soft feet hit the ground with nary a sound. And, everywhere he went, queer little mites of brown humanity are held up by their red or yellow or blue or green sari’d mothers to salaam to the passing Sahib, and reverend old Rajputs with their mustache curled over their ears hold forth the handle of a jewelled sword in salutation, and at dusk the peasants return from their fields laughing and singing with joy at the unaccustomed prospect of a plentious harvest, and at all hours of the day there is life and warmth and colour in lifeless as in living things. I feel as if I were in dreamland and when I wake up six weeks hence in London town, I shall rub my eyes and wonder whether there really are such places as Alwar, and Ajmeer and Jaipur. But for the moment they certainly do exist and I am thankful for their existence.37

By the end of January he had got as far as Indore, where he stayed with the Younghusbands, he of later Tibetan fame. Also staying were Lord and Lady Crewe, she a ‘rather fascinating little person’ and he, no doubt, a future Viceroy should the Liberals ever come into power again. Unlike the gorgeous Udaipur, the gem of Rajputana, whence he had come, Indore had little in the way of white marble palaces, azure lakes, feathery palms and spreading banyan trees. But, knowing that the reason for his extended stay was not so that he could be further delighted by picturesque customs or scenic beauties, he set to to study more prosaic matters. Having arrived on a Tuesday evening, after the usual 24 hours on a train – ‘the minimum, I find, for getting from anywhere to anywhere in 186

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India’ – Wednesday began with Indian home industries: seeing spinning and weaving in a native house. That afternoon there was a lecture at the Brahmo Samaj, which he described as a Hindu Reformers Bethel, on freewill and the origins of good and evil. Thursday it was a practical course of land settlement and assessment in a nearby village, that evening the dedication of a new Jain temple. The following day, Friday, he would see the native courts. And Saturday, before getting on the train for Calcutta – 48 hours this time – he was going to witness the abdication, or, more precisely perhaps, the deposition, of the Maharajah Holkar, a ruler of notoriously uncertain temper whose offer to vacate his throne had been snapped up by a delighted Curzon.38 ‘I don’t think,’ Chirol wrote to Mrs Bell (with an eye to her husband as well), ‘anybody can say I am wasting my time.’39 By 31 March he was back, and not unhappily, in the ‘toil and moil’ of London. According to his own admission, six months was about as long as it was possible to be gone from the centre of things before one really lost touch. By that reckoning he was back a little late and could not have been surprised to find, as he told O’Conor, ‘plenty of threads to be picked up which have got rather loose and bedraggled in my absence’. Several of these wandering threads led back to O’Conor’s present locale, the Ottoman Empire, the most troubling one among them to Macedonia, the archetypal Balkan hot spot, once again in open insurrection. Chirol had clear ideas as to what he thought Britain should do about Macedonia, which was as little as possible. London had recently blundered quite badly over the question of the Armenian atrocities, and had not only paid for the blundering but done nothing to help the Armenians. This time there was, he assured O’Conor, no need for Britain to throw herself into the breech, especially since ‘on the merits of the case’ there was little to choose between the Turks and the revolutionary, insurrectionist and generally savage bands of either Bulgarians, Serbians or Greeks pitted against them, when not fighting each other. The British should leave these troublemakers to their own savage devices, leave Abdul-Hamid severely alone and allow Austria and Russia to ‘extricate themselves and their clients as best they can from this imbroglio’.40 Turkey in Europe was not the only headache then troubling statesmen – and at least one foreign editor – there was also the problem posed by Europeans in Turkey. That problem was now focused on the financing and building of a rail-line that would, if and when completed, extend not just to Baghdad, but from Baghdad to the Persian Gulf. Building railroads in Turkey, and thereby having, or sharing in, the control of same, was 187

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not a new problem. But just as Chirol got back to London it reached a climax of sorts. Two months previously a German group had finally been given permission to build a long-discussed line from Konia to Basra. At once they began to look in London and in Paris for financial partners. Both Balfour’s government and leading bankers in London were favourably disposed to sign on. But then, at the last minute, the money men were subjected to a massive, and massively negative, press campaign, and the whole project ground to a halt. Chirol had clear views on the issue. He did not see, he told O’Conor, how Germany could possibly build the line without assistance from England. Nor did he think that it is in our interest, commercial or political, that the railway should be built at all – except of course as an all-British railway which is now out of the question. Moreover if we are to cooperate, how are we going to secure ourselves against the possibility – nay probability – of Germany some fine day handing over her interest in the concern to Russia … How foolish we should look [if that happened] – for value received elsewhere – and we found ourselves in a minority of one, vis-à-vis a Russian and French group.41

If that was not argument enough, he had another. His aim, mission even, especially since his recent trip, was to see Britain maintain her supremacy in the Persian Gulf. For the life of him he could not see ‘how we can keep the Russians out if we invite the Germans down, without challenging and justifying the hostility of Russia’.42 Unfortunately those views were not made so clear to his friends at the Foreign Office. In mid-April Chirol went to see Lansdowne but, finding him out, had a long talk with Sanderson instead. Among other things they discussed the Baghdad Railroad business. Somehow Sanderson came away with the impression, which he passed on to Lansdowne, and the latter did to Balfour, that Chirol was not so much against joining in with the Germans as rather indifferent to the matter in general. Whether Chirol failed to get his opinion across, or Sanderson misheard him, the result was that both Foreign Secretary and Prime Minister did not expect The Times to oppose British participation. In the meanwhile Chirol’s actual opinion only hardened, and the more he learned of the project, the less he liked it. Whatever arrangements may be made on paper to secure equality will, I fear, prove illusory … Almost every clause bristles with the possibilities of future complication, and while every one protects the interests of [the Germans], many of them are directly framed against our interests. I cannot

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understand Lord L. after his experience of German bad faith in China tumbling into such a palpable pitfall.43

There would be no such pitfalls for Chirol, who had all too vivid memories of Bülow telling him 18 months previously when he was urging upon me the advantages of the definite alliance between Germany and England … an alliance, by the way, which was to be operative in all parts of the world except Asia! He then referred to the Baghdad Railway, and predicted that nothing more would be heard of it as Siemens was dead, and it was he, above all, who had fired the Emperor’s enthusiasm. ‘It will certainly not be from me,’ he added, ‘or from any of his responsible ministers that His Majesty will receive any encouragement to follow it up, for we cannot afford to enter upon any undertaking in Asia which might create friction with St Petersburg …’44

While some of Chirol’s negative feelings about British participation in the railroad project were the result of his by now ingrown distrust of the Germans, most of them had instead to do with his overall concern about the maintenance of British supremacy in the Persian Gulf. One result of his recent tour was a heightened appreciation of just how vulnerable India was to the Gulf. Russian pressure, formerly concentrated on its mountainous north-eastern frontier, had been a problem for decades; now Chirol saw that same problem expanding into the watery approaches to the subcontinent. Chirol had been sent off to the durbar as a working journalist, and between 10 October 1902 and the beginning of April 1903 he published 19 special articles on ‘The Middle Eastern Question’. As had been the case with his Far Eastern articles in 1895, Chirol was soon contemplating turning these pieces into a book to be published by John Murray. In mid-April he wrote to Curzon about the project, telling him how encouraging it would be to undertake the job if he were able to dedicate the finished product to him. Any student of that ‘Question’, himself definitely included, stood very much in the debt of Curzon’s standard work on Persia, and he wanted to make that clear. ‘At the same time I should quite understand that you might prefer me not to do so lest a personal dedication to you should be taken to associate you too closely with the views I have expressed. So I submit my request to you quite frankly and without prejudice.’45 He also did so knowing, thanks to his recent time with the Viceroy, that their views were very similar. Curzon’s response was all that Chirol could have wished. Not only did he accept, but he made it clear that he did so because of the personal regard he felt for Chirol and, in particular, because his excellent articles 189

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represented a significant public service. ‘In one (ah! And in far more than one) thing you have been absolutely right,’ Curzon wrote, and that was to never talk about preserving the status quo. It is the signpost of ignorance and the synonym for inaction. What we want everywhere all the world over is a policy. At present we are the greatest opportunists in creation. We wait for whatever may turn up and think that statesmanship: we mistake drifting for swimming: and we flatter ourselves on a compromise when all we have accomplished is a concession.46

These were indeed thoughts from Chirol’s own mind and pages from his books and articles. Although the overall shape of the book would follow on from the articles and so a significant amount of the writing was done, Chirol planned extensive revisions and extensions. It was rather a lot to take on, as he half complained, since he would be doing it in his so-called free time. Nevertheless, if he stuck close to London in the near future, once the season was over and town emptier and quieter, he would probably be able to give two or three hours a day to it. It was also in his favour that domestic politics had recently taken centre stage at Printing House Square, leaving his end of things somewhat in the shade. Although there were problems enough to go around in the foreign field, including continuing mayhem in the Balkans, a simmering conflict between Russia and Japan in the Far East, the precipitous expulsion of Braham, his man in St Petersburg, on the orders of the Russian government, and the long, slow fallout from the aborted Baghdad Railroad project, the attention of the Upper Ten Thousand was focused on home affairs and in particular on Joseph Chamberlain’s taking up the cudgels – which soon meant laying down the burden of Cabinet office – for closer economic ties with the colonies and an imperial preferential tariff. Even the preoccupied Chirol could not help but shift his gaze from the Persian Gulf to the question of tariff reform, predicting at one point that it might well produce more excitement and bitterness than even Home Rule had done. The Radicals had already jumped on the idea, hoping, Chirol surmised, that fighting it would keep their party afloat. That would be a bit of a gamble, Chamberlain being a tough man to beat and one who knew his public better than any other politician did or could. As for himself, he found it difficult not to look at the scheme through his international spectacles. Personally I believe he is right – especially as to the necessity of arming ourselves with the power at least of retaliation. Economic questions play

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so large a part in international relations that even from the political point of view it does us a great deal of harm to be a quantité négligeable in regard to the deals which are constantly being made between other powers on the political give and economic take principle.47

To Curzon too he complained that Britain tended to cripple herself – in effect tying both arms behind her back – when it came to getting her share of the world’s trade. And, as was the case with foreign policy, words were not enough, there were definitely some problems that called for actions. As powerful and extraordinarily confident as Chamberlain was, and however skilled at reading the country’s temper, Chirol saw institutional stumbling blocks that might well cripple his initiative. English governmental departments, for instance, had none – as far as he could see – of the trained methods of scientific application so necessary to the working out of complex fiscal and trading problems. When he thought of the way the Germans operated their highly successful system he could only shake his head.48 Meanwhile Chirol had problems to deal with in his own department at Printing House Square. By the beginning of June the time had come to replace his old friend Edgar Whitaker – he of the Levant Herald – at Constantinople. Although his former benefactor’s abilities had been visibly decreasing in recent years, Chirol had not wanted to disturb him until he himself gave up. Now, however, his health was failing fast and Chirol just happened to have an excellent candidate to hand – ‘an exceeding able, painstaking, discreet young fellow’ by the name of Braham, recently thrown out of his post at of St Petersburg.49 D.D. Braham was expelled, said the Russian government, for his ‘hostility to the Russian Government and the invention of false news’.50 The truth of the matter seems to be that the Russian government was more unhappy with the attitude of The Times than with Braham’s work per se, as Plehve, the Minister of the Interior, made plain to Sir Charles Scott, the British ambassador.51 Chirol claimed to be scandalised by the treatment meted out to Braham, but perhaps grim satisfaction was closer to the truth. According to him the Russians had simply shot themselves in their own foot. Not only was it stupid to get rid of a man who was both scrupulous and a Russophile to boot, it was amazingly short-sighted to think that by doing so the The Times would change its tune. The thing that did scandalise Chirol was Sir Charles Scott’s refusal to help or protect Braham in any way. He told O’Conor, one can only wonder how sincerely, that, as personally sorry as he was to do it, he felt impelled to speak out in the 191

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paper about such inexcusable behaviour. No matter that Scott found Braham inconvenient in persisting to expose things that he preferred to keep covered up, as a British subject Braham was fully entitled to look to his ambassador for protection against undue aggression. In this case Scott had failed and deserved his bad press, if not something more permanent. I don’t know how far the FO have committed themselves as to retaining Scott after his 5 years are up in July, but if they have not committed themselves, I hope we shall be able to prevent his reversion. He is absolutely incompetent and a mere laughing stock to the Russians.52

As the summer progressed the Macedonian troubles that Chirol had hoped London might somehow skirt became more complex. By the end of June Turkish troops were clamping down hard on Kosovo and the Adrianople district, Bulgaria was protesting vehemently to the Powers about the tactics being used, and violence throughout the region was escalating rapidly. In August a Russian consul in Monastir was killed by a Turkish policeman. St Petersburg made some stiff demands at Constantinople, and Chirol, in an oddly merry mood, wrote to Springy – himself now posted to the Russian capital – that as a result ‘minarets [were] waving in the plain of Stamboul’. He wondered if the Russians were really after concrete action from the Porte or if it was all just bluster. From where he sat – which was in London, working hard on his book – it looked like the latter. If they had really been in earnest ‘Abdul the Damned would by this time have been quaking in his slippers, and I am told he doesn’t show a sign of turning a hair’.53 Chirol’s sympathies, almost in spite of himself, went out to the unhappy people in Macedonia. He could hardly condone the nasty methods they used to make that unhappiness felt, but, since they had picked them up in the first place from their Ottoman masters, he forgave them much. Ever since the days when he was writing ’Twixt Greek and Turk he had had grave reservations about the inheritance the Turks had provided for their subject peoples. The Bulgarian fighters were also a fairly brutish lot, but he warned O’Conor that, should the Turkish steamroller be permitted to flatten them, ‘it would serve only to make the rough ways smooth for the Russians who, resenting the signs of independence shown from time to time by the Bulgarians, are no doubt quite ready to let them be chastised into a humbler mood by Turkish scorpions’. Britain, he continued to feel, must ‘walk warily’. Not that such a thing was easy to do when one felt, as he did, that what was being done in Macedonia was not only a ‘scandal to our vaunted Christian civilization’ but reflected 192

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particularly badly on Britain’s actions at the time of the Treaty of Berlin. ‘But for our action then,’ he reminded O’Conor, ‘the Turks would not be slaughtering and violating Christian men and women and children all over the country, with Europe looking on helpless or approving.’54 As for any British actions now, there was little that could be done as long as the Sultan continued to give ‘satisfaction’ to the Tsar. London had managed to shame the Austrians and the Russians into at least pretending that they wanted to do something to stop the misery; perhaps with more prodding they might actually act. Even so he could not believe that they would do very much. Nor did he believe the rumours suggesting that Austria and Russia might agree on a far-reaching scheme of partition, throwing in for the benefit of the ever-hungry Kaiser a right of commercial access or transit to or through the Austrian section. He himself could not credit such tales, believing as he did that each of the three interested Emperors had his own selfish reasons for wanting to keep the Turks in Europe, knowing, among other things, that they might well fall out with each other should the Ottomans be forced to withdraw.55 Much of the attention that Chirol might have lavished on the ugly situation in The Times was diverted into finishing his book. It demanded even more of him than he had anticipated, and he warned his closest friends not to expect much in the way of news or views from him until the ‘accouchement’ took place, sometime in November. ‘The thing is growing,’ Chirol told Springy, ‘and has kicked out in various directions I had not foreseen. What the result will be beyond greater bulk I do not know.’ Worse than that, he feared that it wouldn’t much matter as everybody was so caught up in the big fight over tariff reform that they would probably not notice his ‘bantling’ when it did appear.56 Although he carped about being hard-pressed by Murray and having time for little else, Chirol too was caught up with the doings at Whitehall. And there were surely doings to watch. On 18 September Chamberlain and some of his allies quit the government. On 5 October Balfour made public his Cabinet changes. It was a good thing, he wrote to Springy, that his political sentiments were rather sturdier than the latter seemed to think, ‘or they would have been crushed ker-squash by this extraordinary re-construction which unloads Joe [Chamberlain] and retains [St John] Brodrick – not it is true at the War Office but at the Indian Office where Chirol is to give instructions (save the mark!) to G.N.C. [Curzon]! What a farce the whole thing is.’ As far as he could see the reshuffling had only two redeeming features. It reduced the average age of the government and it increased the possibility of army reform. Apart from these two things 193

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there was nothing in the changes that he thought could save Balfour. Fiscal reform, the major issue, was in Chamberlain’s hands, not his, and should Chamberlain lose Balfour will lose too. If C. wins, B. must leave him to handle the winnings. When a man begins to talk about leading you may be sure he has already ceased to lead, and Balfour is not the man to lead this country which, whatever its faults, knows a eunuch when it sees him, and doesn’t care for that sort.57

Getting The Middle Eastern Question finished left Chirol feeling feisty; the combative atmosphere at Whitehall suited him fine. Another jaunt abroad would also be welcome after more than six months of hard work both in the office and out of it. On 2 October he wrote to John Murray to ask when the book might finally appear as there was ‘a chance – quite between ourselves – of Lord Curzon asking me to join him on his cruise in the Persian Gulf …’. If he did, it would mean leaving London before the end of the month, something he was reluctant to do if there were still things to be done on the book.58 There weren’t, as it turned out, but Chirol was still of two minds about going. Not only was there the enticement of the political excitement surrounding Chamberlain’s great venture, he would also not be on hand to see his ‘bantling’ into the world. But, given the prestige of the invitation, his own powerful interest in the future of the Gulf, and a by now pressing need for a break, his hesitation was very transitory. After checking with Hayashi on the worsening situation between Russia and Japan and hearing that, barring ‘unforeseen local incidents and accidents’, November and December were the months to be away, he was off on 29 October, by the fast mail, to Karachi.

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On 28 November 1903, Chirol sat on the R.M.I.S. Hardinge, at sea off Kuwait, writing Christmas greetings to his adored and adoring Florence Lascelles. He was in the best of moods, the sun was setting, the western sky ‘a blaze of orange gold cut with purple streamers where some tiny clouds intercept the sun’s rays’, the water of the Gulf lapping peacefully at the Viceregal yacht, the air warm but not hot. Even the scenery, ‘in its way’ – which was surely quite flat and featureless – was ‘magnificent’. In his younger days Chirol had slept soundly in squalid caravanserais at the back of beyond. But even then he did not despise either comfort or luxury, and the Viceregal yacht, with acres of space and plenty of staff, had both. For much of the time, except for Lady Curzon and a travelling companion of hers, there was no one with whom his ‘humble self’ had to share the Viceroy’s time. When they were joined at Muscat by Arthur Hardinge, then British minister at Tehran, and the young Winston Churchill, and Chirol did have to share Curzon’s attention, he seemed to find their addition entertaining rather than irritating. He was amused to watch Churchill and Curzon interact. The former ‘is and evidently feels himself to be the naughty boy called up to the Headmaster; impenitent at heart, but for the moment rather nervous and subdued’.1 Although Chirol had been much impressed while in India by Curzon’s energy and grasp of detail, he was long since aware that the Viceroy had a problematical personality and overbearing ways. But now that the two men were thrown together in such an intimate setting and could enjoy 195

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hour upon hour of conversation – in which his own views meshed pleasurably with those of his host – he fell more completely under the latter’s spell. India, he felt, had ‘broadened and deepened’ Curzon, had turned him into ‘a great man’ whom he, Chirol, would be happy to see, in due course, as Foreign Secretary. That due course took many years, and, by the time Curzon was Foreign Secretary, Chirol’s initial reservations as to his flaws of character had long since reasserted themselves. But, during that charmed cruise, both Curzons put themselves out to be the best of hosts and were ‘in exceptionally good humour with themselves and everybody and everything’,2 and over the next few years Viceroy and foreign editor formed their own mutual admiration society. However pleased Chirol was to be on that yacht, St John Brodrick, Curzon’s old friend and no friend at all to The Times, was equally displeased. The new Secretary of State for India made his unhappiness perfectly plain to the Viceroy by insisting that neither Chirol, nor the paper, should be granted any special favours.3 Curzon wired back that Chirol was with him as a personal friend and was not going to send messages back to the paper, although he might write something later. ‘As a matter of fact, the Times never applied on behalf of Chirol at all,

Lord and Lady Curzon with staff on the Persian Gulf tour. Chirol is fourth from the right, rear. Courtesy of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office Library.

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and he is not here as accredited by them. He telegraphed to me that he was about to take his holiday and might he spend it with me in revisiting the scenes in the Gulf about which he was writing only a year ago.’4 There the matter rested, but not for long. Chirol’s series of special articles, ‘With the Viceroy in the Persian Gulf’, began in The Times at the end of December and continued until midJanuary. The more Brodrick read, the angrier he became. At the end of January he told Curzon that the conduct of the Times has, for a long time past, been so disloyal that to give them practically a monopoly of a series of interesting letters at the expense of some other papers, who would have been only too glad to send equally good representatives, seems a little hard. The Times … no longer exercises a sort of judicial authority on all questions, but takes up and runs some question for or against the Government, and employs every artifice and every trick of journalism to make things difficult for those whom it attacks.5

Curzon promptly brushed off his friend’s distress. For one thing, he said, he had little idea what line the paper took as he hardly had time to look at it or any other English paper. Even more to the point, ‘when you say that other papers would have been only too glad to send equally good representatives …, I think that this is hardly the case; firstly because no correspondent living has anything like the acquaintance with that particular problem that Chirol has; and secondly, because, if this were so, it is strange that not one of them put forward the suggestion’.6 Prior to the cruise Chirol had made his views on the Persian Gulf more than plain. In September he published a leader on ‘The Viceroy’s Visit to the Persian Gulf’, in which he firmly asserted Britain’s right to have unquestioned naval supremacy in that strategic body of water. Her navy had patrolled and protected the Gulf for generations and must continue to do so ‘in virtue of [Britain’s] binding obligation to a great and politically helpless ward of the Empire – India and its teeming population – whose commercial, economic, and military interests are closely bound up with the exclusion from the Gulf of the territorial and political ambitions of other Powers’. The coming tour, with the Viceroy and His Majesty’s representative in Tehran travelling together, ‘in the state which benefits their position as [the empire’s] representatives’, would surely bring home to the chiefs and the peoples of the Persian Gulf ‘the determination of this country to retain intact the pre-eminence we have acquired under the most honourable and indisputable of title-deeds – the reign of law and order we have 197

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introduced, imposed, and upheld …, always by our own unaided efforts, but never for our own exclusive benefit’.7 Chirol was back in a wintry London just after Christmas, at once catching a bad cold as a fitting ‘tribute’ to his native climate. He was disappointed not to have spent the holiday with friends, but consoled himself with the thought that, as it was not really possible ‘to eat one’s cake and have it’, the cake he had had was a ‘very excellent’ one.8 He had, he told Springy, spent a pleasant New Year’s Day, chair drawn up to the fire and curtains pulled tight against the outer gloom, reading the latter’s translation – from the Persian – of the story of Valeh and Hadijeh. As he read, London and winter faded away; both body and soul being properly attuned, the veil of the temple is for a moment rent in twain and one’s eye plunges into the mysterious recesses of that unchanging Holy of Holies, the East of all the ages. Is it a myth? Or have they really caught hold of the essential, immanent truths of our being, whilst we are toiling and moiling and fighting over husks?9

But how, he wondered, could anyone properly detach from the things of the present world, especially at that moment? Certainly not he. Much as he relished his blissful afternoon on the empyrean heights with Valeh and Hadijeh, the evening was at hand, which meant Printing House Square, which in turn meant being hauled back down again into the ‘turmoil of fiscalities at home and war-rumours abroad’. Five weeks later, on 8 February, the Japanese navy attacked a Russian fleet lying off Port Arthur. The following day they attacked again and landed troops on mainland China. War was formally declared on the 10th. None of this surprised Chirol. In mid-January he had told Morrison that what was now at hand was one of those Machtfragen, as the Germans liked to call them, that would have to be settled by force. The Times had been warning Russia for months that the Japanese were in dead earnest when they protested against Russian interference in Manchuria and Korea, and that they needed to see signs that St Petersburg was sincerely interested in reaching some sort of compromise. Nor was Chirol unduly worried about Japan’s wisdom in opting for war. While reluctant to make predictions he was, generally speaking, optimistic about her chances for victory. Mackenzie Wallace felt the opposite, but, as Chirol told Curzon, Wallace had been a Russophile for so long that he could hardly be expected to think otherwise. His own admiration for the Japanese aside, Chirol felt that he had good, unsentimental reasons to believe that Russia was in for a hard, if not disastrous, time. Her eastern 198

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fleet was already being punished, and replacements were far away in the Baltic. As for her overland supply line, it was 5000 miles long and consisted of a single rail-line. As convinced as Chirol now was that the Russians were poised and eager to take advantage of British weakness and lack of direction in southern Persia and the Gulf, he at once saw that the Japanese attack meant that her focus and her forces must now be directed to the Far East. Chirol’s own focus went in the same direction. During the previous year, moderately worried that Japan might call on London should it come to war, he had struggled to keep an increasingly belligerent Morrison, ready then to smash the Russians once and for all, on a tight editorial rein. No one at Whitehall, he assured the impatient correspondent, really credited Russia’s denials or assurances about her designs in Manchuria. Nevertheless both must be at least formally accepted unless London was prepared to follow words with actions, and that was out of the question. The expensive and traumatic Boer War was barely over. The army must be overhauled, finances must be straightened out, South Africa pacified and reconstructed. The country was not in the mood for another war unless it was of the utmost urgency and it would be hard to convince people that Manchuria was that urgent. As for France, it was difficult to say which way she might move. He thought it unlikely that her government would choose war, especially against Britain, with whom they were trying to work out some sort of agreement. But those same men might not be able to resist a popular rush for war, should fighting break out between Britain and Russia. For all these reasons, he concluded, ‘We are bound to handle the situation in Manchuria with great caution, and if, as I believe, it is important for us to avoid war, we must do our best to avert the crisis being precipitated by Japan …’ Not that he would ever counsel leaving Japan in the lurch or, heaven forbid, ‘do anything to create the suspicion that we were ready to neglect their interests for our own convenience’. It was merely that he was intent on not encouraging them to take a course ‘in which it would be exceedingly awkward for us to have to follow them at this juncture’.10 Chirol blamed the Russians for bringing their troubles on themselves. Initially he had felt rather sorry for the hapless Tsar, but once war was under way he changed his mind. He thought of Charles I of England, a history of whose reign he had recently read. The moral of that sad tale was that ‘one cannot dissociate individuals from the system with which they are bound up’, and the Russian system was, to his mind, rotten to the core. 199

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As for the Germans, those untrustworthy brokers, he was sure they were not particularly pleased to see war arrive just now. They surely would have hoped for five or ten more years of peace in order to get their fleet ready and themselves into a position where they would be more than just a tertius gaudens. Chirol noted that the opportunistic Kaiser, selfappointed prophet of the ‘yellow peril’ and commiserating friend to his cousin in St Petersburg, gave, the minute he realised that both France and Britain were determined to stay clear of the fighting, ‘the mot d’ordre that the interests of Germany required the maintenance of peace’. ‘Interesting times, interesting times’, he wrote to O’Conor, not least because they offered opportunities, as well as peril, for Britain.11 From the outset of the war the Japanese navy did very well. That, Chirol had expected. He was less optimistic about her chances on land, but, in spite of the sheer size of the Russian army – in May he told Springy that the Russians had 300,000 in the field, another 300,000 in reserve, plus all the resources of a country of 40 million – Chirol still had confidence in the sheer pluck of the Japanese. Should they win, the effect throughout Asia would be excellent. Already the Persians were said to be gloating over the mere possibility that Russia would suffer a diminution capitia. Chirol was too prudent to gloat, especially at such an early date, but he certainly hoped for the same thing. At the end of February Chirol took to his bed with pneumonia, which turned into pleurisy, then into flu. He remained house – if not bed – bound for the best part of a month until able to get himself onto a train to the coast and then onto a ship bound for Morocco. He had fond memories of an earlier recovery in the tumbledown, picturesque country, so desirably exotic and yet so conveniently close to home, also, as it happened, so interestingly au courant politically. Anglo-French pourparles, begun in earnest the previous summer with an eye to the settlement of an array of long-standing colonial issues, were about to bear fruit, one of which was Morocco. French interests there were to be officially recognised in London in return for French recognition of British supremacy in Egypt. News of the brand new Anglo-French Entente got to Tangier shortly after Chirol did. Although not yet ratified, it was the topic of the hour. As it happened, the Kaiser, then beginning an extensive cruise in the Mediterranean, also got early word of it when he stopped at Gibraltar. In the face of this surely unwelcome news,12 he nevertheless ‘laid himself out to conquer the hearts’ of his British hosts. He succeeded, according to Chirol, but chiefly with the hearts of the ‘hoi polloi’, the ‘big wigs’ not being overly impressed to be told that it was his advice that helped 200

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Roberts win the struggle in South Africa. Nor did his customary tirades on the subject of the yellow peril go over particularly well with the allies of the Japanese. Chirol was genuinely pleased with the Anglo-French accord, but not so pleased that he couldn’t find something negative to say about Balfour and his colleagues. For Britain to withdraw entirely from Morocco was probably inevitable, but it still amounted, to his way of thinking, to another lost opportunity. There had once been a chance for them to make themselves secure on the Moroccan side of the straits but as both foresight and energy were lacking at Whitehall nothing was done in time. Thanks to that, any provisions that were set up to safeguard the vulnerable waterway, and the British position on Gibraltar, could not be trusted to be permanently effectual. As for the Egyptian part of the settlement, he could have wished for a ‘more definite recognition of our status’. What he praised unreservedly were the concessions won from France in Newfoundland, and, in the end, weighing everything, he could also admit that for the British and the French to settle these problems was ‘a big political event, especially at this moment when their respective allies are at war’.13 The ink was barely dry on the Anglo-French Entente when there was renewed talk of coming to a similar sort of arrangement with St Petersburg. Chirol was not unduly opposed to taking such a step, but his suspicions were roused by the timing. Why would the idea resurface now, when the war made it all but impossible? He speculated that St Petersburg was counting on a change of government in London, otherwise they would never have raised the possibility of serious negotiations. He himself was looking forward to a change at Westminster and Whitehall, but not the one he suspected the Russians wanted, which was to see the Conservatives out and a radicalised Liberal majority take over. Should that come about, and ‘the Radical tail wag the [Liberal] dog, as I fear it may, it is not at all improbable that we shall betray our allies in the name of Christianity and civilisation’. The press was full of diatribes against ‘yellow pagans’, an obvious effort to summon up the necessary prejudice.14 What Chirol, and not only he, was waiting and hoping for was a decisive Japanese victory on land. On 1 May they all could stop waiting; the Russians were badly beaten at a battle at the river Yalu. These were stirring days, said Chirol, ‘bad for insomnia, but good for depression’. Even he, resolutely cautious as he tried to be, had to admit that the tide against Russia would now be hard to turn. By the end of the month, 201

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with Port Arthur under siege, his confidence had increased to the point where he was willing to predict that the Japanese ‘were going to prick the Russian bubble AD 1904 as effectually as they pricked the Chinese bubble AD 1894’.15 Otherwise the two wars shared little else than location. The RussoJapanese War was a proper twentieth-century affair. The battles on the Liaotung Peninsula, and in the waters around it, foreshadowed, in both the scope of the mechanised killing and the fearful expense of doing it, worse to come in years to come. The Times, not to be outdone, had on hand a thoroughly modern war correspondent. Lionel James, by all accounts an enterprising and ingenious man,16 had earned a great reputation covering the South African war for The Times. Sent out to the Far East in advance of the outbreak of war, James went via the United States, where he met and travelled with Mr Lee DeForest, a pioneer in wireless broadcasting. At Hong Kong James hired the steamer Haimun, set up a DeForest transmitter on it, and went on to Wei-hai-wei, where, with considerable ingenuity, he set up a a receiving station as well. No sooner was this upto-the-minute equipment ready than the Japanese attacked at Port Arthur. James, determined to be the first with the news of the new war, took to the sea at once. At the last minute he persuaded the Japanese navy to put one of their men on board to act as intelligence officer and floating censor. On 14 March the world’s first ship-to-shore wireless message went from the Haimun to Wei-hai-wei and on around the world to London. It was a marvel, and James was first with the news, but almost at once both Chirol and the Japanese saw the disadvantages as well as the advantages of the new technology. Cruising alone at one point the Haimun was intercepted and boarded by the Russians. James knew that if they caught sight of his Japanese ‘passenger’ it would be the end of his broadcasts, perhaps his ship as well, not to mention dire consequences for himself. There were a few tense hours, on ship and on shore, but in the end James and the Haimun fared rather better with their Russian captors than with either Chirol or the Japanese. The Japanese ‘rightly or wrongly’, as Chirol put it to James, decided that he and his floating wireless were ‘prejudicial to their interests, and that, quite unconsciously on your part, harm has resulted to them’. Chirol too was disturbed by the actions of the Haimun. It was silly of the Russians to threaten to shoot you as a spy, but apart from that [a big ‘that’ from James’ point of view!] I don’t think we should

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have had any legitimate grievance if they had seized the Haimun and carried her off to Port Arthur … Naval people in this country don’t hesitate to say that, if we were engaged in a big war, we should never tolerate wireless correspondents in the Channel. Why should we expect the Japs to do it?17

Nor must James ever say, or even think, that the Japanese authorities ought to leave the ship alone as a token of gratitude for the support of The Times. I cannot imagine anything more detrimental to the interests or to the dignity of The Times than a plea for favours in consideration of the services we may have rendered … The attitude which [the paper] has taken up towards Japan has been taken up on political grounds and … it would be deplorable if the impression were created in Japan that the treatment of our correspondents … would in any way affect our attitude.

Having scolded, Chirol softened and told James that he understood how frustrating it was to be held back from doing as much as he wanted to for the paper. He must rest content with knowing that he had ‘done excellent work for us, and we thoroughly realise the difficulties you have to contend with. So cheer up and make the best of things as they are. What can’t be cured must be endured.’18 Unfortunately, James found it impossible to endure the Japanese restrictions. Soon Chirol could no longer endure him, while Bell, on behalf of the financially strapped paper, could not endure the fearful expense of wireless correspondence. As the summer progressed Chirol’s concerns – about wireless correspondence during wartime in general and about James in particular – grew. He was simply going too far and, although, as he told Morrison, the London office had ‘cabled him pretty strong correctives, …I rather fear he didn’t take them altogether to heart’.19 Nor did he. Chirol, trying to be even-handed, admitted that the Japanese must share some of the blame for the growing problem. At the outset of the fighting they should have said no at once to war correspondents being at the battles. No doubt there would have been some grumbling, but that would soon pass. Instead there was confusion and shilly-shallying, promises evaded or broken, much bad blood on both sides. But that did not excuse James entirely losing his head and writing and wiring ‘the most foolish things about the treachery of the Japs, the madness of an alliance with such people, the Yellow Peril, etc.’. Not publishing such ‘rot’ helped, but what James had been saying, out loud, and in Japan, was 203

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worse than a blunder and would have gravely compromised the paper if he, Chirol, had not taken immediate steps to disavow him in the proper quarter.20 Chirol was not a Luddite, by any means, but it is evident that he cared little for this new wireless business. He was even willing to argue that in a major war the front lines were no place to have newsmen poking about. Stakes were too high, secrecy too vital for success. And why should a paper like The Times haemorrhage money for little or no significant advantage? ‘[A]ny unscrupulous penny a liner whom a paper picks up on or about the seat of war may get his news through quicker than the military expert we send out at considerable cost, and telegraphy often serves to disguise successfully want of general knowledge, of style and even of grammar.’ It was a disgrace that even ‘this gullible and sensation loving age’ should be able to see.21 Unfortunately for Chirol it was the mere beginning of what a sensation-loving age would increasingly like to see and read. But those who wanted to read it in The Times would have to wait. In midSeptember James was ordered home, Chirol having had enough of his ‘complete loss of self-control and abdication of judgment’. It was true that he was a good war correspondent, but that, in itself, did not make up for the lack of other qualities. ‘It seems to be impossible,’ he told Bland, ‘to get a good war-correspondent who is at the same time quite a gentleman.’22 Alas poor Chirol, the future would not put great store in gentlemanly war correspondents. The reputation of the paper was much on Chirol’s mind that summer. The Russians were furious at Printing House Square’s refusal to send a permanent correspondent to St Petersburg, an insult compounded by what they saw as the paper’s intolerably critical tone. When the stand-off over replacing Braham got to the point where it began to strain official relations Hardinge felt that it was time to remind Chirol that The Times – the only English newspaper that was at all widely read – was making his own position difficult. The current policy of the British government was to remain on friendly terms with the Russians during the fighting. He, Chirol, must also be aware that Whitehall was hoping that, once it was over, they might be able to arrive at a friendly agreement with Russia on many of the thorny questions at issue … In order to arrive at this result, which should be beneficial in every way to our country, it is necessary to lose no time in preparing public opinion for it and I venture to say from my knowledge and experience of this place that if the ‘Times’ still continues to maintain

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its present tone of hostile criticism the difficulty of my task will be infinitely greater and may become impossible.23

It was all for the good that the tone of mocking contempt that had been driving the Russians rabid was now somewhat muted. But more needed to be done. If Chirol would allow that there was some prospect of sending a properly qualified correspondent, ‘I will myself take the initiative of sounding the Russian Govt. as to their willingness to accept him’. But then Chirol himself would have to see the matter through. He should, Hardinge wrote, ‘come here and talk the matter over with the Russians as soon as I have first sounded them and obtained a satisfactory reply. I have great confidence in your being able to put matters on a proper footing.’24 The reply to this proposal was not encouraging. Chirol wrote to say that he had shown Hardinge’s letter to Moberly Bell, and Bell then showed it to Arthur Walter. Normally, the latter steered clear of the day-to-day management of the paper. But, when Walter did decide to take a part, he did so in all seriousness, and once he had taken a position on an issue it was nearly impossible to get him to change it. The stand he took on Braham’s expulsion was that it was a public affront to The Times, its offensiveness made worse when subsequent statements made it clear that it was not directed so much against Braham as against the paper. It looked to Walter – and not just to him – as if the Russians had taken it upon themselves to publicly punish The Times for its hostile attitude.25 If they cared to do so then they could do without a permanent correspondent. In addition, the Russians must understand that the issue of Braham’s expulsion was one thing and a very different thing from the issue of the paper’s attitude toward Russian policy in general. The latter was determined at Printing House Square by considerations of public interest only. That attitude had been based – whether for right or wrong, Chirol took care to note – ‘ever since the Far Eastern question emerged into the front rank of international questions, on the firm belief that our interests and those of Russia are fundamentally antagonistic in those regions whilst those of Japan and ours are fundamentally identic’. Was not Hardinge seeing things too much through his ‘Russian spectacles’? He must keep in mind that the paper’s attitude affected opinions in other countries as well as in Russia, Japan for instance.26 Hardinge was discouraged by the paper’s intransigence. Nor did he think he was seeing the problem too narrowly. He was, he reminded Chirol, heart and soul for the Japanese. No one in St Petersburg was 205

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really complaining about the paper being pro-Japanese, what was producing the bad feeling was that Britain’s most pre-eminent and powerful paper could not treat their friend’s adversary with respect. Then there was the matter of the post-war situation and the possibility of achieving an Anglo-Russian accommodation. That goal, he thought, should not spoil Anglo-Japanese relations. But because it was so eminently desirable for Britain to have some sort of settlement, he did not relish being handicapped in his efforts to achieve it by the bitterness arising from a nasty press campaign.27 Chirol had few problems with Hardinge’s goal of bettering AngloRussian relations, even though he had long since had the reputation of being more anti-Russian than anti-anyone else. He did, however, have grave reservations about the limitations of the Russian political structure and graver ones about the limitlessness of her geopolitical ambitions. But by 1904, even with all the rancour over Braham and over the behaviour of the Russians in the Far East, he freely admitted that, apart from those interests and obligations which make it incumbent upon us, in my opinion, to hold by the Japanese in this war, I am quite ready to support, and to support strongly, an arrangement with Russia on Asiatic question generally, if we can possibly secure one on satisfactory terms and with some adequate guarantees that she will carry it out loyally.28

There is no mention, to Hardinge or to anyone else, about wanting to have any sort of an arrangement with Germany. Anglo-German relations remained correct, if not notably warm, as rumours and speculations continued to circulate as to the existence of some sort of understanding between Kaiser and Tsar. At the end of June Edward VII was to join his imperial nephew for a regatta at Kiel. Although doubting that the visit would produce much in the way of new warmth, Chirol took some pains with the way it was treated in the paper. Saunders must of course be on hand, not in any way to ‘boom’ the event, but out of respect for the King. In order to avoid aiding those Germans intent on playing off the visit against the new Anglo-French accord, the paper had decided to treat it simply as a courtesy call ‘which after the King’s visits last year to other courts could hardly be avoided without giving actual offence, and though the Emperor may bring all his Ministers with him, it must bear the impress of the holiday surroundings in which it is to take place’.29 As circumstantial evidence proliferated Chirol was increasingly persuaded that a Russo-German pact of some sort existed. The fact that no document had been published was no argument against it. There 206

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had been no formal agreement when the Germans moved into Kiao-chau and the Russians took Port Arthur. Nor did the two countries announce that they had agreed to appoint General Waldersee to be in charge of the international forces in China during the Boxer troubles. In Chirol’s view the thing to be addressed was less whether a formal pact actually existed, but how it would play out should the Russians win the war. One thing was clear, at least to him. It would be very costly as far as British interests were concerned. The Germans were already treating the so-called Yangtze Agreement they had signed in 1900 as a dead letter, even in the heart of the Yangtze Valley. Satow wrote that the Germans in Peking were leaving no stone unturned to spoil British influence and interests there. At Tokyo they were doing their best to stir up distrust, and he heard that the French had been reassured that their interests in southern China would not be touched. No one, he noted, was reassuring London. Even in the troublesome business of the war that Russia began to wage on neutral commerce Chirol was soon wondering as to the part Germany might be playing. As seizures on the high seas continued, Chirol, still suffering from bouts of ‘seediness’ left over from his earlier flu, went north on holiday. He was put ‘out to grass’, as he told Florence, unable to do much more ‘than chew the cud of my pastoral meditations’. He had not even been well enough to go to Berlin at the beginning of June to see her married to Springy, but time away seemed, finally, to set him up again. Back in town at the end of July, the first thing that he did was fire off a letter to her new husband on the ‘fearfully delicate’ question of what the Russians were designating as contraband. Britain, he warned, was in a very tight place. She must, at one and the same time, tread very warily, forgoing any position that might, in future, be turned around and used against her. But she must also protect her commerce, and, above all, fulfil her commitments to her Japanese allies. The overriding necessity was, however, to put a stop to the interference before British shipping was permanently crippled. Even the temporary interruptions were causing serious problems as they affected too many British pockets. The government was moving cautiously, but Chirol had begun to think that it might be too late for caution as public opinion would not put up with any nonsense such as seeing British trade to the Far East transferred into German bottoms.30 For Chirol the definition of contraband remained the more troubling problem. Although he felt that the isolated capture or even scuttling of this or that ship was outrageous, he was prepared to see these as ‘regrettable incidents, due to some extent to the administrative anarchy 207

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which seems to pervade the Russian system’. And, even though he was well aware that St Petersburg and Berlin were, or at least seemed, increasingly chummy, German shipping was not immune to Russian attacks. If British trade was their special target, why had the German liner Prinz Heinrich also been seized? He brushed off a suggestion that the Germans might have set up the attack as a way of covering up their ongoing flirtation with St Petersburg. The Wilhelmstrasse was more than capable of underhand manoeuvres, he knew that at first hand, but ‘collusive molestation is too Macchiavellian even for [them]!’.31 Within a matter of weeks he was doubting his own words, not sure either how far the Germans had already gone, or were prepared to go, in Russia’s direction. At the start of August he complained to Springy that Germany was ‘clearly acting in collusion with Russia all through this business’32 and likewise to Hardinge that British trade was suffering just because ‘we can’t secure for our flag the protection which Germany enjoys, even though she has no doubt purchased it by crooked means’.33 All the same, Chirol remained confident that the Kaiser was backing the wrong horse in the war. The Japanese still had to win some key battles, and there was always the unhappy thought that financial strain would push them in the direction of a negotiated peace. But from what he knew the Russians, too, were tremendously strapped for money. Moreover their politics were in profound disarray, social dissatisfaction was rife, their leaders both civil and military incapable, contemptible, or both. ‘In Russia, as in Turkey,’ he liked to say, ‘the fish stinks from the head.’34 With Buckle away on holiday that autumn and Parliament in recess, the foreign department was left to furnish much of the news. Chirol griped mildly about working doubly hard for little credit, but between the war and the Germans he found life anything but boring. On 14 September The Times carried a long special article entitled ‘A Far-Eastern Understanding’. In its opening paragraph, the anonymous author – Chirol – warned that there was far more to the current struggle than the actual battles, fascinating as they might be. People must wake up to the fact that the war was having an effect on international politics. Nowhere, he continued, was that more evident than in the ‘remarkable rapprochement’ taking place between Germany and Russia. He reminded his readers that Germany had once before concluded a secret treaty with Russia. The current ‘engagements’ between the two countries, whatever their specific details, must just as surely exceed those of Bismarck’s Reinsurance Treaty as the scope of William II’s Weltpolitik did the old Chancellor’s diplomatic 208

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designs, confined, as they had almost exclusively been, to maintaining the balance of power in Europe. Obviously the military situation gave the Kaiser a range of opportunities to be of special service to the beleaguered Nicholas, and he pursued them with his usual vigour, all the while posing as a benevolent neutral. Chirol made something of that apparent hypocrisy, suggesting that some assurance of support that strained the term ‘neutral’ had to have been given in order for the Russians to strip their western borders of both troops and guns to send them east. He described how Russian deserters who had made the mistake of entering German territory were arrested and returned, and how German factories, some of them closely controlled by the government, gave priority to supplying needed war material for Russia, and how German cruisers were now seeing service in the Tsar’s navy. To add insult to injury German shipping companies accepted large sums to coal these ‘loaned’ cruisers so that they could go about their commercedestroying duties. Chirol expected his article to go over poorly in Berlin, and he was not disappointed. The Norddeutsche, a favoured voice of the Press Bureau at the Wilhelmstrasse, weighed in with remarks about The Times’ boringly familiar warnings of dreadful intrigues on the part of the German Empire, ‘Cassandra-like cries which invariably produced no effect’. This made the impact of these latest disclosures easy to gauge, thus ‘most journals have taken the proper view of [their] hallucinations …’.35 Chirol, nettled perhaps by thinking he heard Holstein’s voice in the Cassandra tag, answered with a column no longer describing a ‘Far Eastern Understanding’ but a ‘Russo-German Understanding’. He turned his pen on the Press Bureau, up, as he put it, to its ‘usual artifices’. First it had gone to the length of thoroughly misrepresenting what The Times actually said, then to the further trouble of denying the misrepresentation. Unfortunately the first step had been so glaring and clumsy that the subsequent repudiation was proportionately ineffective. It was, however, so remarkably vehement that what did come across was that the German Foreign Office had lost both its temper and its manners. He followed up these observations with a leader in the same vein that filled in what little he left out. ‘The German Press Bureau,’ Chirol reminded his readers, is actually a department of the German Foreign Office, of which it forms an integral part… Prince Bismarck’s successors have done their best to carry on the old system which they inherited from him. We had abundant opportunities of seeing them at work during our own South African war, and their activity during the present war has been scarcely less significant.

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It is not their fault that they have not inherited also the genius with which the old Chancellor worked his newspaper oracles, or that the oracles themselves are now somewhat fly-blown.36

This blast appeared in The Times of Monday, 19 September. Berlin was outraged and said so, proof to him that he had hit home. Before any scolding words came from Lascelles, Chirol wrote to say that he hoped that the Kaiser and his ministers were not taking out their anger with ‘his scribbling friend’ on the ambassador. But, should they decide to do so, not only were Lascelles’ shoulders broad enough, he could always turn and ‘take it out of me to your heart’s content’. He assured Lascelles that he had not invited the ‘thunder of the Wilhelmstrasse out of malice prepense or from sheer lightness of heart’. Nor did it bother him that none of his most damaging assertions could be proven. Hardinge, he pointed out, did not share Lascelles’ scepticism about an agreement, nor did Paris, ‘where they had every reason to watch very carefully the growing intimacy between Berlin and St P.’. Springy had also confirmed what Printing House Square had heard earlier about Witte’s – then the Russian Prime Minister – unhappiness with Bülow’s terms in a recent commercial treaty, and that the Tsar had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he must sign it, ‘as Russia had received compensation in other directions’.37 In Manchuria, as summer turned toward autumn, the Russians were not prospering.38 The Japanese too were finding the struggle more wearing, and expensive, than their early victories had led them to expect. At the end of August they began a massive offensive against the Russian strongholds on the Liaotung Peninsula. The fighting went on for more than a week and ended well, but not quite well enough for the Japanese to finish things off. Chirol was pensive, and apprehensive. He wrote to Bland, then at Shanghai, that at home [w]e are today [1 September] on the tip-toe of expectation as to what is happening at Liau-yang [sic]. There can be little doubt that much of the history of the world will turn upon the event, and it is strange to think that whilst I am sitting here writing quietly to you, there are half a million men, of whom probably neither you nor I have ever seen a dozen, wrestling in a gigantic killing match upon the issue of which so much of our own hopes and aspirations depends – and we have not the faintest idea of what is going on!39

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When Lascelles’ complaints and questioning did come, they did not shake Chirol’s conviction that Russia and Germany were colluding in one way or another to Britain’s detriment. All the same he did take some pains to explain more fully why he felt compelled to publish the articles that had so riled Berlin. The Japanese, he pointed out, were becoming warweary. They were also increasingly angered by the way the Germans seemed to feel free to interpret neutrality any which way they liked but ultimately, or so it surely appeared, for the benefit of the Russians, with whom they were not – at least formally – allied. Meanwhile Tokyo was stuck with the overly conscientious British, who did what they thought was lawful even though by doing so they might pinch those who were their allies. Merely by ‘showing up’ the Germans in The Times he felt he had lessened what he feared was a growing strain on AngloJapanese relations.40 There was another, what he termed ‘minor’, consideration behind Chirol’s decision to publicise the purported Russo-German rapprochement. He very much wanted to disarm propaganda aimed at persuading people in Britain that they had interests in common with the Germans in the Far East and therefore should not be less ‘European’ in their attitude toward the war than were the latter. This campaign, like the yellow peril one, to which it was related, was a reprise of the attempt made during the Spanish–American War to detach Britain from the United States – and her own best interests – by inducing her to take up a proper European line in that struggle. To have done so would have been nonsense then and it would be no less nonsense to do so now. ‘We are not,’ as he put it to Lascelles, ‘a European power in the same sense as the continental powers, and our interests are therefore not theirs.’41 What Chirol wanted the British public to understand was that the Germans were busy playing one of their double games. While peddling the ‘yellow peril’ and the ‘European line’ in Britain, in Japan they were whispering into ‘yellow’ ears that only Britain would gain by having the war continue, that she wanted to see both sides exhausted and ruined to her own ultimate benefit. The Russians had already caught on to her tricks, and, while they would make no sacrifice for mere peace, they would go to considerable lengths, and willingly, to have a permanent and comprehensive understanding with Japan in order to protect the interests of both against the designs of the British.42 As confident as he was that the Japanese were unlikely to tumble for this line, Chirol wanted to make sure that nothing upset or worried them to the point where they might begin to wonder if the Wilhelmstrasse was on to something after all. 211

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As he rehearsed his reasons for his critical attitude vis-à-vis Berlin, Morrison sent yet more information about the German meddling in Tibet. According to the Peking correspondent their emissaries were working hand in hand with the Russians to set the Chinese government against the recently signed Anglo-Tibetan Convention. Wickham Steed, then the Vienna correspondent for The Times, also passed along word that recent events in Tibet were much on the mind of the German government.43 Chirol himself was neither shocked nor surprised. Satow had long since been saying that the Germans and Russians were up to no good in Peking. Thus far the dirty work was done cleverly enough to leave him little leeway to complain about it in print. But if the Germans really were meddling in Anglo-Tibetan affairs he had not only the opportunity but the right to ‘go public’. Months earlier he had complained loudly that the Russians, having no viable interests to protect or historic precedents to follow in southern Persia or the Persian Gulf, had no business poking their noses in either. Now Germany, totally bereft of any possible excuse, was said to be doing the same vis-à-vis Tibet. It was not the first time that Berlin had put herself into the middle of a quarrel that was not hers. But at least when the Kaiser sent off his infamous telegram to Krüger he had the excuse, weak as Chirol had found it at the time, of having verifiable interests in southern Africa as well as a tenuous relationship to the Boers. In Tibet her interference was purely gratuitous and, as such, ‘monstrous’. All through the months when the Japanese harassed and humiliated their giant adversary and the Kaiser and the Tsar flirted with each other, the last acts of a remarkable drama were taking place in remote Tibet. This small Himalayan semi-dependency of China, Buddhist-run and all but closed to the outside world, was one of the most inaccessible and least known places on earth. Nevertheless, thanks to its sensitive location along India’s northern reaches, and its uncooperative behaviour,44 it had become something of a thorn in Curzon’s side. Now there were rumours about Russian agents in Lhasa, where the British were forbidden to go. For many decades Whitehall had been busy trying to keep the Russians out of Afghanistan. It now seemed to both Curzon and Chirol that the same precautions should be taken with Tibet, poised as it was over Nepal – where the Indian army recruited their Gurkhas – and the small client states of Bhutan, Sikkim and Yunnan. After prolonged dithering over possible complications in Europe and with China, the Cabinet finally agreed, in 1903, to authorise a mission to go to Lhasa. Curzon chose Francis Younghusband to lead it. Few, if any, Englishmen knew central 212

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Asia better than he, or could have been better fitted to the task, and he accepted with great enthusiasm. Whitehall, on the other hand, was never enthusiastic about the mission, and, having given a go-ahead, immediately applied the brake. Younghusband was not to go all the way to Lhasa to negotiate but to park himself on the Nepalese–Tibetan border. He should then summon the lamas to come to him in order to ratify an agreement as to trade and reparations designed to made good a series of previous border incidents. There was to be, at that point, no actual force used, merely the threat of same should the holy men baulk. When he had a workable document Younghusband was to return to India at once. In mid-summer 1903, the mission arrived at the border, set up camp and waited for the Tibetan and Chinese emissaries. It was a long and fruitless wait. With the onset of autumn the weather deteriorated. In London the storms were political and fiscal; Balfour reorganised his Cabinet. Lord George Hamilton left the India Office and was replaced by St John Brodrick. At some point during the resignations and reshuffling it was suggested that Younghusband be allowed to occupy, briefly, the Chumbi Valley. As it was the most direct route into central Tibet, its occupation would put added pressure on the lamas. In the end Balfour allowed that Younghusband had permission to push a bit deeper into Tibet, but there was to be no occupation or any talk of a permanent mission at Lhasa.45 In February 1904, Whitehall published a Bluebook on the situation, a document that Chirol found almost useless in that it showed London still determined to hold back from applying any meaningful pressure. Not that Chirol himself was breathing fire just then. But, as always, he had the best interests of the empire in the back of his mind – where they jostled uncomfortably with his sense that the whole enterprise was in a state of accelerating decline. Thus he made a point of emphasising in The Times that the Indian and the home governments shared an ‘identity of purpose’ on the Tibetan question while ignoring their sometimes bitter quarrels as to how to achieve it. He told Curzon that he was trusting to ‘the compelling force of circumstance’ to get Younghusband all the way to Lhasa. The mission got as far as Gyantse on 11 April. Again there were pronouncements from Whitehall against any kind of forward military policy and painful hesitations as to whether or not to keep the troops where they were for the time being. It took a failed attempt by the Tibetans to push the intruders back for Curzon to finally get a very conditional and reluctant go-ahead from London. 213

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Younghusband entered Lhasa on 4 August. The Dalai Lama had long since fled, leaving lesser men to do the negotiating. Curzon was in London, not in India. Great distances and multiple authorities made for complicated communications. The military part of the exercise had been a success, but against a most unwarlike foe. The negotiations would be the true test and there was great confusion as to whose guidelines Younghusband was to follow. According to Chirol, Curzon’s views might well prevail, as he had an astonishing force of personality when it came to arguing his side of a case. Aside from Balfour there was nary a minister who could stand up to him in discussion, and, when it came to Brodrick, Curzon ‘merely dances about on his prostrate corpse!’.46 Throughout August Younghusband negotiated, his pace forced by the need to be out of the country before the weather turned. The difficulties of communication with his superiors meant that he did much of it off his own bat. Chirol trusted Younghusband as a man who knew better than to press for impossibilities. The real importance of Tibet was not what exact terms he might extract from the wily lamas. What mattered was to assert the authority of the empire, to make them see that Lhasa was not beyond the reach of the Indian government’s long arm and therefore free to do whatever it pleased. ‘The Dalai Lama’s embassy went to Russia but the British mission went to Lhasa’ and that, to Chirol, ‘was a devil of a difference’.47 On 7 September Younghusband signed a convention that marked the beginning of direct British–Tibetan relations. For a brief moment he was a hero. Even Brodrick wired his congratulations. Unfortunately the terms of the document took rather longer to get to London than the news of the signing. By the time they did Younghusband was marching back toward India, as instructed. When he got to Simla he discovered that he was anything but a hero. Brodrick, driven, said Chirol, by an unsavoury combination of stupidity and jealousy, was busy ruining Younghusband’s name and achievement by telling Balfour that he had landed his government in ‘a most abominable mess’.48 Chirol watched in anger and astonishment as much that the able Younghusband had accomplished was ‘chucked away’ by the Cabinet. ‘If we are not,’ he pointed out to Hardinge, ‘to occupy the Chumbi Valley even temporarily as a guarantee for the execution of the convention, and if we are not to exclude foreign countries from poking their fingers into Tibet on the plea of concessions, etc., we might just as well have left Tibet alone altogether.’49 The damage done at home by the infighting over Younghusband and his unfortunate mission would continue to simmer for many months – in due course 214

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adding its jot to a major crisis between the Indian and the home governments. The damage done abroad by The Times’ exposure of German meddling in Tibet caused an explosion forthwith. On 18 October the paper printed Morrison’s dispatch on the ‘German Action at Peking’, in which he described said activity as motivated purely by a desire to do mischief. Directly after Morrison’s column was one which appeared to be from Steed as it was datelined Vienna, 17 October. It summarised, in great detail, a ‘letter … from a friend who has excellent opportunities of knowing the views entertained in responsible quarters in Russia’ as to how they really felt about having an understanding with Berlin. The ‘friend’ was not a friend of Steed’s, nor was the column his. It was Chirol’s, ‘fathered on’ Steed because, as he explained, he was particularly anxious to protect the identity of his source. He sent it off to Vienna with precise instructions as to when it should be wired back to Printing House Square. Most importantly, it must arrive when he was in the office, as he wanted to ‘supervise the working of the oracle’. And, if Steed had anything to add, all the better. Steed wrote back to say that the piece would ‘make a terrible row in the diplomatic duck pond and that the Wilhelmstrasse will probably have hysterics’. He had nothing to add to Chirol’s words, but, if they were to masquerade as his own, ‘I must “make it up” a trifle to resemble its putative parent or else people might accuse you of adultery with my muse’.50 In essence this ‘planted’ dispatch said that the Russians were only lukewarm about having any understanding with Germany that would appear to directly threaten Britain. In fact recent actions on the part of the Tsar pointed toward a desire to lessen rather than increase any friction in that quarter. But, if his government had had to accede to Germany’s demands, it would be tantamount to agreeing to schemes that could only be carried out at Britain’s expense. Anyone familiar with German tactics knew that that was the sine qua non of any Russo-German understanding, as the German Chancellor saw it, and that he was most anxious to force Russian commitment by taking some demonstrative action on her behalf. Russia was in a very tight spot. She was dependent on the services made available to her by the so-called ‘benevolent’ neutrality of the Kaiser and his government. But at the same time she had no desire to accentuate the anti-English bias of any agreement. To have German diplomats suddenly proclaim in Peking the solidarity of Russian and German aims in Asia by protesting against the provisions of the Tibetan treaty caused no little embarrassment in St Petersburg and perhaps some real irritation as well. It might even be the case, the article went 215

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on to say, that the wire-pullers in Berlin had outsmarted themselves instead of the Russians. Russia and England are both great Asiatic Powers, and as such have their differences, but each recognizes the right of the other to make its voice heard, and each, no doubt, feels that the less third parties who have no claim to speak as Asiatic Powers are allowed to interfere the better chance there is of an amicable adjustment of their differences.51

Should anyone in Berlin have missed Morrison’s dispatch or the message from Vienna, Chirol’s leader, in which he touted his own planted letter as ‘very instructive’, gave his friends at the Wilhelmstrasse one more rap on the knuckles. ‘No more instructive revelation of the temper of German policy towards this country could well be imagined than the fact that German diplomacy has taken the lead at Peking in a campaign directed against the ratification by China of a treaty concerning Tibet, where Germany has and can have no conceivable interests of any sort or description.’ He went on to bring up yet again the glaring discrepancy between Bülow’s refusal to protect existing treaty rights in Manchuria in 1901 and his new-found determination to protect them at all costs in Tibet, and finally to give an all-round warning that, although English and Russian interests were frequently in conflict, both countries must now realise that the difficulty could only be increased by the unwarranted intervention of a ‘more or less “honest broker” whose services are apt to prove very costly to both sides’.52 The day before the triple-barrelled attack on the Wilhelmstrasse, Chirol wrote to Count Bernstorff, Eckardstein’s replacement at the German Embassy, to regret an invitation to lunch the following week. He asked Bernstorff to choose any other day and to come to him instead, so as to have a quiet talk about Anglo-German relations upon which I hope we may agree to differ amicably! […] Though I quite understand the advantages from the German point of view of utilising the war for a rapprochement with Russia – and therefore cannot see why Berlin should be so keen to deny it – it seems to me to be carrying it to dangerous lengths to try and interfere in regard to Tibet, where it cannot be pretended that Germany has any locus standi; however I suppose the Wilhelmstrasse knows best!53

Berlin was indeed angry – with Morrison in particular and The Times in general. Metternich warned the Wilhelmstrasse on the 20th that Morrison’s disclosures had not only roused an often somnolent public against Germany but – as he heard both confidentially and from diverse sources 216

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– had caused significant anger in politically responsible circles. Thus far only a few of the less respectable papers had followed the lead of The Times, but the sour feelings and new mistrust among influential people was a bad business. Almost immediately a new incident made that mistrust much worse. A month earlier Chirol, on one of his routine visits to the Foreign Office, had found Bertie worked up over the likelihood that the Russian Baltic fleet, then at Libau in Courland, was about to be sent to the Far East. Chirol shared his worry, but, for some obscure reason of his own, was not anxious to admit that he did, at least not just then. Fuelling both men’s fears was less what might happen should the ships get out to the Far East, but who would provide the coal to get them there. The obvious answer was Germany as they had been coaling the Russian navy for months. Should that assumption prove true, it might, finally, drive the Japanese to call on her ally to stop the fleet, thereby bringing the war to Europe, a war that was most unlikely to be, as both men realised, limited to one between Russia and Britain. That the coaling of the fleet could cause a European war remained in the realm of speculation. But, on the night of 21–22 October, the possibility of that war became a very distinct reality for a reason that no one could have predicted. The Russian ships left Libau in mid-October and by the night of the 21st were in the North Sea, headed toward the Straits of Dover. The crews had been jumpy as they made their way around Denmark, having heard rumours even before they left Courland about the possibility of Japanese mines, or even Japanese torpedo boats, lying in wait for them in those narrow seas. Nothing untoward happened, but even being in the broader North Sea did not calm their fears. On that particular night they suddenly found themselves in the midst of a strange and indistinct flotilla. It was an English fishing fleet, put out from Hull to work the Dogger Banks. Whether it was sheer panic, or they really did see Japanese torpedo boats among the trawlers, as their admiral later insisted, the unfortunate fact was that the Russian warships opened fire on unarmed – and unsuspecting – boats whose business was fish, not fishy. One was sunk, several damaged, a life or two was lost, there were injuries. At first confusion and fury reigned. It took some time for the facts to be sorted out and the news to get around. When it got to St Petersburg the Tsar offered excuses instead of satisfaction. In London the British government, pushed by an enraged public, had to seriously consider war. In the meanwhile the fleet had sailed on ‘down Channel’, where it was seen by Chirol himself, who had gone to visit his mother at Brighton. 217

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‘There was a lot of excitement,’ he wrote to Florence on the 23rd, although he himself could just barely see a line of battleships on the horizon and assumed they were Russian as ‘no other ships of the kind are likely to have been going down Channel just now. One wondered what their fate is to be at the end of their long voyage. It was rather a weird sight when one came to think about it.’54 The unfolding events of that extraordinary week made, said Chirol, for a most anxious time at Printing House Square. Both the Tsar and Balfour had helped to calm things down, but there was still great danger all around. On the afternoon of 1 November, as he left for the office, Chirol was greeted by ‘flaming posters’ at every street corner announcing that the Channel fleet was ‘cleared for action, etc., etc.’, Lansdowne deeply perturbed and the Admiralty in a state of furious activity. ‘The feeling in the country is such that no Government can trifle with,’ he wrote to Hardinge, and a fitting punishment was a ‘vital necessity’. Above all Balfour and his colleagues must continue to be very firm, both to make it clear at St Petersburg that it would be unwise to push things to extremes and clear at home that they would stand for no nonsense. What little prestige remained to them was at stake, let alone their future. ‘[P]eople still support the Government, merely because they believe a Radical Government would be a public danger in the present situation of Weltpolitik, and if their confidence is shaken the life of the present [Cabinet] will not be worth much.’55 The brightest spot in the crisis from Chirol’s point of view was that the British, by keeping their demands on the Russians almost excessively modest, had kept the French with them – although not exactly quiet – and he was much in favour of working something out with the Russians before any further strain was placed on the newly minted Entente. The French press was not really as ‘good’ as Lavino and other Paris correspondents were making it out to be, and Cambon told him quite frankly that he himself was very anxious ‘as to the effect on French public opinion if Britain sank the Russian fleet almost within sight of French ports’.56 By this time it was difficult enough for Chirol to keep his own reactions in check, but a worse struggle to soothe even angrier spirits at The Times. On the whole, however, he was successful and glad of it, knowing how near the paper had come to simply taking the bit between its teeth when the unspeakable admiral’s report first came in. During the first tense day or two of the ‘Dogger Bank affair’ the escalating quarrel with Germany over Tibet and fears that she might coal the Russian fleet faded. But by 1 November Chirol was freely speculating 218

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to Springy that Berlin was somehow involved in the North Sea tragedy, although it was hard to tell just how deeply. Their official attitude was unexceptional and, remarkably enough, he found their press positively commendable.57 All the same, he could not fully believe that their hands were clean. The British Admiralty seemed to have no doubts that someone in Germany had warned the Russians to be on the lookout for attacks. If such were the case, he was sure that Berlin would have already taken very special pains to hide the fact so that it could never be proved.58 Over the last months there had been many unanswered, or unanswerable, questions as to what the Germans were up to vis-à-vis the Russians. But, as difficult as it was to say yea or nay as to their complicity, there was something vaguely unsettling to Chirol about Berlin’s reaction to the North Sea incident. He found it significant that during the recent flurry of naval preparations an eye was kept on Kiel as much as on Cherbourg, proof, he thought, that those in charge were finally taking the possibility of German hostility into account. He might even have had a small part to play in this development as he had recently heard, via Wallace, that the King had asked him who had written the articles on a Russo-German understanding and whether what they said should be taken seriously. The ever discreet Wallace kept Chirol’s name to himself, but testified that, given his own experience of Printing House Square, he was sure they were based on trustworthy data. Shortly thereafter Edward VII told Wallace that he had been ‘making enquiries’ and was well satisfied as a result that they ‘represented the situation with substantial accuracy’. Chirol was quite pleased by this indirect proof of his influence. ‘What,’ he wondered gaily to Springy, ‘will His X. [Lascelles] say to my undermining his Kaiser in such exalted quarters!?’59 All Chirol’s confident-sounding assertions of the previous months that there was an understanding in effect, if not something more formal, between St Petersburg to Berlin were, in strict fact, wrong. His suspicions, however, were not misplaced. In their convoluted and disjointed way, the Wilhelmstrasse, the Chancellor and, most enthusiastically, the ‘All Highest’ had been discussing such an understanding for some time. The Foreign Office, particularly Holstein, was pursuing it from a defensive standpoint, the Kaiser from a potent mix of emotional and strategic motives. Only Admiral Tirpitz, now the head of the Reichsmarineamt, had no interest in pursuing it at all. The idea of approaching Russia was precipitated, according to a letter from the Kaiser to his cousin in St Petersburg, by the former’s mounting concern that the British and the Japanese were on the point of lodging 219

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a joint protest in order to force the Germans to stop coaling Russian ships, and, should he not stop, that war might result. Five days earlier Holstein had sent a most interesting memorandum to Prince Radolin, the German ambassador in Paris. In it he noted that Britain was ‘allowing certain warlike desires to become obvious’. What could be done? Logic, he thought, could get one only so far in plotting the political future; now it was time to consider practicalities. ‘Germany,’ as he told Radolin, ‘which up to the present has no political treaty of any kind with the Russians, would make such an alliance in twenty four hours if England or Japan wanted to lay down the law to her.’60 When London announced that measures would be taken to strengthen the home fleet there was something akin to panic across the North Sea. The remarks coming from the German Embassy in London only made the fear worse. Metternich reported that Germany was now being held up as the true enemy, not Russia. The Kaiser, people were saying, was only waiting until his fleet was stronger and then would attack. And it was he, the rumours ran, who had warned the Russians to expect some sort of attack when their fleet got into the North Sea, all in the hope of bringing about an Anglo-Russian conflict. German naval and military attachés began to describe what seemed to them to be preparations for war.61 Whatever satisfaction the Auswärtiges Amt had initially taken in the accident turned to concern that should Britain decide to attack Russia she might well take the opportunity to attack Germany as well, especially as the two countries were supposedly in cahoots. It would certainly be one way to be rid of her worrisome fleet. Suddenly it dawned on the policy-makers at the Wilhelmstrasse that the Reich might be facing war for the sake of a country that had thus far offered her nothing beyond the now rather forlorn hope of bringing about a war between Britain and Japan and the Dual Alliance.62 In less than a week the Kaiser was writing to the Tsar, and Bülow had drafted a Russo-German defensive treaty. Although it did not get any further than the draft stage, its ultimate failure was not initially predictable. On 4 November Lascelles was summoned to the Chancellor’s office. Bülow had two quite angry bees in his bonnet, one the unfortunate obstinacy with which the British clung to the idea that Berlin had a hand in the Dogger Bank affair, the other the slanderous remarks about German diplomats in Peking doing their best to spoil Britain’s game in Tibet. Given this display of rancour and antagonism, Bülow could not but conclude that there were certain factions in Britain simply spoiling for a fight with Germany. In his subsequent memo of this conversation, Bülow 220

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reported that, when thus confronted, Lascelles admitted that some papers – specifically naming The Times – were adopting at the moment a ‘very regrettable attitude’ toward Germany. And while it was also true, the ambassador continued, that Chirol was the ‘real life and soul’ of the Times’ campaign, he was not aiming to bring about an Anglo-German conflict. Instead he was trying to prevent ‘certain English politicians, and in particular King Edward when meeting our Emperor, [from granting] Germany concessions with regard to British interests’.63 The ambassador promised Bülow to pass on his vigorous denials of German involvement in the Dogger Bank accident to London. By the time they got across the North Sea Whitehall had already calmed down, although the man in the street was still full of bluster. By mid-November, at least as far as Metternich could see, the problem was one that could be contained by diplomatic means and the immediate threat to peace was gone. At the same time he made it clear to his superiors that they should not make the mistake of thinking that Lansdowne’s conciliatory tones, and even the more reasonable tone of the press, reflected the mood and attitude of the British people. Their anger and disappointment at what they saw as a weak response on the part of the government spelled, however, less danger to the peace of Europe than to the future of Balfour’s government. Through all the alarms and the late nights at the office Chirol’s health continued to bloom and his mood was positively buoyant. The uncertain, if not outright dangerous, condition of global politics did interfere a bit with his social life, but it was by no means all work and no play. Even in August, the month when London was traditionally empty and quiet, he had people dropping in to see him from all parts of the world, people ‘just passing through’ who were inclined to be ‘ever so much more friendly than at other seasons of the year!’. London had other charms and diversions as well, and music was one. Every Monday and Wednesday he went to the Promenade concerts, Monday to hear Wagner, Wednesday to listen to Tchaikovsky. He was as passionate about Wagner as ever, but allowed that he was almost as enchanted by the latter and pleaded with Florence not to neglect her music just because she was determined to learn Russian. ‘I shall always understand music better than Russian, and I look forward to our meeting again “Someday”. But I don’t suppose you remember “Someday”. I used to sing it (with great brio) at Bucharest.’64 His other beloved woman friend, Gertrude Bell, was one of those passing through London that August. They had a gossipy lunch, she wrote to her mother, after which she ‘carried him off’ to a matinée of Bernard 221

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Shaw’s latest play, ‘John Bull’s Other Island’. According to Gertrude, her dear Domnul65 did not like the play in the least, laughed in all the wrong places, and kept saying, ‘But this is preposterous!’ His own account, written to entertain Florence, comes out rather differently. While admitting that he had no love for Shaw, that ‘cheap edition of Heine’, he could not really hate the play. It was so clever, well acted and amusing that he laughed ‘consumedly’, but did rather hate himself for laughing at all.66 Nor did he lack for country diversions. In early September he stayed with the Arthur Russells at Ampthill Park in Bedfordshire, in November with Lord and Lady Wantage at Lockinge House in Berkshire, ‘a lovely house in splendid grounds’ where he enjoyed himself just as ‘consumedly’ as he had laughed at Shaw’s play. The weather was perfect, but, better than weather, house, or park, was Lady Wantage’s art collection. His favourite was an exquisite Botticelli, but it had competition from Dutch masters, English masters, and few modern paintings ‘of the best’ sort – Corots, Watts and others.67 At the beginning of December Chirol found himself far from the beauties of Lockinge House in a far different, but surely no less, diverting location – the New Willards’ Hotel in Washington, D.C. ‘I feel rather like the Doge of Venice,’ he wrote to Florence, who was asked what astonished him the most at the court of the Grand Monarque: ‘To find myself here,’ he replied. I might add by the way that this also is the court of a Grand Monarque … and a very particularly Grand Monarque. It was well worth coming all this way just in order to ‘get this little glimpse’ of him – his own expression which he has employed on both occasions when I have seen him. To this extent at any rate my visit will have been, in the objective sense, a ‘succés e curiosité’, for I have come and I have seen, though I do not for a moment profess to have conquered.68

On 8 November 1904 Teddy Roosevelt won his first full term in the White House. Even before the results were in, Chirol knew that, should Roosevelt win, he himself would be paying a visit to Washington. He had asked Springy for a letter of introduction, ‘as warm as you can make it’. What Springy wrote to his good friend and hero of San Juan Hill was that he had Chirol to thank for fighting like ‘a demon’ to keep The Times on the ‘right’ side in the Spanish–American War. He was, in addition, a man with literally worldwide expertise and had written the best small book on China, the best large or small one on Persia. But the real reason why he was the man Roosevelt wanted to talk to about current problems was that Chirol is the best-informed man on European questions, especially German questions (he lived in Berlin for some years), whom I know. His influence

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is supreme in the Times when the Times has time to think. He is as intimate in the Foreign Office as anyone can be, and absolutely trusted. He would certainly be the best person to convey to that thick-headed institution his impressions of America; and as he can always apply to the Government the argument of fear, he is sure to be listened to. No one there wants to have the Times on his back. I don’t think anyone by experience or position could be a better tube to speak through, either to the Government or to the country.69

Teddy Roosevelt was the first ‘imperial president’ of the United States, and to have an empire, new responsibilities or no, was fine and dandy with him. Some of those new responsibilities were in the Far East in the form of the Philippines. What Roosevelt wanted, so Chirol was told, was to have – given the current war – Britain and the United States see eye to eye as to future developments, in the Far East in particular to the possible intervention of the Germans. The rough and ready Teddy was unable to sound out His Majesty’s ambassador, the unrough and ever so discreet Sir Mortimer Durand, on this crucial issue. The latter was friendly enough but too much of a ‘regular hide-bound official’ to talk in any confidential way about the troublesome Asian war and its possible political complications. To make matters worse Mr Choate, Roosevelt’s ambassador in London, was apparently finding it equally sticky going with Lord Landsdowne. None of this was much of a secret; even Berlin was kept up to date on the President’s frustration.70 As Chirol told Springy, it had been Roosevelt’s idea to open up a channel of communication through The Times. It seemed that he had asked his Secretary of State, John Hay, if there was anyone at Printing House Square who had his, Hay’s, confidence. If there was, then he must come sooner rather than later to Washington and be able ‘on his return to England convey to the right quarters … a discreet impression of what he had gathered’. Hay’s unhesitating choice was Chirol. As he was about to leave London Chirol wrote to Hardinge that he could not ‘but feel I am taking a plunge into deep and unknown waters, and rather shiver at the thought. However, I can but do my best, and in any case I don’t think I shall do any harm.’71 Others agreed. As his friend Sir George Clarke, then the secretary of the newly constituted Committee of Imperial Defence, said, even if the mission was ‘very peculiar’ the fact was that ‘Roosevelt will speak much more freely to you … [and] you, without official responsibilities, can speak quite freely to him. Much good may result …’72

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10

Making Peace

The need for peace was on the minds and lips of statesmen around the globe as 1905 began, much as the possibility of war had been on their minds and lips the previous new year. There were rumours of widespread civil unrest in Russia and talk that the Japanese were running out of money. There were also rumours of possible terms, likely brokers, and useful tactics floating between embassies and foreign offices, chancellories and palaces. Chirol’s letters to his diplomatist friends had been full of such speculations for months. All the while the red tide lapped ever higher on the battlefields of Manchuria. At first Chirol spoke in awe of the scope of the killing. But in Washington and New York he heard far less ‘sentimental rubbish’ than at home. To the Americans the destruction of the Russian fleet and the capture of Port Arthur were worth daunting losses and, when back in London, Chirol too began to talk more about the hard realities of the fighting than the numbers of the dead. As long as the fighting continued to go against the Russians, he was guardedly optimistic in private; in the paper he was simply guarded. The Americans, he discovered, did not share his hesitations. Neither Roosevelt nor Hay would for so much as a minute discuss a Japanese defeat as ‘one cannot waste time … discussing improbabilities’.1 In Berlin the question of peace was also on Holstein’s mind. Whether the time for arranging it came soon or late, for the Russians it would be somewhat akin to ‘the landing … after a balloon trip: the most dangerous moment’. It could, as he knew, be equally precarious for his own country 224

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should Russia be the one to receive instead of dictate the terms. Late in 1904, at almost exactly the same time that his old friend Chirol was being wined and dined by America’s most powerful, Holstein asked von Radolin, the German ambassador in Paris, to sound out the Russians there as to which sort of peace they were after, early or glorious. In other words, how long and how hard were they prepared to go on fighting?2 Holstein had heard that London and Tokyo were discussing a mediated settlement and that Britain was lobbying along those lines in both Washington and Paris. He did not know how successful they were being. Nor did he seem to know that the British ‘lobbyist’, although that was not exactly what he was, was Chirol. It was not until the beginning of February that Baron von Sternberg, the German ambassador in Washington, wrote to say that Chirol had been in Washington, presumably as an emissary for the Foreign Office. According to the German diplomat he had achieved little beyond transferring George Smalley, The Times’ correspondent, from his ‘soft bed’ in New York to Washington, a move that Sternberg modestly attributed to a desire, ‘as everybody says, to keep an eye on me’.3 Chirol spent two busy weeks in Washington, during which he talked with the President, with the Secretary of State, with Senators and Representatives, dined with the Cabinet, lunched with dignitaries from the Philippines and Puerto Rico, and saw a dentist every day, sometimes twice a day, thanks to a rotten wisdom tooth. He enjoyed himself thoroughly, although he was confident of success on only one front, and that was with Durand. It did not take long for Chirol to decide that the latter was friendly at heart and certainly meant well. Unfortunately he hid those qualities under ‘a coat of ice’.4 The more he, Chirol, got through that chilly covering, the more he felt sorry for the man in it, especially when he said that it had been ‘the dream of his life’ to go to America, that he genuinely liked the American character, and admired the country as a whole. Given enough time his hosts might well come to appreciate the good qualities that Durand surely possessed, but ‘at the present rate I fear he might remain till Doomsday before that happened’. Chirol did what he could to help by telling the ambassador quite frankly – one can only hope kindly as well – that what he liked to call his ‘waiting attitude’ was in danger of being carried to lengths ‘which created an impression not only of aloofness and indifference, but even of distrust …’.5 All that Chirol himself knew about his own reception in Washington was that he and William Rockhill, the State Department expert on China who was about to become the American minister in Peking, saw eye 225

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to eye on almost everything. Whether that was true about John Hay, the only ‘real’ statesman in Washington,6 he could not say with any certainty, but was not discouraged. The President, on the other hand, stumped Chirol. On a practical, political, level Roosevelt was above all an expansionist, proud out loud of being thought a ‘regular’ jingo – ‘I don’t know that I’ve ever looked upon that as a term of opprobrium’7 – and a committed navalist who at times referred to the Pacific as ‘our ocean’. His intense humanity, impulsiveness and vitality brought General Gordon to mind. In much the same fashion Roosevelt’s thoughts frequently skipped ahead of his words, and vice versa, the result being sometimes resounding contradictions, which were then simply ignored. All the same his frank, almost random, talk left Chirol with the impression that behind his breezy directness was more method than one might think.8 Having been fêted and fussed over in America, it was something of a let-down to get back to London – delayed just long enough by storms and fogs to have his Christmas holiday spoiled as well – to a desk piled with arrears and the dark grey months of midwinter lying in wait. He was also surprised – and faintly disappointed – to learn that Roosevelt was now begging Springy to make a trip to Washington for some special conversations. He, the President, had finally decided on the course of action he would like to take in the Far East, and as there was ‘no one in your Embassy here to whom I can speak with even reasonable fullness, I wish to Heaven you could come over, if only for a week or two, and I think it would be very important for your Government that you should come over’.9 When Whitehall decided to send him, Chirol was left feeling rather uncertain and deflated about his own recent efforts in Washington. To have the President call now for Springy meant, or so Chirol had to think, that he himself had not been given ‘le fond de sa pensée’. Furthermore, when it came to something of vital importance, Roosevelt could only trust it to Spring-Rice. His amour propre bruised, Chirol comforted himself with the thought that no letter of introduction, however laudatory, could create an intimacy such as Springy enjoyed with Roosevelt. Moreover, and more importantly, if anyone was going to get to the bottom of Roosevelt’s curiously jumpy mind, his dear friend was the one to do it. To have Anglo-American cooperation was ‘so supremely important…that no stone should be left unturned, and with such an impulsive man as R. …it would have been specially unwise to decline this pressing [an] invitation’.10 Thanks to developments in the Far East and in Russia Chirol had precious little time to linger over hurt feelings. On 2 January the Russians 226

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lost their long battle to hold on to Port Arthur, and, in a last paroxysm of defiance, blew up the remaining fortifications and almost all of their ships. Two days later the Japanese took possession of what was left. It was a tremendous and hard-won victory for the Japanese; the repercussions were great and nowhere more so than in Russia. The fall of Port Arthur did not bring an end to the fighting, but it did renew talk of possible Japanese peace feelers. Chirol, having heard that the Japanese not only meant to have at least one more go at General Kuropatkin but that they were very confident of having a success,11 tended to discount the rumours as non-official and premature. And, when he wondered out loud to Lansdowne if indeed the loss of Port Arthur might not have made the exploration of peace terms practicable, the answer was a clear no. The Russians, said the Foreign Minister, should be given enough time to ‘chew the cud of [defeat] and realise the impossibility of the naval task they have before them’. That particular cud was very bitter and made no more palatable for being added to many months of rather similar military fare. No one could or would say where things were headed, but probably not to the peace table, as he told Curzon, no matter how bad things became. That they would get worse he had no doubt, as what did seem clear was that the Russian government was determined to carry on with the disastrous war.12 Chirol first mentioned rebellion in Russia in a letter to Hardinge in early January 1905. According to respectable sources, several trainloads of soldiers bound for the East had been held up at Samara by a break on the line. Left for several days without food or heat, the weather bitter, they tuned mutinous, killed their officers, plundered part of the town, burned their trains and tried to blow up the bridge over the Volga. It took two batteries of Russian artillery, firing on their own now drunken countrymen, to put an end to the problem. On 22 January he wired Lavino in Paris that conditions in St Petersburg were going downhill rapidly and that the consequences could not fail to be far-reaching. As he wrote, those consequences were being set in motion by a march on the Winter Palace by a mob of striking workers wanting to present a petition to the Tsar. The grievances listed on it were deeply serious, the marchers’ intentions essentially peaceful, and their desire to see their God-given ruler intense. Nicholas II had little or no desire to confront, in person, a mob of his frustrated and miserable subjects. His troops did the honours for him and did them badly. Many unarmed people died, more were wounded, and the simmering pot now boiled over. Within a week the irresolute Tsar appeared to have a genuine 227

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revolution on his hands. Chirol, who prized bravery and resolution almost to the point of foolhardiness, judged him harshly, but did so privately, as the policy at Printing House Square was to avoid any undue condemnation. He wrote grimly to Hardinge that, if Nicholas had in his person ‘any of the qualities which can alone redeem an autocrat, he would assuredly have “faced the music”, for he had a splendid chance of rehabilitating the autocracy, and if the worst had come to the worst, he would have saved it for his son and heir, if not for himself’.13 The unresolved situation in the Far East, and now the eruption of violence across much of European Russia, continued to fuel concerns that the war – and now the revolution – could yet bring European complications. Although Chirol almost automatically assumed that the Germans would try to profit from any such, he found on his return from the United States that the war scare that had gripped London and Berlin had relaxed its hold. Reconciliation suited the Germans fine as their hasty, panic-driven attempt to get a definite pact with Russia had come to naught. At the end of December a distraught Kaiser let Bülow know that he had received a letter from St Petersburg clearly rejecting ‘any idea of an arrangement without France’s previous knowledge. An absolutely negative result after two months of honest toil and negociation! The first personal failure of my life. I hope it is not the first of a series of similar experiences. America and Japan must now be cultivated all the more.’14 William said nothing about patching things up with London, but that too was in the works. Berlin must have finally realised that they had their money on the wrong horse, Chirol wrote to Hardinge, and they were now keen to hedge that bet. Both in London and at Berlin they fairly grovel to us … the Emperor of course professing pain and astonishment at the suspicion that Germany ever has been, can or will be anything but the devoted friend of this country. It is rather much even for his All-Highest cheek to charge us with seeking to pick a quarrel with him in order to destroy his poor, dear little fleet!

After more reflection he decided that there must have been something more behind the pretend scare, probably a push for some more ships. One theory is that [the Kaiser’s] object was to se faire valoir in St P. by showing to what dangers he exposed himself by his friendship for Russia. The other and to my mind more likely one is that he wants to be able to refer to it in the future as a fresh argument for a bigger navy.15

He decided that the paper should not take particular notice of the ‘zephyrs’ now blowing out of Berlin as they were not likely to be effective. 228

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He could not rid himself of the thought that the Germans were up to no good at Tokyo and Washington and was also convinced that, RussoGerman pact or no, the Kaiser still had his cousin in Russia in his debt and would not hesitate to use his advantage. What Chirol feared in particular just then was that the flamboyant William would force himself on the Russians and the Japanese in the guise of peace broker, a role that Lansdowne seemed determined to avoid. These suspicions were fed by what he heard from Hardinge about diplomatists shuttling back and forth between Berlin and St Petersburg, and the easy access the German military attaché had to those in the know in the Russian capital. The Germans were inveterate trouble-makers as far as Chirol was concerned. The next international crisis, already brewing in Morocco, would only deepen an already firm conviction. But, before north Africa captured his, and many other people’s, attention, he slipped off to the south of Italy in search of some sun and warm breezes.16 Finding not enough of either he pushed on to his familiar haunts in Egypt. There he found the sun and the flu found him, sent him promptly to bed and kept him there for almost all of his two-week stay. What was to have been a short holiday of three weeks became a long one of five. When he limped back to London on 19 March he was on the mend but not as fit as when he left. Nor was there to be any more time to rest. He was greeted by a pile of letters, frightful in number and hardly soothing in content. On his way home Chirol stopped off in Paris for two busy days. He made the rounds of those in the know, seeing President, Prime Minister, Foreign Minister, and meeting also with the new Minister of the Interior, Etienne. Two things in particular struck him during his various conversations. The first was how negative these men were about Russia – ‘altogether it was difficult to realise one was talking to the ministers of the Puissance Allieé et Amie’, especially when Etienne said that it would be easier to float a Japanese loan in Paris than one for Russia – the second how positive they were about their relations with Britain. Combariere, the President’s Chef de Cabinet, hinted plainly that it might well be time to make their agreement something more than a cordial understanding, especially given German ambitions in Europe. The topic of Morocco had either not come up while he was in Paris, or not made any impression if it had. But by the time that Chirol was making his rounds there could be no doubt that trouble was on the way. The Moroccan problem was spawned in part by the Anglo-French document of the previous spring. In that agreement, London gave tacit 229

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consent to French predominance in the anarchic sultanate as a quid pro quo for standing down in Egypt. Other countries – Spain in particular as she had her own historic claims in Morocco – had been made privy in advance to this aspect of the agreement and in October 1904, France and Spain formally agreed, whatever their involvement in Morocco, to continue to maintain the integrity and independence of the Moorish state. That much was made public, but there were other clauses, not published, which envisioned collapse and division, the lion’s share of future control going to France. Germany played no part in, or was never consulted about, any of the deals struck although she, like Spain, France, Britain and several others countries, had signed a convention in Madrid in 1880, which stipulated that all signatories would enjoy equal rights in that area. By the beginning of 1905 things were not going according to plan at either the Auswärtiges Amt or the imperial palace, and there were any number of disappointments to choose among. The Russians were not walking all over the ‘little yellow dwarfs’. The Japanese might be hopping mad over the neutral rights issue but were not pulling Britain into the war with Russia and destroying the entente by doing so. The Italians and the French were doing each other favours in the Mediterranean, as were the British and the French. To top it all off the Tsar, with chaos at home and almost certain defeat in the east to deal with, would not let himself be directed from Berlin. The war scare at the end of December had rattled even Holstein, the Russian rejection stung the Kaiser very sharply, German prestige, an important item to the politically sensitive ruling strata in Berlin, seemed to be slipping away. Suddenly there was Morocco and the despised French acting as if they already owned it. This latest affront to German rights seemed positively tailor-made as a way to address all sorts of wrongs on the diplomatic front and ease the embarrassing prestige deficit as well. That a firm stand over legitimate German rights – based on the Madrid Convention of 1880 – would play well with commercial interests at home was an added bonus. In Chirol’s ‘fearfully large’ batch of letters was one from the British ambassador in Paris, Sir Francis Bertie, whom he had not been able to see while in Paris. The latter, as staunch a supporter of the entente as he was a critic of the Germans, was upset by an article written by Walter Harris, then The Times’ ‘Our Own’ at Tangier. In it the correspondent suggested in the clearest possible terms that the French were not having a particularly easy time imposing their demands on the Sultan and his government, that the discomfort of the French mission at Fez – where 230

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it had been trying to negotiate for nearly two months – was ‘daily becoming more apparent and the rapprochement between the Maghzen17 and Germany is becoming more marked’. That statement was unfortunate, but Harris made it more so by going on to say that Germany was strictly within her rights in pursuing her own policy with the Sultan, and, as a final flourish, announced to the world, or to the world that read The Times, which was world enough to worry Bertie, that ‘Germany’ is the sole Power today whose influence is of any account in Morocco, and this influence will naturally receive a great impetus from the Emperor’s visit [which had just been announced for 31 March], more especially as his Majesty will probably make some remarks upon political affairs. The Emperor by this visit has found apt and expressive means of showing his opinion of recent agreements, which, of course, are not officially recognized by the German Government. Moors believe, not without some show of reason, that it will put a definite end to French pretensions in Morocco.18

It was bad enough that Harris felt the way he did, worse yet that his views had been allowed to appear in print, Bertie grumbled to the foreign editor. Still, he needed to know from Chirol if Harris was really on to something.19 In general the practice at Printing House Square was that if a correspondent was trusted he was printed, space allowing, if he was not trusted he was removed. Editing dispatches was another option and Chirol, like Wallace before him, was not averse to either holding out, or editing, sometimes heavily, a correspondent’s work. There is no proof that Chirol did so to Harris’s messages, but from the end of March, when the Kaiser’s demonstrative visit to Tangier turned up the heat under the simmering problem, to the beginning of June, when the dismissal of the French Foreign Minister turned it lower, there were many gaps in the reports from Tangier. On the other hand, when they did appear, they continued to be sufficiently biased toward the Germans as to offer a marked contrast to the editorial comment on foreign news.20 The dispatch that upset Bertie was read rather differently by a grateful Bülow, who wrote at once to the Kaiser to make sure that he read it. The idea of the impending ‘landing’ at Tangier had, for once, not been the Emperor’s own idea but one pushed by his worried advisors. The German Foreign Office, particularly Holstein – with the Chancellor more or less in tow – took considerable pains to prepare both the Kaiser and the Moroccans for the encounter. Holstein had been thinking about Morocco for a long time. In early June 1904, not long after the publication 231

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of the Anglo-French Entente, he wrote a long memorandum, the essence of which was that Germany could never admit that France had any greater rights in the tumbledown sultanate than Germany did. The point to be made good is as follows: France’s evident scheme to absorb Morocco finishes the free competition of foreign countries and involves sensible injury to the interests of third Powers, especially Germany, for now and later. [… ] If we let ourselves be trampled on in Morocco, we shall encourage them to do it again elsewhere.21

For the remainder of 1904 the war in the Far East, and tensions in Europe generated by that struggle, took statesmen’s minds somewhat off north Africa. But, in the aftermath of Dogger Bank, the fantastic fears of a British attack, the let down of the Tsar’s rejection of a defensive pact and the growing realisation that Russia was losing abroad and exploding at home, the Wilhelmstrasse turned back to Morocco with renewed interest and confidence. With right, as they saw it, clearly on their side in the form of the Madrid Convention they hoped not only to be able to paint the wretched Delcassé into a diplomatic corner – if not out of the picture entirely – but fatally undermine the entente as well. Part of the plan was to show their vulnerable, if arrogant, neighbours across the Rhine that their new British partners would not be able, if indeed willing, to back them against a determined and completely justified Germany. It was time to show all, including their fellow Germans, that the Second Reich could not be ignored or treated like a second-class Power. Although Holstein was quite ill that winter, he nevertheless worked hard at planning the coming show of strength at Tangier. He summoned a young diplomat by the name of von Kühlmann home from London in advance of sending him as Legation Secretary to Tangier, where he would be in charge of preparing the ground, almost literally. Holstein wanted the visit to look simultaneously spontaneous and imposingly imperial. The Emperor was to sail into the harbour at Tangier, make a suitably impressive landing and address the young and none too secure Sultan, his court officials and his unruly subjects, on the necessity of maintaining an ‘open door’ trade policy and political independence, and to make it clear to all that imperial Germany was profoundly attached to both. Von Kühlmann, knowing Holstein only by reputation, went with some trepidation to their first meeting, but came away from it deeply impressed, not only by Holstein, but by the importance of what he himself was to do in Morocco. At some point during their conversation, the old Councillor mentioned his former friendship with Chirol, ‘der Oracle of The Times’, and 232

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how close the two of them had been during the latter’s years in Berlin. At the moment it was clear that nothing about Chirol’s attitude pleased Holstein, even though in the days leading up to the Kaiser’s stopover at Tangier there was a certain amount of confusion in Berlin as to what his position on Morocco actually was. As it turned out the confusion was caused less by Chirol than by the creative endeavours of Walter Harris. On 19 March von Kühlmann wired Bülow from Tangier the essentials of a long conversation he had just had with the correspondent. Much of their talk was taken up with Harris’s summary of a long letter he had just received from ‘the well-known Mr Chirol’. According to Harris, the letter spelled out Chirol’s views on the current situation in Morocco. In essence they were, to the best of Harris’s recollection, that France made a bad mistake in thinking that the international side of the question was finally settled by the British and Spanish Agreement. It was France’s business to agree with the other Powers, especially Germany, just as England had done with the Powers over the Egyptian question … England was not called upon to pull France’s Moroccan chestnuts out of the fire. Diplomatic support under the treaty meant diplomatic support in Morocco only. England ought not, by any action outside these limits, to disturb relations towards other Powers, especially Germany, in whom were remarkable signs of a more friendly feeling.22

This message made for happy reading in the Reich Chancellory. The following day the Norddeutsch Zeitung, hardly surprisingly, carried a story on Morocco in which a large chunk of von Kühlmann’s wire to Bülow reappeared. The Kaiser, on the point of leaving on his cruise and wavering in his desire to stop over in rebellion-torn Morocco, was in need of encouragement. Bülow, seizing on this article as a token of British reasonableness, wrote a brief letter to his imperial master – enclosing the Norddeutsche article – to remind him that a visit to the Sultan’s ramshackle country would go far to ‘embarrass M. Delcassé, traverse his schemes, and further our business interests in Morocco’.23 The little push worked. As the Kaiser left for his appointment in Tangier, Chirol was busy trying to mollify Bertie and get a grip on the headstrong Harris. By way of response to the ambassador, Chirol wrote that he certainly did not have unbounded confidence in Harris and he was also puzzled as to Harris’s sudden preference for the Germans; up until the signing of the entente he was rather pro-France. Perhaps St Rene Taillandier, the envoy sent by Paris to Fez to deliver their reform programme to the Sultan, had ‘trod on one of his corns; they are numerous and sensitive!’.24 233

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With that he turned to deal with Harris, who was perhaps being more wayward than either Bertie or he knew. Apparently, or at least according to von Kühlmann, the correspondent had promised to show him all dispatches containing material ‘of political interest’ before he sent them to Printing House Square, ‘so that they might contain nothing contrary to [German] interests’.25 There is no sign that Chirol was ever aware of this extraordinary breach of accepted behaviour on the part of Harris, if in fact it was true. But Chirol was significantly nonplussed as it was with what Harris had been doing. As soon as he put down Bertie’s complaining letter he telegraphed Tangier to tell Harris to bear in mind that it was the paper’s policy to support the French in Morocco, that he had been rather alarmed at the tone of some of his recent dispatches and at how they had been received in Paris. Chirol followed that up with a sharply worded letter in which he made no bones about the fact that, while the French had not always done things wisely in Morocco and might blunder in the future, that was their business, not Britain’s. Britain’s was to protect and support the entente. … [O]ur attitude towards them in Morocco will be the touchstone, as far as they are concerned, of the Anglo-French rapprochement, and we cannot afford to allow the slightest suspicion to be cast upon our loyalty to the Agreement. The French in Egypt have accepted their diminutio capitis with such complete loyalty and good grace that our people in Morocco ought to show themselves equal to a similar sacrifice of their old prejudices and prepossessions. Least of all should we do anything which might help forward the dubious aims of German policy. The object of the German Emperor’s visit to Tangier is so transparent that, even if we had legitimate grievances against French policy, this should certainly not be the moment to give utterance to them. The last thing we want to do is to travailler pour le Roi de Prusse.26

The flurry of letters and telegrams between London and Tangier and Berlin and Tangier, not to mention some notably sharp editorial comments in The Times, might never have happened if the Kaiser had had his way and skipped Tangier altogether. The closer he got to the Mediterranean the more that was what he wanted to do. On the 28th he telegraphed Bülow from Lisbon that all hell had broken loose in Tangier. ‘Yesterday an Englishman was almost murdered there, and I regard the matter [of landing] as pretty doubtful after all.’ Worried, Bülow immediately asked Holstein to draft a soothing telegram to be sent at once to Portugal. This message stressed the fact that strict security measures were already in place in Morocco and once again reminded the Emperor that, if he were to be 234

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received at Tangier ‘with jubilation by all the Mohammedans, fêted by all the non-French Europeans, and without taking any notice of the French, Delcassé will be in the soup’.27 Soothing messages or not, the Kaiser’s resolve continued to waver up until the very last moment. Even when he could see Tangier from his ship he wanted to cancel because a rough sea was likely to make for a very difficult landing. But, when one of the officers on board made a trial attempt and returned unscathed, he got over his qualms. Aside from a few unforeseen difficulties with an unruly horse, which, he later told Bülow, nearly cost him his life, and an unpleasant ride into town ‘between all the Spanish anarchists [who had been heavily bribed by Kühlmann to give no trouble!]’ the visit, at least from the point of view of his Chancellor, ‘made a deep impression both in and out of Europe’.28 Meanwhile The Times, obviously unable to ignore the visit altogether, took few chances – or so it thought – with Harris. He was given strict instructions by Bell to limit himself to no more than 300 words of description, in addition to sending the text of any important speech.29 Harris sent neither the precise text of the Kaiser’s speech at Tangier, nor a really disinterested summary of it. On 3 April, helped by Kühlmann, he sent what he described as a correct version of the Kaiser’s conversation with the Sultan’s representative. What William told the latter was that he had made a point of coming to Tangier so as to be able to voice objections to seeing any one country be given preferential trade arrangements in Morocco. The Sultan was the free Sovereign of a free country, and Germany would insist on always carrying on her affairs direct with him, and would never allow any other Power to act as intermediary. The present was an unsuitable time to introduce any reforms on European lines, and all reforms should be founded on Islamic law and traditions.30

Somewhat earlier, Harris had remarked that, even though ‘the Kaiser spent only two hours at Tangier, the visit may have marked an epoch in the history of Morocco’. It was a statement that could be read in various ways. The way it was read at Printing House Square was not positive. Harris’s version of the Kaiser’s remarks appeared in The Times on Tuesday, 4 April, as did a leader written by Chirol. Having allowed Harris to publish his account of the Kaiser’s message from his own point of view, Chirol proceeded to make the editorial position of the paper, which was not in harmony with Harris, abundantly clear. First he trotted out the memory, hardly a happy one, of the Krüger Telegram, suggesting that it 235

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and the Kaiser’s recent remarks were similarly disturbing. It was bad enough to have the German ruler flatly deny France’s special rights in Morocco, rights that were recognised by both Great Britain and Spain and were embodied in recent international agreements. But at the same time his words seemed to be directed at undermining, if not outright destroying, the efforts of the French minister to persuade the Sultan to adopt reforms necessary not only for maintaining his own personal authority but for restoring peace and quiet in his domains, without which there could be no security for commercial arrangements of any kind. Then, with a nod to Bertie and a bow to the Quai d’Orsay, Chirol pointed out that it was fortunate for the peace of the world that, in an article of singular moderation, the organ of the French Foreign Office acknowledges that it would be idle to deny ‘the disobliging intention’ of the Emperor’s exhortation to his Moorish clients, and that it would have been difficult for His Majesty to go further in his desire to be disagreeable to France without openly breaking with her. The Temps wisely declines, nevertheless, to bandy words with the Imperial agent provocateur. It records, with regret,…German ill-will, but [does not] allow that it can deflect French policy in Morocco … This article unquestionably reflects the views of the French Government, and the French Government has so strong a case that it can well afford to leave it as it stands to the judgment of the world. If it liked it could even appeal from the impetuous utterances of the ReiseKaiser to the more sober language held by his responsible Minister [Bülow] less than a year ago in the Reichstag.31

That same day Bülow congratulated his Reise-Kaiser, assuring him that his ‘imposing demeanour’ and ‘weighty speeches’ guaranteeing Moroccan independence had finally given that question the prominence it deserved. Nor should he be upset that part of the British press ‘still indulge in wild ideas’. Those would soon fade away when people in Britain saw that Germany was not at all looking for ‘special advantage … and all the more so, when they see that American diplomacy is on the side of Germany’s “open door”’.32 Bülow might not have sounded so certain had he seen Chirol’s letter to Springy of the previous day. If ‘Cocky Billy’s’ intention, Chirol wrote, had been to drive a wedge between France and Britain, he had once again misread all the available signs. If anything his performance had pulled them closer together, and should he go on in the same vein ‘the meeting of the British and French fleets this summer, which, if the Admiralty has its way, will be on an unprecedentedly grandiose scale, will really assume the character of an anti-German demonstration’. People in Britain were 236

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all fired up by this latest display of German bluster, so fired up that he felt they could countenance the government going ‘very much further than a mere demonstration should William actually try to coerce France’.33 ‘Cocky Billy’ could strike poses to his heart’s content as far as Chirol was concerned. The really important thing was that the French were not rising to the bait, nor did he agree with Harris that the Moors would put much faith in the Kaiser’s blandishments.34 Time would tell if he would live up to his word and actually give them military support. In the case of his suffering Boer cousins, there had been a great deal of hot air and no real threat of hot lead. In the present case he might be able to support his new clients by mobilising his armies on the Rhine; in the case of Boers against British that would hardly have been expedient. ‘But will he?’ To Chirol it looked like an awfully ‘big gamble for a very small stake’. Morocco was not at all a small stake as far as Holstein was concerned, and, ill as he was that spring, he concentrated his rather limited energies on turning the contest over control in Morocco into a diplomatic triumph for Germany. Chirol, by contrast, had the idea that the whole business would soon fizzle out and that the Kaiser could not have got much change out of his little show. All the same, the contretemps had shown him how important it was to keep the entente in proper working order. The French wanted and needed to depend on Britain. Should the Moroccan question continue to develop, both policy as well as good faith require us to stand by the French, for it becomes more and more clear that the main object of Germany was to prove to the French that no reliance could be placed upon an understanding with England, unless it was countersigned by Berlin. There has seldom been a more unscrupulous campaign than that conducted by Germany in this matter …35

As unpleasant as the Germans were being, Morocco was at the moment something of a sideshow for Chirol. Now that the Kaiser had had his day – or his two hours – at Tangier, the foreign editor felt able to turn his attention to ‘the question of paramount importance at present’. Having been so closely connected with the making of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, it was hardly surprising that he was very much in favour of having it renewed and, if at all possible, extended in scope so as to cover India. Suspecting that such a thing might not appeal to the French government, he had, as he told Hardinge, written a long, and what he hoped was a persuasive letter to his new, and much-admired, friend Etienne. 237

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Although the latter had recently become the Interior Minister he still, Chirol believed, had substantial influence over both colonial and foreign policy. In that letter Chirol worked to convince Etienne that a renewed and extended Anglo-Japanese Alliance would strengthen, not further weaken, the problem-plagued Dual Alliance. The French, he suggested, were no doubt tired of providing monies that their improvident partner squandered on pointless, when not disastrous, adventures in the Far East. Surely what was wanted in Paris – particularly in view of France’s increasingly bumptious neighbours across the Rhine – was to have Russia’s weight back on the European scale. Etienne himself had said as much by confessing that Russia’s dire situation not only could be, but already was, strengthening Germany’s position in Europe. If the French wanted to properly address and rectify this imbalance, it would be necessary to wake their Russians partners from their decade-long ‘dream of Asiatic dominion’. And nothing, to Chirol’s way of thinking, might do so better than renewing and expanding the Anglo-Japanese Alliance so as to highlight the futility of any ideas of a revanche in Asia. Chirol’s own feelings vis-à-vis Russia had undergone a considerable change over recent months. While continuing to disapprove of her domestic politics, his fear of her foreign pretensions had lessened to the point where he could tell Hardinge that, ‘if it could be brought home to Russia that it was hopeless for her to attempt to alter the status quo in Asia, the one great difficulty in the way of an Anglo-Russian understanding would be removed’. Outside Asia he saw no insurmountable antagonism or strategic conflict of interests between the two countries, not even at Constantinople. ‘On the contrary, there were probably European questions in sight upon which England and France and Russia might perfectly well be expected to see eye to eye.’36 As Holstein, Chirol and many others as well worried over the shape of international relations in the wake of a Russian defeat, she fought on, the Tsar sounding as obdurate as ever, and the war party in St Petersburg apparently still firm in the saddle.37 And all the while the Baltic fleet pressed steadily on to the east. As had been the case for months, Admiral Rozhdestvensky took every opportunity to shelter in French waters, a fact that was not lost on the government in Tokyo, as Hayashi told Chirol. While this made for concern in London, Paris was in an equally uncomfortable spot as the Moroccan problem was threatening to resurface in an unpleasant way, and the French were particularly keen to keep relations with London as smooth as possible. 238

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Even if Rozhdestvensky’s troublesome tactics did not cause ugly complications with the Japanese or between France and Britain, Chirol could always find other things to worry about. What would happen, he fretted to Springy, if the Japanese failed to prevail on water as they had on land, a neat reversal of his worries after the attack at Port Arthur the previous year when he feared that Japanese fighting skills on land could never equal what they had just done on the water. Although Hayashi liked to make mordant comments about British papers only turning to pieces on the ‘Coming Naval Battle’ whenever there was no ‘Kennington Horror’ or ‘Football Tie’ to print, Chirol’s concern was genuine. By the beginning of May he was devoutly wishing that ‘Rojsky’ would stop sheltering in the waters off French Indo-China and ‘make off into the China seas or better still to the bottom of them’.38 He got all parts of his wish before the month was out. The fleets met on the 27th in the Straits of Tsushima, and by the afternoon of the 28th Admiral Togo had indeed sent the bulk of the Baltic fleet to the bottom of the East China Sea. As soon as Chirol’s worries were over he seemed to forget that they had ever existed. ‘Well,’ he positively crowed to Morrison on 1 June, ‘Togo has done the trick this time and no mistake about it. I must say, though I felt pretty confident throughout, he has exceeded my wildest expectations.’39 Although work was heavy, as there were far too many interesting questions going on all over the world, Chirol’s mood was given an enormous boost by the elimination of the Russian fleet. Even the political scene at home seemed brighter. While no means blind to signs of decay in the country, he did not pronounce them desperate. For one thing he no longer despaired of seeing some form of military service made compulsory on every Englishman. Formerly such an idea could hardly have been whispered, now it was discussed openly. Another reason for thinking the country ‘much sounder beneath than on the surface’ was the distance public opinion had travelled in the past decade on the question of relations with Germany, by which he meant in a negative direction. More military spirit, if not preparedness, more suspicion and reservation when it came to Germany, these were signs of health in the British body politic, no matter how ailing the present government. Even the ‘stagnant waters’ in Whitehall seemed to him to be stirring and nowhere more productively than at the new Committee of Imperial Defence. Here, at last, was an official body after his own heart, one that not only was capable of thought but also able to ‘put down a lot of important problems in black and white in such a shape that no government can shirk them’. The hidebound Foreign Office itself was 239

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also showing signs of intelligent life, seeming at long last to realise that it ‘does matter whether A is promoted in preference to B, or C in preference to both, and that it matters on public grounds which deserve to be taken into account’.40 With Togo’s extraordinary triumph taking a great deal of the tension out of the Far East, and the renegotiation of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance taking some of the tension out of Chirol, he turned back to the ongoing problem in Morocco. By mid-May Lascelles was rather seriously perturbed at the Franco-German stand-off.41 At that point Chirol was much caught up with the problems being caused by the Baltic fleet and while aware that the French were not ‘out of the wood’ in north Africa did not see what could be done until the Germans made it clear what they were after. He himself thought they wanted to make sure that the French did not have their way in Morocco. He was also confident that the Germans were desirous of weaning Paris from London, but what else they might be after and why they were so determined he did not know. There had been talk in London that suggested that they would leave Morocco to France in return for her acquiescence in the consolidation of German influence in Syria and Asia Minor. This he let pass without comment, except in so far as he wrote to O’Conor in Constantinople for an update on the latest developments vis-à-vis the Germans and the financing of the Baghdad Railroad. Apparently they had been feeling the ‘financial pulse’ in London, but had got a very weak reading, which was all for the good from his point of view. For Chirol, Tsushima ‘removed the last shade of a shadow of a doubt as to the final issue of the struggle’.42 But as the fighting dragged to its agonised end, the battle over the peace was just beginning. Many men over many months, Chirol among them, had been mulling over its design. At the beginning of June, with no definite word coming from St Petersburg, he began to contemplate having neither war nor peace. It seemed impossible that the Russians could continue to fight, but they were not yet talking of peace and he imagined them withdrawing into the heart of central Asia, suspending hostilities, nursing their wounds and waiting. Rumour had it that the Japanese might even agree to an incomplete end, trading the loss of an indemnity for the disappearance of the Russians from Manchuria and Korea.43 Meanwhile Chirol was wondering which way the Russians would move when the waiting was over. Would they go back to recoup their losses in the east or turn south toward Afghanistan and the approaches to India? Neither was pleasant to contemplate, and he wished for a proper peace. He did not have to 240

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wait all that long. On 8 June President Roosevelt sent identical notes to St Petersburg and Tokyo, pleading with both governments, ‘for the welfare of humanity’, to negotiate.44 A negotiated peace was much more to Chirol’s taste than the worrying uncertainties of a waiting game, but he was not sure that Roosevelt was up to the job, no matter his enthusiasm for it. Even if he were sound on the main points, his overly impulsive nature was not suited to the delicate manoeuvring that the process required. ‘It is at moments like the present one,’ he wrote to Hardinge, ‘that [the President] wants some wise restraining influence at his elbow.’ Unfortunately Hay was not only very ill but in London, and the man most at Roosevelt’s elbow seemed to be the German ambassador.45 According to the latter’s letters to both Bülow and the Auswärtiges Amt he was doing very little to restrain the impulsive President, and much to undercut London. In mid-June he wrote to his Foreign Office that, ever since Hay’s arrival in London, there has been an exchange of telegrams between him and the President, in which Mr Hay tried to win the President over to England’s side in the Morocco question. From what the President said to-day, I gather that this has not been successful … About the Far East, the Peace and Morocco the President has pursued a policy directly contrary to Hay’s principles; the Press admits it.46

As von Sternberg’s brief list of areas where he had been making ‘political capital’ shows, Morocco was back in the spotlight. As Chirol told Curzon on 23 June, ‘the Far Eastern War has been almost relegated to the background by the developments of the Moroccan question, and the ominously aggressive attitude of Germany towards this country as well as towards France’.47 The latest phase of the long-drawn-out problem began in mid-May with the arrival of a German diplomatic mission at Fez. Their French counterparts had been there since February and were making slow but steady progress at getting the Moroccan government to accept a programme of reform as designed in Paris. With the arrival of the Germans the French programme was summarily scuttled by the Maghzen, and the Sultan invited all the Powers that were signatories to the 1880 Madrid Convention to meet in conference at Tangier. Berlin was jubilant. Still agog at Admiral Togo’s stupendous victory, and both pleased and relieved that the renewal and extension of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance looked next to certain, Chirol brushed off the German behaviour. Their desire to play the bully, and to eliminate Delcassé, was, he reasoned, 241

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related to Russia’s defeat. The Kaiser had banked on Russia defeating Japan, but crippling herself in the process. A victorious, but crippled Russia would give Germany an enormous advantage within Europe. What he now had was a Russia weakened to the point of complete collapse, on her knees both financially and diplomatically, and, if shorn of her Asian interests, likely to be reoriented toward meddling in the west, the perpetual fear of the Wilhelmstrasse. All these factors contributed, to Chirol’s way of thinking, to Berlin’s desire ‘to take it out of France in Morocco’ while the opportunity was there – and, if possible, to punish the British as well by not only getting rid of Delcassé but also blowing up his great achievement, the entente. Given the stakes, Chirol was unusually calm. It was, he thought, a shame that the French were not in either the mood nor the position to call the Emperor’s bluff, but so it was. The result might well be a German diplomatic triumph in Morocco. It was not a particularly pleasant prospect to contemplate, as he told Steed, ‘but one which we cannot, as far as I can see, avert’.48 For a few days the French government, Delcassé most particularly, refused to accept the idea of a conference. But when Berlin’s representatives in Rome, Vienna, Brussels and elsewhere began to utter open threats of war – as did a number of unofficial emissaries in Paris – all simultaneously declaring that unless France did as Germany demanded the German army would cross the frontier and clear the road to Paris within a week, the French government responded by ‘rather losing their heads’ – and their Foreign Minister, who resigned under pressure on 6 June.49 Chirol shook his head over this folly; if only the French had ‘kept cool’, they might well have exposed the Kaiser’s Moroccan game as the bluff that he believed it to be. It was, he wrote almost jauntily to Hardinge, easy enough for William to play dog in the manger, [but] … it is a game that grows wearisome in the long run for the dog, the manger and the onlookers, and if the French had [abstained] from any action which Germany might have resented as provocative, I don’t see what William could have done. For he himself has no means of action in Morocco, except by sea and there he would have had to reckon with us, if the French had played up.50

The one thing about the whole episode that did bother Chirol was Delcassé’s having told his colleagues in the government that Britain was prepared, in the event of war, to mobilise the fleet and land troops in Germany. That did surprise Chirol, as he did not think that Paris had even sounded the British out as to what they would be ready to do if Germany went to extremes. Certainly Berlin had jumped on the rumour with 242

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both feet, claiming that it was not only true but proof of Britain’s deepseated enmity toward their Reich. Bülow emphasised to Lascelles that he had had information about the Anglo-French pact from very trustworthy sources; the Emperor himself treated the British ambassador to an ‘extraordinary outburst of temper and offensive language’ when he tried to deny its existence.51 At this point Lansdowne summoned Metternich and told him that all the talk of a military pact was such a fanciful concoction that it hardly deserved a contradiction, but, if it would calm people down, he was willing to issue one. Even so mild a gesture Chirol thought was going too far. During all the alarums and excursions, he remained ‘pretty well certain’ that Berlin was just bluffing. No doubt the situation was serious enough, and the war party in Germany obviously strong, and clamouring that the opportunity should not be lost of crushing France whilst Russia is powerless. But I cannot even so bring myself to believe that the Emperor will, when it come to the sticking point, deliberately plunge into a war of unprovoked aggression, without being at any rate assured of this country’s neutrality – an assurance he is not in the least likely to get.52

By the end of June Chirol was pleased to note that the French had recovered some of their customary sang-froid. Cambon told him that the feeling now gaining ground in Paris showed that the Germans had once again ‘over-reached themselves’. It was increasingly clear that Morocco was chiefly a pretext, a tool to be used to prise Paris out of the entente and push her into some sort of arrangement with Berlin. Months earlier, when the Moroccan problems first surfaced, Chirol had wondered what lay behind the Emperor’s ‘little game’. Now the pieces were falling into place. ‘Whilst Germany charges us with trying to inveigle France into an offensive and defensive alliance against her, she is dangling before the French the bait of a recognition of their position in Morocco in return for a maritime alliance with her against England.’ He was not particularly alarmed by this formulation, convinced that even if Rouvier, the French Premier – and, since Delcassé’s departure, Foreign Minister as well – made concessions in Morocco he would do nothing to injure AngloFrench relations.53 In the paper Chirol did what he could to put a positive gloss on the possibility of Rouvier’s giving in to German demands. While admitting that ‘very few Frenchmen’ could like giving way to ‘a Power whose actual and material interests in Morocco are scarcely proportionate to the ambitions it has recently disclosed’, Englishmen had no business to carp 243

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or criticise ‘in an unfriendly way’ the arrangements now being made in Paris. ‘It is obviously for France alone to decide how far it behoves her to meet the demands suddenly sprung upon her by Germany, so long as the principles underlying her agreement with us remain intact.’54 To Hardinge he was almost optimistic. While it was true that the Germans could pat themselves on the back for scoring a diplomatic triumph and for getting rid of Delcassé, they had also revived the old ‘soreness’ in their victim to a point it had not reached in decades and made any sort of ‘real understanding between the two countries more remote than it has been for the last twenty years’.55 Although during the first half of 1905 Chirol’s letters were focused on the war in the Far East and the complicated wrangle over Morocco, there were any number of other things, both interesting and potentially important, happening. In Scandinavia and in central Europe there were serious constitutional crises. The first ended in the birth of an independent Norway, the second shook but did not split the troubled Dual Monarchy. Steed, in Vienna, was irritable about ‘his’ crisis being given short shrift in the paper. Chirol tried to soothe him by saying that at any other juncture it would have attracted a ‘vast amount of attention’. But, sad to say, events such as Mukden and Tsushima, and even the Kaiser’s performance at Tangier, made it impossible to get the public’s attention with ‘mere constitutional conflicts’. His own comment on these political shake-ups was that it was curious that the two pet instances Mr Gladstone was so fond of quoting in favour of Home Rule should … be breaking down so completely at the very same moment. Of course there never was any kind of analogy between the relations of Great Britain with Ireland and those of Sweden with Norway or of Austria with Hungary, it was only Mr Gladstone’s colossal ignorance of foreign affairs that could ever have suggested such an analogy.56

By 1 June the ‘hot’ war in the east was all but over, but the battle over what sort of peace would follow remained quite warm for some time. Both Russia and Japan responded positively to Roosevelt’s note of 8 June, the Japanese on the 10th and the Russians three days later. It then took several weeks for both countries to select the men who would do the negotiating, and it was not until 11 July that The Times printed a dispatch from their Washington correspondent saying that the ‘delightfully situated and picturesque town’ of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, was the place where they would do it. Chirol also had some choosing to do when it came to the doings at Portsmouth. In early July, as the peacemakers began to gather at 244

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Roosevelt’s house on Long Island before travelling north, he told Bland – then on home leave – that he had decided to send George Morrison to the conference. Although none too keen to take him away from Peking, ‘especially whilst you are at home’, he had taken the risk as he felt that Smalley was ‘scarcely the man I cared to leave in sole charge of the Conference’. Not only would Morrison’s assistance be exceedingly valuable in and of itself, but the difficult Smalley might find him less objectionable than others he might have sent.57 In the end the foreign editor decided to send his predecessor, Mackenzie Wallace – the soul of diplomatic journalism – as well. ‘The mean of these three,’ as he told Hardinge, ‘ought to represent the nearest conceivable approach to impartiality!’ Curious to see how his ‘mixed team’ would run,58 he would soon find that they did so a bit erratically. In the meanwhile, having talked himself into thinking that the peace conference might actually bring peace, in spite of the ‘hoity-toity’ tone in St Petersburg, Chirol began to wonder if he would have to eat his words. As plenipotentiaries were being chosen in Tokyo and St Petersburg, and Portsmouth was readied for its important visitors, he hoped, albeit gingerly, that the stark reality of Russia’s political, financial and military dissolution would, in the end, compel them to accept a negotiated peace. He was much more confident that the Japanese sincerely wanted peace, and that – if Russia would only listen to reason – their terms would be moderate. But would or could St Petersburg listen to reason? By 24 July, several weeks before the Portsmouth talks were scheduled to begin, he was far less sanguine about Russian intentions, some of this renewed scepticism the result of a recent meeting between Kaiser and Tsar at the Finnish port of Björkö. During this imperial get-together the Kaiser tried to revive the aborted Russo-German defensive alliance of the previous winter by persuading Nicholas to sign a document that he, William, had written off his own bat. Hyper-emotional with his success in doing so, he returned to Berlin to crow about it. His ministers, all of whom were appalled, once again squashed the matter, this time for good. All the same, the whole business shook Chirol’s none too strong belief in ever finding peace. He envied the vacationing Bland, who he imagined had forgotten ‘for the time being all about wars and peace and rumours of wars and peace, and [could devote himself] exclusively to the joys of inward contemplation pending the rise of a salmon’.59 He himself had been looking forward to a motoring trip in Tyrol. But that was now out, he groused, as he could not be out of the country with things still at sixes and sevens, and so would have to make do with one or two extended weekends in the country. As 245

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it turned out he did rather better, going off in mid-July to spend the best part of a fortnight in Scotland followed by a week with the Hugh Bells at Rounton. By the time he got back to London in early August his mood was much improved and he felt ready for the business in Portsmouth to get going, whichever way it would prove to go. There was at least one other pressing issue connected with the ‘peace or no peace’ question besides the vexing one of inadvertently giving a boost to Berlin’s devious designs, and that was how it might affect the signing of the reworked Anglo-Japanese Alliance. Work on the document was finished, all that was needed were the signatures. As the Balfour government grew weaker by the day, Chirol began to fear that they might feel honour bound to consult with opposition leaders before putting pen to paper. This typically self-manufactured supposition led him to forecast ‘endless delay and difficulties’ just as public opinion in Japan was beginning to display a certain coolness toward extending the scope of the treaty to cover India. ‘What a cruel farce it is,’ he wrote at one particularly despairing moment, ‘that the whole course of history may be changed because some half dozen MPs were too lazy or careless to drive down for half an hour to the House!’ Should a change of government, which he was sure was coming, bring in the Liberals, then all that he could do was pin his hopes on Sir Edward Grey and his friends. If they took over the business of governing then all might turn out for the best. But would they? Charlie Trevelyan, one of the ‘leading spirits’ of the ‘young Radicals’, had been a fellow guest at Rounton and had made a notably bad impression on Chirol. The young man’s ‘ignorance of foreign affairs was only equalled by his cocksureness’ and ‘you will rue the day’, he warned Hardinge, if he and his fellow Radicals had a meaningful part to play in the next administration!60 By the second week in August the proceedings at Portsmouth finally got under way. Japanese peace terms were submitted to the conference on the 10th, those of Russia two days later. Within a week Chirol was writing to O’Conor that he did not see, ‘and have never seen [which was not strictly true], what other issue there could be than failure’. Some people might hope, ‘like Mr Micawber’, that something would turn up, but he was not among them. Instead he endorsed Mackenzie Wallace’s notably pessimistic view that it would have been a smart thing to discover whether or not there was any chance of agreement on the main points before ferrying people from the ends of the earth to the small New Hampshire port.61 He no doubt was thinking in that instance not only of the main players – diplomatists and negotiators and their staffs – but also of how 246

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much it was costing the financially strapped Times to maintain its own little team – and all for a game that as he now believed was not ‘going to be worth the candle’. In addition it was a wretched ‘curse’ to have all the talking and the giving and taking happening at a five hours’ time difference and he could only fervently hope that ‘when the next [attempt] takes place it will be somewhere Longitude East and not West’.62 No sooner had Chirol told Hardinge that things were ‘dicky’ indeed at Portsmouth – which he blamed on the mulish Russians – than hope was revived. A wire from New Hampshire announced that Roosevelt had been talking privately with both sides. What he had said was unknown but something big appeared to have shifted, and at this late hour – past the last possible hour, if one had listened to Chirol in recent days – there was suddenly a substantial hope for peace. His leader of 23 August trumpeted ‘All is not yet over at Portsmouth’. At long last, and for ‘the first time’, it went on, ‘our Correspondent is able to speak with some confidence of a possibility, indeed of more than a possibility of peace’.63 Peace stopped being a possibility and became a fact on 5 September. For all his initial excitement, Chirol soon enough feared lest the Americans now thought that they could go about laying down the law at a later date and on matters outside their own legitimate concerns. While Roosevelt had assumed considerable authority in these peace negotiations; Chirol wondered about his having a corresponding sense of responsibility. ‘I should like to know exactly,’ he wrote to Hardinge, what sort of pressure he finally applied at Tokio. I am told it amounted almost to a threat of the financial boycotting of Japan. If that is so, it was grossly unfair. He had shown his appreciation of the relative justice of the two cases by addressing his first appeals to St P. They were rejected and then it would seem that rather than accept the fiasco of his conference, he put all his conceptions of justice in his pocket & applied the screw to Tokio … Well, he’s succeeded, and there’s an end of it, but it’s a d----d dangerous precedent!64

In this case, and not for the first time, Chirol’s suspicious nature allowed what were genuine reservations as to Roosevelt’s diplomatic capabilities to overpower his analytic skills. Two weeks later and with a cooler head, he admitted that it was possible to put a ‘more favourable complexion’ on whatever had passed between Teddy and the Japanese dignitaries. Apparently the President, fully aware of how much the Japanese wanted peace and why, told them that the Tsar did not and why, thus handing them a way to force the latter’s hand by adjusting their demands. But in spite of his obvious relief Chirol was still reluctant 247

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to give the President too much credit. He continued to see far too much ‘mystery’ in Roosevelt’s intervention and stoutly insisted that whatever good had been done in this particular instance it did not necessarily augur well for the future.65 A case in point was the remark of a visiting French friend: ‘It is France who will be made to pay for this when the Americans take a hand in the Morocco conference.’66 Throughout many months of momentous events, Chirol was hardpressed to keep pace with his work. Remarkably enough his health held up and, more remarkable still, his attitude remained generally upbeat. Given his distrust, or dislike, of many of the characters then so centre stage, his private comments tended to be sardonic rather than vituperative; he was, at times, deeply worried but not utterly despairing. There was a notable absence of anguished complaints about the fatal mistakes and ghastly inadequacies of British foreign policy. Much, if not all, of this balance might be explained by the fact that his most typical passions were being syphoned off by what was happening in India. Political thunderclouds had been massing over the Raj for more than a year. In the spring of 1905 they burst, and even Chirol ended up getting rather wet.

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However intoxicating the stupendous splendour of Curzon’s great spectacle, at Delhi Chirol had a head hard enough to keep his sights firmly fixed on his principal interests. The durbar, and even India itself, as aweinspiring as it was, did not take his mind off what he had just seen in Persia. Having had several mutually satisfying conversations with the Viceroy on the subject, Chirol was keen to hear what Kitchener, the new commander-in-chief of the Indian army, had to say.1 Their conversation was friendly, if not particularly reassuring for Chirol. He was naturally pleased to find that the hero of Obdurman, having only arrived in India a month or so earlier, had already looked into the troublesome Persian question. The conclusion he had drawn, on the other hand – that there was ‘no earthly reason why Russia should not be allowed to come down to the Gulf if she liked’2 – went against Chirol’s deepest convictions. Given such wrong-headedness, he was more pleased than distressed to hear that until the new commander-in-chief pulled things together in India and with the disorganized Indian army3 there would be little or no time for distractions such as Persia. By the time Kitchener was finished pulling things together more than two years had passed, the situation in Persia was not improved, and Curzon, the only Viceroy to be given a second term, was out of office before it reached its mid-point. The great Curzon–Kitchener battle over the control of the Indian army – whether it would remain administratively divided between a ‘Military Member’ of the Viceroy’s Council and the commander-in-chief or fall completely 249

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into the hands of the latter – did not reach full flower until the spring of 1905. But the bud was set by the time that Kitchener had his friendly chat with Chirol in early 1903. Curzon could not have foreseen the coming struggle, although he had been warned early on that there could be problems. His friend Clinton Dawkins,4 who had known Kitchener well in Egypt, told the Viceroy that while the former was talented in many ways he was ‘a great centraliser, and has very little appreciation of the proper organisation of a great administration. He might well obliterate the distinction between the Commander-in-Chief and the Military Member and insist on doing the Military Member’s work himself.’5 Kitchener had been in India for a little more than a year when the Russo-Japanese War began. For months on end the conflict seemed a close-run thing. Many in London felt that it was essential for the government to pay strict attention to the goings-on between the Viceroy and his commander-in-chief as the Indian army was the only weapon immediately to hand should a victorious Russia turn her attentions back to the south. Thus the India Office and the Cabinet were drawn into the struggle and, as it happened, thanks to Chirol and to Colonel Repington, the military expert at Printing House Square, so was The Times. Chirol had no liking whatsoever for Brodrick. But his opinions were almost cordial in comparison with what he thought of Repington. He had been so opposed to Bell’s desire to have him write for the paper, even as an ‘independent’ contributor, that Bell was moved to complain in turn about excess vehemence. Chirol allowed that ‘in the main’ his disposition inclined him to look at things from a personal angle. But, when it came to Repington, even if he had ‘spoken more strongly than it was my business to … it was not for personal reasons but because I think it is not creditable to The Times to have a man of that kind going about saying that he is employed by us when he is no longer good enough to be employed by the Army …’.6 Kitchener also despised the ‘Gorgeous Wreckington’, a tag some flagrant extra-marital adventures had earned him while serving in Egypt. But his personal distaste, profound as it was, did not stand in the way of using the former officer’s access to the columns of The Times to wreak what havoc he could through them on the constitution of the Indian government and ultimately on Curzon himself. In mid-January 1905, at the end of a long letter to the Viceroy, filled with his thoughts on the United States, on Roosevelt, on the stagnant Balfour government, German double-dealings and Russian turmoil, Chirol threw in a typical lament. ‘What of Afghanistan? And what of Tibet? 250

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Over here silence et mystère is the official watchword. It is rather trying to be cut off entirely from subjects in which one still retains so deep an interest.’7 Ten days later the silence on Tibet ended with the publication of another Bluebook. Even so, all mysteries were not made clear. Balfour himself seemed to be in the dark as to why, more than four months after the signing of the Tibetan Convention, Brodrick should bother to wash all our and Younghusband’s dirty linen in public by giving the whole correspondence to the world… The view we took of Younghusband’s behaviour was sufficiently emphasised to the Indian government and the Indian official world by the character of the decoration which [he] received. Why we should go further I am quite unable to understand!8

This musing query was sent privately to a friend; Chirol’s musings went into public print. In a leader published at the end of the month he reviewed the history of Younghusband’s mission to Lhasa, the unique and difficult circumstances in which the treaty was signed, and the ensuing controversy between the imperial and the Indian governments as to whether the commissioner had exceeded his instructions. He did his best to remain even-handed, a difficult task made worse by what he knew privately about Brodrick’s behaviour. But what came across, loud and clear, was that Chirol, like the Prime Minister, failed to see what public interest could possibly be served by advertising this painful controversy. [… ] It will be an evil day for the Empire when Ministers at home shall set about to discourage by churlish strictures the readiness of public servants abroad to assume responsibility in cases of extreme difficulty and urgency. It is this highest form of courage which has helped more than any other quality of our race to build up and preserve the British Empire.9

A day or two later, he sent a private memo to Arthur Walter in which he accused the India Office – read Brodrick – of trying to manipulate the way in which the recent Bluebook was presented to the public, a matter that he had not felt able to put in the paper. As was customary, Chirol told Walter, Printing House Square had received an advance copy of the publication. Some other papers were similarly favoured, and some of these were even more favoured with an additional private note from the India Office. This note pointed out certain passages in the Bluebook where selected correspondence between the Secretary of State and the Indian government had been reproduced and suggested that these extracts might be emphasised in any discussion of the document. Thus it seemed quite clear, at least to Chirol, that the India Office was determined to tarnish 251

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the government of India – and Younghusband – by accusing them of ignoring the deliberate instructions of the imperial government.10 The Times did not get this extra guidance. Chirol was not surprised. Brodrick had tried a similar tactic with them over a previous Bluebook, and the paper had supported more or less the exact things that he had suggested might be criticised. Nor did the Secretary of State much like Chirol’s recent leader. Having vindicated himself at second hand through Chirol’s friend Sir Walter Lawrence,11 Brodrick learned in turn that Chirol had actually left his most damning comments out of The Times, purely out of consideration for the government. What he would have liked to say was that it really owed a very great debut of gratitude to Younghusband for his success in concluding any treaty at all at Lhassa. Had he failed [as well he might have], the discredit of his failure would have fallen not so much upon him as upon the Government as a whole. It is easy to imagine what an outcry there would have been on the part of the Opposition if the Mission had come back empty-handed after such an expenditure of public money and of energy …12

Chirol was pleasantly energised by his little contretemps with the egregious Brodrick. He hoped the shots he had taken might bring some pleasure to Curzon, who was then particularly upset that the ‘loyal’ Brodrick should have stooped to manufacture a press opposition against the government of India.13 There was, however, little time for the Viceroy to fret over this betrayal as other serious matters were much to the fore. Chirol, too, had to put the controversy to one side, first to fight his yearly duel with the flu and then deal with ‘Cocky Billy’s’ visit to Tangier, the worrisome progress of the Baltic fleet, and the equally anxious-making delay in the renewal and extension of the Anglo-Japanese treaty. It was only after Admiral Togo had dispatched the Russian fleet and the treaty was safely signed that he could properly attend to Curzon’s by now rather forlorn battle with Kitchener. By the summer of 1905 Chirol believed that the government had more or less made up their minds to follow the line of least resistance, by which he meant the least resistance to Kitchener’s demand that the position of Military Member in the Viceroy’s Council be abolished. Details were still hazy but, as he told Curzon, he suspected that Kitchener would be given enough ‘to prevent him from carrying out his threat of resignation, whilst preserving a pollard Military Department as a sort of Financial Military Secretariat’. Chirol was frustrated that he could do next to nothing in the paper to help the beleaguered Viceroy, but, as Repington had 252

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the bulk of expert opinion on his side … [and] I am … no expert, all I have been able to do is to urge, I hope not unsuccessfully, that the paper not commit itself before hearing the other side as fully as we have already heard Kitchener’s side. [… ] You will, I hope, think that our leader last Monday struck a fair note. At any rate I did my best with it.14

This letter to Curzon was dated 2 June. Three days earlier the Cabinet endorsed the virtual elimination of any military counterweight to Kitchener within the government of India. Within a day Kitchener was privately informed, by wire, of their action. Curzon, informed by mail, did not get the news until the third week in June. It came in a dispatch dated 31 May, written by Brodrick and saying that the Military Member of his Council was to be replaced by a Military Supply Member, whose duties were to be ‘essentially those of a civilian administrator with military knowledge and experience’ and in virtually every instance far subordinate to the commander-in-chief. Chirol did what little he could to soften the blow, sneering – privately – at Brodrick’s and Balfour’s tactic of giving way to Kitchener so as to keep him in India while simultaneously withholding something from him, no matter how small a detail, in order to feel able to use the ‘comforting word “compromise” instead of “surrender”’. While admitting that he was not competent to judge as to the technical changes that had been made in the military administration, Chirol hesitated not a moment in condemning what had been done to the constitution of the Raj. He himself had found the arguments of the Indian government not only convincing but indeed overwhelming. He made an effort to temper the prevailing pro-Kitchener bias at Printing House Square. But, much as it pained him, he had to ‘stick to his own last’ and was unable to ‘press beyond a certain point in matters which do not really lie within my province – especially when my own province is about as much as I can manage to deal with’.15 All the same, busy as he was, and in spite of his feeling that he had no choice but to go along – more than a little unwillingly – with Buckle’s policy, Chirol slid, slowly, but in the end irresistibly, deeper into the Curzon–Kitchener fray. At this point it was Curzon’s turn to threaten resignation unless some modifications were made as to the character and duties of the proposed Military Supply Member. Kitchener, who had been pulling strings in London for months, if not years, to get what he wanted, felt pressured enough to agree to certain changes. With that Curzon telegraphed direct to Balfour, bypassing Brodrick entirely, to say that Kitchener had agreed to give the Military Supply Member greater status, including the right 253

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to give independent advice. This agreement had been reached without departing from the general principles laid down in the Cabinet’s recent resolution, but, if the home government refused to accept it, he was ready to leave India.16 Chirol now took up his public pen in earnest. His leader of 29 June took issue both with Brodrick’s ‘overly harsh tone’ and his ‘tendency to treat the Indian government and the distinguished statesman who presides over it with less consideration than has usually been practiced by those who have held [the secretaryship]’. Should he now go further and turn down the compromise worked out in India, not only would the constitutional position of the Viceroy be weakened, the prestige of the Indian government would suffer as well. He suggested that if the India Office, read Brodrick, had not intended to demean the Viceroy, it would be best to remove that unfortunate impression. Lord Curzon, he continued, only returned to India six months ago, at the earnest request of the Imperial government, to take up once more the heavy burden of Indian administration and carry forward the great work of reform which his ability and energy had initiated. It would be a very serious loss to India and to the Empire were they to be prematurely deprived of his invaluable services.17

Kitchener, too, must work earnestly to get past recent problems and be reconciled to the Viceroy on the basis of the compromise worked out between them. If such were the case, no doubt ‘the Imperial government will welcome so happy a solution of the existing difficulties’.18 Throughout the month of July, as Viceroy and commander-in-chief appeared to be working together in India to make a go of the so-called compromise, the former’s fortunes were on the ebb in London. Tension grew as allegations and counter-allegations travelled back and forth between Curzon at Simla and the India Office in London. Chirol, distracted by a plethora of other work, was silent on the potent subject. When he finally managed to get up to Yorkshire for a rest he found a letter from the beleaguered Curzon waiting for him. It was full of concerns and complaints, among the latter the way The Times failed to support his position. Chirol could hardly deny the charge and didn’t try to do so, agreeing instead that the paper had gone ‘deplorably wrong from the beginning over the [army] question …’. He wished that he could explain exactly why, but did not want to feel disloyal to Buckle. In almost the next sentence his scruples about loyalty to the editor evaporated. ‘You know [Buckle] and you know how the wires are pulled by Cabinet Ministers and their spokesmen. Unfortunately he will seldom take the trouble to study 254

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any question himself, so that, unless it happens to be one in which he takes a special interest, he is easily talked over, and in this matter my relations with yourself rather militated against the influence I have sometimes with him …’ Chirol did not surmise as to who might be doing the ‘talking over’, but he was certain that someone at Whitehall had Buckle’s ear.19 He also knew that someone ‘military’ was feeding things to Repington, but again did not name any name or even say whether he himself suspected that it might be Kitchener. The whole sorry, sordid affair reached its final crisis over the choice of the new Military Supply Member. Hounded, harried, physically ailing and worried even sicker over the desperately poor health of his wife, Curzon was finally denied the man he wanted, General Sir Edmund Barrow.20 According to both Curzon and Barrow, Kitchener had given his unqualified agreement as to the latter’s appointment. But, according to the letters Kitchener wrote to his wire-pullers in London, he had no intention whatsoever of having him and worked assiduously, with the very willing help of Brodrick, to systematically undermine his nomination. On 5 August Curzon telegraphed to Brodrick that it was impossible for him to introduce the new military system without having both Barrow and the full support of the Cabinet in London. If he was to have neither, which was how things now looked, his resignation should be given at once to the King.21 And so it was. Chirol, not surprised to hear that Edward VII had agreed to let the Viceroy go, wrote to the latter at once, his letter filled with sympathy, with concern for what would befall India, and with contempt for the way the government had behaved. What a shabby, sorry bunch and what a poor return they now offered for all Curzon’s splendid services. He could only think that his fall was of ‘evil omen’ given that the stability maintained in India was strongly connected with the maintenance of the prestige and authority of the Indian Government and of the King-Emperor’s representative who for the time being presides over it. There is, however, so little imagination in this country that those who have never been in India seem quite incapable of realising that the whole psychology of that wonderful dependency places it in an entirely different category from other Crown Colonies where Governors may come and go, and be buffeted about at the sweet will of the Secretary of State, without any very serious consequences.22

‘Hardly anyone,’ he wrote to Hardinge, ‘has a good word to say over the Government’s handling of Curzon, [and] Brodrick has been simply unspeakable in his meanness and lying.’ It seemed that Lord Cromer, who knew ‘the [military] question well from his Indian experience and 255

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also … his K[itchener] intimately’, took the unprecedented step of writing directly to Balfour to try and save Curzon, but it was too late to be of any use. Probably nothing, Chirol thought, could have saved him once Kitchener had made the Cabinet more fearful of losing him than the Viceroy.23 Chirol was actually quite shocked at the lengths that Brodrick and Kitchener were willing to go, first to be rid of Curzon, second to have total control of the military arm of the Indian government. It is harder to say how deeply he felt for Curzon the man betrayed as opposed to how concerned over the fact that Curzon the Viceroy, guardian of empire, was no longer able to pursue his worthy goals. Curzon the man was not always easy to like, and Chirol was never under any illusions as to his shortcomings. But with Curzon the Viceroy he was in very substantial accord. By now Chirol could do little more than offer moral support and some carefully phrased private advice. He also saw to it that his own particular friends in high places heard some of the less than appetising details behind Kitchener’s triumph. On another front, one animated less by moral outrage than by some very genuine geopolitical concerns, he warned these same friends of the serious dangers inherent in the home government having ‘shattered the prestige of the Indian Government for years to come’. Without the forceful Curzon on hand, he feared for any coherent British policy in the Middle East and predicted immediate repercussions in Persia, in the Gulf, in Afghanistan and Tibet. While it was hard to say what advantage the Shah would wrest out of the tottering Russians, he was sure that it would be something to remind both St Petersburg – and London, while they were at it – that his own decrepit country was still ‘alive and kicking’. Then there was the Gulf, where Belgian customs officials, of all people, had announced that they were going to run a few gunboats around ‘for revenue purposes’. Wasn’t it once again time, said Chirol, for Britain to trot out Lansdowne’s recent warning that only British ships should be allowed in the Gulf?24 These various diplomatic and strategic matters were serious enough in their own right. But in Chirol’s eyes they were made all the more menacing by what Kitchener might now do with ‘his’ Indian army. As early as mid-August there were unpleasant reports about the way he was handling his native troops. According to Chirol the commander-inchief knew almost nothing about India or the Indians, a fault magnified by the fact that there was no one at his headquarters who could stand up to him or lessen the effect that his supreme contempt for local customs and prejudices might have on troops expected to fight for him. One 256

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consequence of having to depend on possibly unreliable troops, he pointed out to Hardinge, was that, whatever the frontier tribes, or ruffians such as the Ameer in Kabul, chose to serve up, the British would be required to swallow as directed, ‘lest worst things befall us’.25 He thanked God that the new Japanese alliance was finally in place. With that to fall back on, he figured that London would be able to take such treatment, regrettable as it was, with a certain amount of composure. Chirol was angry and anxious but clearly cheered by the thought that Balfour’s days were now numbered. While never remotely enthusiastic about having a Radical-dominated Liberal administration, as soon as the revised Anglo-Japanese treaty was signed and a workable peace in sight at Portsmouth, he looked on the almost certain change of direction with more equanimity than trepidation. He was amused to hear that the Germans were banking on the return of the Liberals to power – and of Lord Rosebery to the Foreign Office, where they might exploit his wellknown animus for the entente. From all that he himself heard, the former Foreign Secretary’s attitude was much ‘better calculated to exclude him from the next Cabinet than to help the Germans’.26 Instead they were likely to get Sir Edward Grey, who, while not hostile toward Berlin, also made no secret of the fact that he would never sacrifice the interests of France to those of Germany. The ink was barely dry on Curzon’s letter of resignation before the tottering Conservatives published a White Paper to explain the change in India. In quick succession both Kitchener and Curzon published their own versions of the event. Chirol, still kept on the sidelines at Printing House Square, published nothing. He did, however, write to Curzon that ‘the reception which the news met with all over the country should, I think, go far to console and encourage you’. It had certainly consoled him to see so many signs pointing to the government having won an ‘exceedingly Pyrrhic’ victory. As for the loathsome Brodrick, he could only imagine ‘how galling it must be … that such scurvy treatment has been dealt out to you by men who claim to be your own personal and political friends’. Yet he hoped – and gently advised – that Curzon would and should not allow anger and bitterness to get the best of his better judgment. He must continue, in the face of it all, to have hope. Above all he must not allow his valuable insights on international and imperial matters to go begging, or to allow the current discredited ministry to ‘hound’ you ‘out of public life’. You of all men can afford to await serenely the development of events by which you will be justified against them … As a friend of mine shrewdly remarked to me on Monday: ‘When the

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present Government sheds a man, he at once becomes, not as in other cases, merely a man with a grievance, but a man with a future!’ Your future has long been assured, but I am quite satisfied that in the long run recent incidents, however painful for the moment, will have served mainly to make assurance doubly sure.27

Some months before, when the volcano under Curzon was little more than a troublesome murmur, and there was little if any way to predict either the size or the timing of the explosion, it was decided in London that the Prince of Wales, the future George V, should pay a first visit to India. Sir Walter Lawrence was charged with making the arrangements, and one of the things he did was tell Chirol that he was most anxious to have him go along on the tour. The Prince himself was also keen. Having been much impressed with the way Chirol had injected some of the intoxicating effects of Curzon’s great durbar into The Times’ sober pages, His Royal Highness wrote to Bell for his name and to hint that it would please him to have Chirol do the same for his imperial sightseeing. Chirol was flattered, if not overly enthusiastic. While almost any ‘outing’ was tempting to him, he wondered if a long royal tour, more ceremony than substance, was quite in his line. The international scene was extraordinarily interesting at the moment and likely to continue to be; four months seemed a long time to be absent from all the excitement. A trip that he really would like to take, he told Curzon, was one to the Far East to ‘try and cast another horoscope of the future’ in the aftermath of the recent war. Curzon himself made no secret of the fact that he would be pleased if Chirol gave the tour a miss, not so that he could go to the Far East, but ‘for the purely selfish reason that I should greatly like to see you when I come home in November’.28 At that point Curzon had no idea that he would be able to see him while still in India. His letter crossed one from Chirol, written on the same day to say that he was coming and why. Although still convinced that traipsing around after the royals would not be to his taste, it would be less to his taste to have the paper send someone else. He named no names, but said that whomever was sent would no doubt bind The Times ‘tighter still to the Commander-in-Chief’s chariot wheels’. That he could not tolerate; the paper had gone wrong and he had been powerless to right it for too long as it was. His judgment, he reminded Curzon, not to mention his sympathy, has been with you absolutely from the beginning to the end of the chapter, and my judgment has hitherto always been allowed to carry considerable weight with regard to the policy of the paper outside of purely domestic

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questions with which I never attempt to meddle. This is the first time in which my influence has gone for nothing, or next to nothing… But I think I may still be of some use in India to prevent our plunging still more deeply on the wrong side … The Prince’s tour was the only opportunity to hand, and so I thought best to take it when it was offered. I shall of course have to proceed very cautiously and avoid any appearance of tilting deliberately at the policy of the paper.29

Like Curzon, Chirol had no idea as he wrote the above that a compromise had been worked out in London so that Curzon might greet the royal couple on their arrival in Bombay. When Chirol did hear of the change of plans, he assumed that it was done so that Curzon might have a chance to talk with the incoming Viceroy, Lord Minto, as well as have his time with the royals. Thinking thus he sent off another letter to India, telling Curzon how delighted he was that the Brodders, as he called the anti-Curzon faction, were not to have it all their way. It would not have a positive effect on public opinion either at home or in India should they be able to put it about that either the Prince of Wales, or the retiring Viceroy, preferred to avoid a meeting. He, Curzon, must keep in mind that his, in the end, had been ‘le beau rôle’ and act accordingly.30 Chirol seemed half astonished at his own temerity in offering advice to the haughty Curzon. He truly believed that he had written with the latter’s interests in mind. But he had to confess that he was utterly delighted that his own interests might also to be served. It was a ‘very great satisfaction’ to think that he and Curzon could once again share some time together in a place where their ideas and enthusiasms were so comfortably congruous. Curzon was no less satisfied to find that ‘the kaleidoscope has swung round and we shall meet after all … in the most agreeable circumstances’. How very glad he was, he went on in this letter – which caught up with Chirol at Suez – that you are coming, both because you will grasp the facts and bearing, and (in India) the one-sidedness of this controversy, as no one else could, and also because public events are brewing concerning which you ought to have first-hand information … In six months or but little more there will not be one of the prophecies that I vainly dinned into the ears of the Cabinet a year ago that will not have come true.31

Realising now just how fully Chirol was on to the game being played at the India Office and Downing Street, Curzon had enclosed a little ‘light reading (better than any novel)’ for the outward journey. It was, he went on, ‘a most secret and confidential compilation, which I have drawn up myself with all the documents appended. No one must see it but 259

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yourself, or even be aware of its existence. I should like you … firstly to know the facts and secondly with absolute candour to give me your opinion of them when we meet.’32 Chirol reached the Red Sea by 22 October. Between Marseilles and Suez he had felt too lazy to write anything unless it was absolutely required. After Suez he felt too hot. About to stop at Aden, he reported to Mrs Bell that all on board were longing to do so, ‘as if Aden were some delightfully cool resort in a land flowing with milk and honey, instead of a barren and sun scorched rock, proverbially separated only by a sheet of paper from the lower regions’. Meanwhile, hot or not, he was having a lovely time. There were any number of interesting people on board – of both sexes, he carefully noted – to talk to, better yet some adorable children and officers from an Indian cavalry regiment who pleased him no end by telling him that they had been required to ‘sweat up’ his ‘Middle Eastern Question’ as it had been set as a textbook for one of their examinations. To top it all off he had won £10 in a ship’s lottery. But what struck him most, above the heat, the darling children, the admiring officers and the extra £10, was the overwhelming feeling for Curzon and against Kitchener that he found among his fellow travellers, even the military men.33 And all the while, in the midst of these pleasures and in spite of the heat, he was digesting Curzon’s little packet of ‘light reading’. By 10 November Chirol had been in India for nearly two weeks. He had had his talks with Curzon, heard his tremendous farewell speech at the Byculla Club, and seen the Prince, resplendent in white, safely ashore at Bombay. Now he sat in a jouncing train, headed for Agra to join the Curzons as they said a last farewell to the Taj Mahal. Central India was at that point just as hot as the Red Sea had been, but not as hot as Chirol’s temper. It was all he could do, given rage and roadbed, to write anything coherent, but nevertheless scribbled away on a long letter to Leo Maxse. In his first sentence he announced that he was simply ‘aghast’ at what had happened to Curzon and was, even worse, still happening to the Raj. The weight of opinion here seems to be simply overwhelming – military as well as civilian, unofficial as well as official, and native (amongst thinking natives) as well as Europeans. It is practically unanimous on the lines of the following said to me by one of the native judges of the High Court in Bombay – a Hindu of remarkable reputation and ability. ‘No such blow has been dealt to the authority of the British raj since the outbreak of the mutiny, and if half what we hear from our own people in the native army is true, it may well lead to another mutiny.34

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As for Kitchener, the man seemed to have gone stark, staring mad. Not only was he outrageously contemptuous of native feelings and traditions, he tyrannised his own officers. He seemed lazy and disinclined to administrate, won’t take the trouble to read papers sent up to him, initials them as approved and then, if anything goes wrong, swears he has never seen them … Some people declare he drinks. It is perhaps the most charitable explanation … my idea is that he is one of those men of coarse fibre in whom success and power develop all their worst qualities, anyhow the results are terribly dangerous.35

From that point on, as he trailed rather grumpily about northern India with the touring ‘Royalties’, Chirol was consumed with the desire to expose Kitchener. Brodrick, thank God, was gone from the India Office, having retired rather ignominiously along with the rest of the moribund Balfour government on the very day – 4 December – that Curzon landed ‘with thunder on the Olympian brow’ at Dover.36 To be rid of the Brodders was a very good thing, but Kitchener, the Frankenstein they had ‘reared up to themselves’ in India,37 was very much still there. The letter to Maxse was a first shot in Chirol’s campaign. Recent experience had made it clear that he must tread very carefully at The Times when it came to the Kitchener business. And, although its columns were obviously important, there were other platforms, and the National Review came quickly to mind. The combative Maxse had more than once in the past attached some weight to his views. If ever there was a time to do so again it was now, although he cautioned against quoting from the present letter as it had been written not only in haste but considerable ‘mental heat’. His purpose in writing it was to give Maxse a good idea of the lay of the land. J.L. Garvin38 should also be alerted; perhaps Maxse would pass this letter on to him – with like reminder of strictest confidence. This is too big a matter for any other considerations to be brought into the balance against the safety of India which I honestly believe is at stake. I say this because attempts may possibly be made by some of our Mandarins to drag a red herring across the scent by denouncing Curzon as a Free Trader. He may be – I don’t know what he is, but after all Cromer, who is nevertheless a great Empire maker, is a Free Trader, and anyhow, Free Trade or no Free Trade, you will, I am sure agree with me that India has got to be saved. That, and that only, is the question – the burning question of the hour.39

A champion letter-writer in any season, Chirol almost outdid himself during the winter of 1905–1906. The combination of the ancient 261

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glories and timeless rhythms of India, and his self-appointed mission to save the modern marvel wrought in their midst by his fellow countrymen, positively fired his pen. ‘My fingers ache with letter writing …,’ he told his dear Hammun Effendi, Gertrude Bell. Although Kitchener was much to the fore in some of those letters, there were many things of interest and import to experience in India. On 9 November he watched as the future King of England disembarked at Bombay – looking, Chirol noted, more like his cousin the Tsar than ever. That resemblance made him think of the profoundly different situations now facing these two men. While one cousin had just set foot, for the first time, in a ‘weird, exotic land amidst every demonstration of orderly respect and at least negative loyalty’, the other was ‘almost a prisoner in his own capital, tossed hither and thither by the whirlwind’.40 Unlike Russia, where the violence was nothing if not explicit, in India it was still potential, although to his mind an increasingly viable potential. Nor could the artistic Chirol ignore the myriad beauties all around him. By the end of November he was in Rajputana. The ‘Royalties’ were off shooting animals for a few days, leaving him time to paint – in watercolours and in words. Not since some of his letters from Japan, five years previously, had he enthused so rhapsodically. The walled city of Bikaner, where he was staying, lay in a golden carpet of desert, under a turquoise sky, and in it was a marvellous palace of white marble and red sandstone, with exquisite pavilions and fretted balconies and latticed chambers of painted marble rising storey on storey over hanging gardens and colonnaded courtyards – and besides the palace, whole streets of noble mansions all in red sandstone with overhanging balconies and domes and cupolas – and the busy traffic of an Eastern city, camels from the desert, little trotting bullock carts of the quaintest build, shrouded women in palanquins, gallant horsemen beturbaned in lemon yellow, or orange, or pale sea-green, and the ordinary people, fine, upstanding, hard-bitten, keen-eyed Rajputs [with] a great curved scimitar, or at least a dagger or a pair of ancient pistols stuck in their belt – just to remind one of what things were before … the white man came from across the sea with a new command ‘that laws must silence spear and gun’.41

The beauties of both place and people enchanted the artist in him. What thrilled the imperialist was the faith that these exotic people had in the white men who had so changed their lives. ‘[T]here must be something about us that they respect, something that kindles a spark of genuine devotion – for it is impossible to believe that all these vast 262

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gatherings, all these striking demonstrations of loyalty to the Shahzadeh, the “great King’s son”, are purely formal and artificial.’ Chirol was deeply proud of what his countrymen had wrought through much dedication and even more hard work – and equally fearful as to what was to become of their creation. The vast domain was a ‘land of mystery, a land of fierce light and of impenetrable shade!, and our rule over it is itself a standing miracle – a miracle which our Brodricks are, I suppose, incapable of even dimly realizing’. He searched his head and his heart for a way of explaining the miracle that was British India, finally settling for an unlikely analogy given how he felt about the caste system. Yet he could not shake off the sense that, ‘in a land where untold generations have learned to defer implicitly to the impalpable, but implacable authority of caste, we ourselves have come to be accepted as yet another caste superimposed on their social structure by the same preordained destiny which has created all castes and allotted to them their peculiar functions’.42 By the middle of December the Prince and Princess and their little entourage – including Chirol – were in the border town of Peshawar, lying at the Indian end of the Khyber Pass. The Prince was duly taken up the fabled path so as to have a look into the wild, mountainous heart of central Asia. Many of the local tribesmen who watched him as he did so, Chirol wrote later to Springy, refused to believe that it was really the great King’s son whom they saw. Such a royal personage would have to be a tall and imposing figure of a man clearly the Raj, fearful that something untoward might happen in the pass, decided to send in his place the little Commissioner Sahib they had seen. In despair at the impossibility of shaking their scepticism, an officer … suggested that if the Serkar [Raj] had wanted to deceive them, surely it would have selected a substitute corresponding more closely to their notions of what a Shahzadeh should be, upon which they fairly exploded. ‘Why of course that’s where the cleverness of the Serkar comes in! If it had sent a substitute who looked like a heaven-born, some Ghazi [warrior] might have gone for him, and then there would have been trouble and disgrace. But a poor little creature like that, who would have cared to kill him!’43

From Peshawar the royal party travelled to Rawalpindi, where Kitchener staged, or, as Chirol would have it, over-staged, military manoeuvres for their entertainment. ‘They have been playing at soldiers last week’, as Chirol put it, and the commander-in-chief’s final instructions were ‘to blaze away, whenever and wherever the Prince appeared, with every available gun & rifle so as to impress him with the din of battle …’.44 263

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Chirol mocked the contrived firepower, but he was not there to hear it. Looking for every opportunity to escape the endless festivities, he grabbed at the chance to have a short tour of his own along the Afghan–Indian border. It was no secret to his regular confidants that he was tired of his formal assignment; ‘but for the Royalties’, he complained at every opportunity, he would be having a really very interesting time. In the paper he enthused over the princely festivities, in private he compared them unfavourably to Curzon’s magnificent durbar and grumbled at being distracted from his passionate pursuit of Kitchener. The investigations along the Indo-Afghan border were part of that pursuit. That remote and rugged borderland, hard to get to and to defend, had for decades served both Russia and Britain as a place to posture, a place where fear and chauvinism flourished and fed on each other. With the advent of railroad building in the Russian Empire, and the slow but steady advance of her lines into central Asia, the tensions attending the Great Game, as the Anglo-Russian rivalry in that part of the world came to be known, rose accordingly. Chirol knew that all too well, but now, as he rode through the desolate hills, it was also clear to him that the rules of that game were bound to be affected, had to be affected, by the ‘apocalyptic’ events going on in Russia. ‘One can only see what is happening in Russia now as “thro” a glass darkly,’ he wrote to Springy, ‘but one can see enough to feel pretty sure that the whole outlook in Asia will be profoundly modified by the inevitable variation – perhaps elimination – of the Russian factor. Eliminate [her] as an active factor in Asiatic politics, and the N.W. frontier and Afghanistan lose nine-tenths of their importance for us.’ It was a stunning thought, but it presented, in turn, an even more stunning opportunity to recast Anglo-Russian relations. ‘As you know full well, I am not a “backward” man,’ he went on, ‘but if ever there was a moment when we could afford to go slow and await developments it is surely now.’45 Into that reflection strode the very ‘forward’ Kitchener, fighting tooth and nail for what Chirol thought was an ‘insane’ frontier policy. Who or what could hold him back? The Military Member of the new Viceroy’s Council was in the commander-in-chief’s pocket. And how could the new Liberal Cabinet, most specifically John Morley as Secretary of State for India, deal with him? That was now ‘the question’ in India, he told Gertrude, hoping she might intercede on his behalf with the new Secretary.46 One of Kitchener’s most insane ideas was that there should be an extension of the rail-line from Peshawar up to the Afghan border. 264

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No one in India was in agreement as to whether, in the event of war, it could be continued into Afghanistan itself. And the financial arguments for an extension were as wrong-headed as the engineering ones. It could almost make him laugh, if it were not so deadly serious to think that the sole justification for what would be a futile waste of money ‘is that we must hurry up the transport of troops to meet a Russian invasion of Afghanistan! Russian invasion of Afghanistan!!, with Russia seething and boiling in her own melting pot!’47 The more Chirol heard of Kitchener’s behaviour – positively ‘unEnglish’ was his word for it – and about his schemes, the more frustrated he was by Buckle’s refusal to hear from him on the subject. He had agreed to go out to India in the first place, as he was certain Buckle knew, because of his desire to see at first hand – and report on – the situation being created in India by the recent army reforms. Having somehow convinced himself that the editor was willing to let him do so, he soon discovered that he was wrong; ‘The subject was not to be re-opened – as if it was a chose jugée like the Dreyfus Case!’48 Chirol and Buckle worked well together; they were also personal friends. What differences that did come up were got over by the latter leaving the foreign pages almost entirely in Chirol’s hands and by consistently giving weight to his views in general. It was a comfortable, workable arrangement and the fact that Chirol had grown very accustomed to it made his muzzling all the more unendurable. He ‘wrote his fingers sore with long private letters to [Buckle] trying … to persuade him of the grave mistake he had made when he threw the influence of the paper into the scales in favour of Lord Kitchener’. But, as he told Bland, all these efforts were in vain.49 He began to doubt if Buckle even bothered to read his letters; he certainly never addressed a single one of the points he brought up, no matter how strongly he put them. Instead he lavished praise on his dispatches on the royal tour, no doubt trying ‘in his good natured way’ to mollify him. No amount of praise could have worked on a man willing to tell almost anyone within earshot that he would ‘never have come out of my own accord on such a fool’s errand, had I imagined I was to be tied down to writing discursive platitudes about the Royal tour’.50 He had long since found all that business generally uninspiring, occasionally almost farcical, and at other times positively unappetising. Famine, a perennial visitor to India, went about its grim business side by side with the visiting royal’s more lavish pursuits, making for a ‘gruesome contrast – all this junketting and all that starving!’.51 265

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By the start of 1906 Chirol was in Calcutta, as frustrated and irritated as ever by the inanities of the ‘Royal hurly-burly’. People he had looked forward to seeing were away, or busy, and he complained bitterly about not being able to talk to anyone about ‘the burning question’. The one person he did find ‘in’ and willing to talk was Kitchener himself. The commander-in-chief made a notable effort to be genial but was also notably evasive. During luncheon, as others were present, Chirol felt unable to ‘force the pace’ and so listened to long discourses on Persia, Tibet, the North-West Frontier and the railroad extension, ‘everything but the one topic I wanted to talk about’. Finally, when they were alone, Kitchener inadvertently gave him an opening by saying how much he had minded his having not been at Rawalpindi during the recent manoeuvres. I told him at once that one of the chief reasons was that in view of the peculiar ideas I knew him to entertain as to the independence of the press and of my own very strong views as to the great controversy, I had felt reluctant to accept his hospitality before knowing exactly how we stood. ‘Oh, I know,’ he said, ‘you are in the other camp altogether, but that doesn’t matter. We’re old friends and we can surely afford to differ.’52

After voicing his regrets that there should ever have been two camps in the first place and holding forth at great length on Curzon’s great qualities, Kitchener suddenly remembered the first part of Chirol’s sentence. What on earth did he mean about his ‘peculiar ideas as to the independence of the press’? I reminded him then of his message through Repington that he wouldn’t give any more information to The Times if it didn’t support him better. He rather floundered then, denying that he had any relations with R. until I pointed out that in that case I could not understand how R. was always in possession of authoritative information as to the views and something more than the views of Army Headquarters. ‘Oh, I dare say some of my people have written to him to correct a few specific misstatements that appeared in The Times’… and went on to deny most categorically various points on some of which my informants, whom I am not in the least disposed to mistrust, had quoted his own words to them in a diametrically opposite sense!53

When it dawned on Kitchener that Chirol would not buy any of his excuses or evasions he ‘shrugged his shoulders and said he didn’t hope to convert me and wasn’t going to try to. I replied that it couldn’t matter to him now whether he converted me or not, seeing that he had won through.’ This Kitchener instantly pooh-poohed, insisting that the new 266

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government was bound to reverse what Balfour and Brodrick had done and should that happen he would head for home. Chirol then suggested that one way to disarm critics would be to agree to the appointment of a man of known independence as Miliary Secretary and allow him the ‘customary if not … the constitutional powers’ of other secretaries to the government.54 This bit of advice produced another outburst of evasive argument and finally, out of impatience, anger, or both, Kitchener gave himself away, at least as far as Chirol was concerned. The trouble with people in India, said the commander-in-chief, is that they don’t stick to their own jobs but always are trying to stick their fingers in other people’s pie. He would have no strange fingers in his pie. It was up to the Viceroy to select a new Military Secretary, he himself would not even recommend anyone for the job, and he did not care who was appointed ‘so long as it is made clear that he is my officer’. Nor, he added, would the new man be allowed to initiate anything. ‘Why not?’ pressed the relentless Chirol. ‘Oh, it’s impossible in a military department, though I know quite well it’s done in the civil depts.’ To another ‘but why?’ from Chirol, he remarked that it was ‘altogether against military ideas and discipline. That’s just one of the things you civilians can’t understand.’ With that Kitchener was reminded of another appointment and the discussion was over. Chirol came away half admiring his ‘unblushing cynicism’ and completely certain that Kitchener did not in the least believe that Morley or CampbellBannerman would reverse their predecessors’ action, ‘or that he will lose the last hand in the rubber’.55 By this time Chirol felt that he had put together a fairly accurate picture of the political situation in India in the aftermath of the Curzon–Kitchener struggle. What it showed was that the latter was well positioned to protect his newly enhanced status. Whether it would need any protection from Lord Minto, ‘who, to put it mildly, is at least benevolently neutral’,56 was perhaps a moot point. As for attitudes at Whitehall, Chirol was at a total loss. After joining the ‘Royalties’, first in Burma, then on a leisurely loop through southern India, Chirol was back in Calcutta at the beginning of March. He found that people there had become rather sick of talking about Kitchener and so there was little new to comment on, even though the amount of evidence I have gathered as to the deep discontent and alarm in the native army over the K. regime convinces me that there is ‘something very rotten in the state of Denmark’. It is of course very hard to get at the truth, or for the truth to get out with K. sitting on the lid of the well …57

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He also learned on his return that Hugh Blakiston, the young assistant who had been standing in for him over the past months, had killed himself. Chirol was devastated. For one thing, he was personally fond of the young journalist. He also feared that he himself might have contributed to the latter’s mental collapse. He wrote to Bland that he could have become ‘unhinged’ by overwork brought on by his, Chirol’s, long absence58 and to O’Conor that, had he been on hand to talk to, the depression would never have come to such a pass. Chirol was also tormented by the thought that Blakiston might have been hurt – an excess of sensitivity being one of his very few defects – at his not having written directly to him while away, as he usually did. But the foreign editor had felt that it would have gone against ‘all propriety’ to tell a relatively junior member of the staff ‘that in view of such acute differences of opinion on Indian questions [as was then the case between himself and Buckle] I was bound to address myself direct to the editor, to whom I could write with a freedom which it would have been highly improper in letters addressed to his and my subordinate’.59 Sad and worried, his ‘official’ reason for being in India long since over, Chirol went directly to Bombay to book passage back to London. While waiting for his ship to sail he tried one more time to get his observations, so painstakingly gathered, a hearing at Printing House Square. On 23 March, signing himself ‘Your Special Correspondent in India’, Chirol sent off a powerful condemnation of Kitchener’s impossible behaviour and dangerous policies. Four days later he was in the Red Sea, off Aden, writing another bitter letter, this time to Morrison. His frustration and disappointment had nothing, he said, to do with India itself, but with the way he had been used, or rather misused, by Printing House Square. After five months’ careful … study of the situation, I am more than ever convinced of the gravity of the new departure and of the blow it has dealt to the authority and prestige of the Government of India. Apart too from this question of principle, I believe that the Kitchener regime is doing incalculable mischief, first of all by alienating the native army and secondly by destroying all sense of independence amongst those who have to serve under it. [… ] You can imagine how galling it has been to me, feeling as strongly as I do on the question, to have been muzzled the whole time I have been out here whilst Repington, briefed by K., has been allowed the run of the paper at home. It has been all the more galling inasmuch as it was quite unexpected.60

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On 10 April The Times published ‘Lord Kitchener and the Indian Army’. There for the world to read was the letter Chirol had composed in Bombay two and a half weeks earlier. To a modern reader it does not sound unduly violent, but in 1906, given the combination of Kitchener’s fame and the general ignorance in Britain of the politics of the Raj, it seemed quite strong indeed. From Chirol’s point of view that was more or less what it had to be. It had taken a ‘pretty severe tussle’ with Buckle to see his views put into print, and he succeeded only by saying that, unless he was allowed ‘to dissociate myself openly from a policy which I have throughout disproved and vainly combated, my position [at Printing House Square] would … cease to be tenable. I put forward no claim to control the policy of the paper, but only that I should not appear even by implication to have acquiesced in it.’61 Weeks later, after the reaction to the letter had quietened down, he confessed that had he seen it in proof, as was usually the case, he might have toned down a phrase or two, if only to avoid giving ammunition to the enemy. But, having couched his demands in such categorical terms, the editor appeared ‘to have realised at once what the consequences would have been had he not published it, and so, like a wise man, made up his mind not to make two bites of a cherry, but shoved my letter in there and then …, before I myself returned to the office’.62 Chirol made it clear to his readers, as well as to Buckle, why he had to speak in public. In [the] presence of a situation which I believe to be fraught with grave danger to the best interests and even the safety of India, I should not be acting in consonance either with my own sense of duty or with the traditions of The Times were I to withhold the conclusions forced upon me by five months’ careful inquiry and confidential conversations.63

At the start, Chirol brought up the grave constitutional changes in army administration, making it clear that ‘the best and most experienced opinion in India’ remained convinced that they posed serious dangers. At the same time a certain weariness had set in in India, taking the edge off a controversy both hard to follow or correctly understand. It would be better, he thought, if people stopped worrying about the theoretical aspects of the changes and considered the more practical and immediate issue. Just how far, and in what precise ways, would the vastly enlarged powers of the commander-in-chief add to, or fatally damage, the efficiency and loyalty of the native army? On the most obvious level the army in India must be efficient, not only to repulse attacks from without, 269

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but also to help keep order within. But, beyond these traditional duties of any military force, the Indian army served as a most valuable link, within India, between ‘the ruling and the subject races’, and in that capacity its loyalty was crucial. Military service, he continued, created a sense of comradeship that no amount of cooperation in civil life could equal. Since the Mutiny, relations between native soldiers and British officers had become more intimate and friendly than between any other two sections of the British and native communities; as such the loyalty of these soldiers was much more than a coefficient of the army’s efficiency, it was ‘one of the greatest moral as well as material assets’ of the Raj. In Chirol’s view, Kitchener’s policies, his behaviour, even his character, were bound to fuel resentment. He had seen for himself, he wrote, how the commander-in-chief’s dismissive attitude gave Indians – and not just soldiers – the impression that he thought rather little of the native army and was impatient of its jealously guarded traditions and sometimes bizarre customs. But it was not just neglect of personal courtesies or other signs of comradeship to which native officers had been accustomed that was causing alarm and distrust. Various suggestions and speculations at headquarters gave natives to fear that far-reaching changes in the organisation of the Indian army would be imposed upon them from above and without recourse. It was particularly ominous, he continued, that much of the anxiety as to the potential danger posed by a headstrong regime was so prevalent among ‘educated and loyal [civilian] natives, who are far more familiar than Europeans can possibly be with the real sentiments of their kinsmen with the colours’.64 As Kitchener’s power grew, Chirol wrote, so did his imperiousness. Orders and commands were abundant, but it was a curiously empty performance; the man actually seemed less industrious, less apt to pay attention to detail or to economy than he had had during his years in Egypt. His ‘constitutional intolerance of all opposition’ tended to keep him from learning from men who did know a great deal, nor did his latest pronouncements seem to be affected by what brief experience he did have. Should local facts be so inconvenient as not to fit with views brought with him from Britain, they were worked over until they did. In addition, his Egyptian experience was of small help in India. There was a world of difference between dealing with a conscript army of fellaheen and Sudanese tribesmen and one of mostly voluntary soldiers made up of a score of different fighting castes proud of their ancient traditions and customs. For the best part of the past eight months Chirol had been increasingly transfixed, first by the Curzon–Kitchener duel, then by Kitchener’s impact 270

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on the Raj. He had been given next to no opportunity to deal with either matter professionally, aside from writing two leaders in mid-1905, until Buckle relented and printed this anti-Kitchener broadside. Instead he had turned to his closest diplomatist friends – Hardinge, Springy, O’Conor – and to the well-connected Gertrude, also to St Loe Strachey and Leo Maxse as trusted and right-thinking journalists, to get his warning words into print and into the right ears. All along he realised that he would be making a powerful enemy. ‘One does not arouse the wrath of a man like Kitchener with impunity,’ he wrote to Springy. ‘He shrinks at nothing.’65 Springy, who knew his Chirol well, especially how hard it was for him to sit on what he felt were righteous, well-founded sentiments, would not have been surprised by the heat of his letter in The Times. Others, including both Kitchener and Curzon, were. The letter was published on a Tuesday morning in London; courtesy of Reuters’ wire service Kitchener had the dubious pleasure of reading it that same day in India. His immediate thought was of Curzon. ‘The bond between Chirol and Curzon must be stronger than I thought to induce the former to write such lies as I see by Reuter have just appeared in The Times … I do not think Curzon is well advised to attack in this way, too violent by half.’ He was disgusted by the whole thing and wondered why The Times allowed it. ‘It makes one feel very sick of ones country to have such calumnies published about one where owing to absence one cannot reply.’66 Chirol, happy at last to have unburdened himself, most emphatically did not want people to think that Curzon had had anything to do with what he had written; one reason for going to Buckle so promptly on his return was to forestall such assumptions.67 He had, in fact, not been in contact with the ex-Viceroy since the beginning of the year, and Curzon was just as surprised to see the letter in The Times as Kitchener had been, having not had the ‘remotest idea’ that Chirol was even planning to write, let alone publish, such a thing. Needless to say he was also pleased to see that it had made a ‘considerable impression’.68 But, as Chirol soon discovered, it had made a considerably bad impression on the new Viceroy. Minto was the more indignant as he claimed that in the reports of his generals there had been no mention of unrest or dissatisfaction within the native army and Chirol had either been told about, or shown, those reports. At that the latter was as astounded as Minto indignant. All that he had heard on the subject was a casual remark from Minto’s private secretary that the Viceroy had called for reports, and, as they were uniformly favourable, he had been shown 271

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nothing. He saw Kitchener’s hand in this and drew the line at calling Minto a liar.69 During his months in India, Chirol had found himself gripped by the vast, teeming country as never before. About to turn 54, he wished he were younger and had more time to pay closer attention to the issues that were dividing and disturbing Indian politics. As had been the case many years before when he toured the Greco-Turkish border he was conscious of new wine fermenting in old bottles and feared the results. In this much larger and even more complex setting this fermentation was a danger that could only worsen given the incautious actions of ‘a masterful soldier ignorant of the whole history and philosophy of the country’. But just then he did not feel inclined to write a book. Even if he did, he mused to Springy, what would it be about? ‘The tour? Too small beer! India? Too big.’ One of Chirol’s overriding fears was that the Kitchener regime would add to India’s already sufficiently heavy military burdens. It made him shudder to hear people in Whitehall talking about the pressing need for not just one, but two or three years’ worth of military campaigns for the defence of India. What about the political exigencies of the situation there even after one year’s unsuccessful campaigning on the frontier? An entirely inadequate system of public instruction, miscalled education, is raising in India an intellectual proletariat which is already a thorn in the flesh to us, and will some day be an element of real danger. I am afraid that day is far less remote than people generally anticipate. The most ominous symptom is that disaffection has spread almost suddenly from the Hindu to the Mahomedan section of the population. Some hold that this is partly due to the appeal which the rise of Japan has made to the Asiatic imagination. It may have had something to do with it, but not in my opinion very much. I believe it to be due far more to the blow which our own Government dealt to the authority and prestige of the Government of India when it publicly overrode and flouted it on the question of Army Administration.70

The one bright spot in these dark days was John Morley. Chirol saw quite a bit of him in the days and weeks after his return from India, and was pleased, as he told St Loe Strachey, to find him ‘most interesting and wise – which means, you will say, that I found him in very close agreement with me on most things! That is so!’71 Given his Radical roots and deepseated antipathy to a system of government such as that in India, it was marvellous that he could be so reasonable and sound. ‘To put it in a nutshell,’ Chirol told Barrow, ‘given a Radical Government with a huge 272

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majority as sentimental and irresponsible as that which sits behind it, we could not have had a safer Secretary of State for India.’72 Better yet, it seemed that Morley had ‘taken the measure’ of Kitchener, and Chirol convinced himself, wrongly as it turned out, that the commander-inchief’s days in India were numbered.

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New Politics, New Partners

As Chirol travelled through India in the winter of 1905–1906, half enchanted by the ‘Land of Mysteries’, the only things, apart from the scenic wonders, which appeared to interrupt his pursuit of Kitchener were the revolutionary doings in Russia and the far more ordinary political turnaround at home. Unlike the series of bloody confrontations transfixing the Russians, the British were experiencing what seemed to be a perfectly ordinary bit of political routine. One government had finally run out of steam, the King sent for the opposition to ask if they could form another, a date was set for the dissolution of Parliament and for a general election. The Liberals, under Campbell-Bannerman, won it and took over smoothly from Balfour and the Conservatives. There were no bombs or blasts, no outrages, and protests happened in private or in well-considered prose in the press. All was in order, but behind these sedate and normal moves, was a great deal of excited speculation and heightened expectations. The change had been 19 years and more in coming; what its effect would be on domestic, imperial and international politics was hard to predict. No one was particularly surprised by the Liberal victory; what did shock people was the sheer scale. Chirol, tucked away on the Afghan border, up until then a most interesting and newsworthy place to be, begrudged his friends in London their front-row seats. His own spot must seem very insignificant to people at home who had a ministerial crisis ‘in full blast’ on their hands, or in Russia, where ‘everything [was] seething 274

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and boiling’. He joked rather wistfully about the human animal’s many imperfections, one of which was ‘that he cannot be in two or three places at the same time!’.1 Chirol was not, in any real sense, a party man, caring as much, if not more, about the character of the politician or the public servant as he did the tenets or prejudices of his particular party. He had been brought up as a cosmopolitan European, and had no voting father to listen to, emulate or, if need be, repudiate.2 His political instincts were generally conservative and decidedly imperialist. He thought of himself as a political realist, valuing practical solutions on either side of the political spectrum as long they worked to maintain the systems necessary for Britain to hold on to her place – first – in the world and her government to the proper principles of good – limited – governance. None of that was to say that he could not work himself up into a considerable political passion. For many years he had been scathingly critical of the Conservative leadership, first with what he took to be Salisbury’s deep-dyed cynicism, then with Balfour’s maddening detachment. Chamberlain too, whose imperialism generally stood in his favour, now and again came in for some very sharp words. In the summer of 1905, with peace between Russia and Japan not yet nailed down, danger flags fluttering in Chinese breezes and Curzon destroyed by his own colleagues, Chirol’s dismay over the ‘slipshod incoherency’ of the Balfour ministry grew, and he prophesied that it would live on in history, ‘chiefly for the havoc it has wrought with the Unionist party’.3 Within six months, pummelled at the polls, the party was in a still more desperate plight. Chamberlain, felled by a stroke, was off the stage for good. As for Balfour, if anyone asked Chirol’s opinion, and many did, he or she was told that, if the utterly discredited former Prime Minister was left in place as party leader, he would no doubt destroy it for good. Scanning the Unionist heavens he saw nary a rising star. Meanwhile The Times, already compromised in his eyes by its support of the odious Kitchener, could not be congratulated for wasting both time and ink in playing up the rifts in the Radical lute. It would be more to the point, he wrote to Springy, to pay attention to the condition of their preferred party’s instrument, ‘which has lost its strings and its soundingboard, and pretty well everything that goes to make up a respectable lute’.4 Unfortunately, however, it was an instrument that, for all its ghastly faults, was the only thing at hand to help stave off something worse – unbridled democratic radicalism. Chirol, a robust member of the Disraelian-style ‘Forward School’, had worried for years about the Radicals’ penchant for a parochial, 275

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inward-looking ‘Little England’. But his dislike of that particular bias paled by comparison with his concern over their more recent, and growing, flirtation with socialists and labour leaders. The advent of organised labour and of a political party to represent it – a party that shared in the Liberal landslide of 1906 – stirred memories of his visit to Australia 15 years earlier. In 1891 he could escape from the horror of that ‘New World’ radicalism back into the ‘Old World’ civilisation he was so much a part of; now the former appeared to be standing on his threshold. Torn between disgust for the discredited, do-nothing Unionists and dread of the Radicals, Chirol tried to concentrate on the positive features of the new administration. Chief among them was the Foreign Office, where his friend Charles Hardinge was Permanent Under-secretary and the reliable Sir Edward Grey Foreign Secretary. After Salisbury handed over the Foreign Office half of his burden to Lord Lansdowne in 1900, small steps were taken to bring the department into the new century. Although Lansdowne, like his predecessor, was in all essentials a man accustomed to the old way of doing things, he was caught by a new and irresistible tide. During the Edwardian era criticism of amateurism and a corresponding emphasis on professionalism was on the rise. Even the diplomatic establishment could not steer clear of it, although the idea that amateur and gentleman were intimately linked took some time to disappear. It was under Lansdowne that a university education became a necessary asset for would-be Foreign Office men, a change that begat change. Better trained and more self-consciously expert men wanted, and expected, to be used in a more effective way. Lansdowne, for his part, discovered that it was in his, and the government’s, best interests to do so. Early on he showed more willingness to consult with his immediate subordinates. And, while not exactly flinging open the door of the Office to the Fourth Estate, he opened it for Chirol more often and willingly than had been the case in Salisbury’s day, and there is no question that he fully recognised the value of the foreign editor’s experience, contacts and abilities, and made use of all of them. With men such as Grey and Hardinge in charge Chirol was reassured that foreign policy would be properly guarded against the myriad dangers of radical liberalism. He was also pleased to discover that there was some intellectual strength among the new men at Whitehall and hoped that, with people on hand who were both ‘eager and fresh’, something might actually be achieved. Ambivalent about political change, wanting it but fearing any excess, Chirol was tolerant when it came to administrative adaptation and modernisation. The realist in him recognised that the 276

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old ways were not always the best ways in dealing with the world’s relations, any more than they were in getting from one place to another or communicating news or ideas. He took immediately to the typewriter and the telephone, likewise the automobile and the aeroplane in years to come. At the same time Chirol was in most ways a nineteenth-century character and a man who surely thought of himself as an amateur. He had devoted himself at a tender age to chronicling history in the making, and to the degree that journalism did that, as his did, he was a journalist. He once wrote that for his friend Moberly Bell journalism was a calling much more than a profession. The same could be said of him. He was also a diplomatist, a truly amateur one ever since his precipitous departure from the Foreign Office. Thanks to his almost unique position – part diplomatist, part information conduit, part expert on the East, Near and Far, and on Europe – Chirol had played a major part in the working out of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance, had gone to Berlin to discuss Anglo-German relations with Holstein and Bülow, and to Washington to hear Roosevelt’s thoughts on the situation in the Far East and his complaints about Sir Mortimer Durand. All these quasi-official assignments took place under Lansdowne. With Grey his opportunities for both giving and getting information, as well proffering advice, expanded. Through William Tyrrell5 and Charles Hardinge, both of whom were his personal friends as well as Grey’s principal advisors, he had direct access to the Foreign Secretary and used it. At Printing House Square he refused to wail as many others were doing over the ‘awful wickedness’ of the new government. Although he instinctively mistrusted the demos and viewed socialism with the ‘greatest dread’, he pointed out rather tartly to his colleagues that all their carping and critiquing might get them just what they didn’t want. Although Morley may be hard to ‘read’ now and then, and Grey at times emotional, between them they could save the country from the ‘desperately ignorant tail of the party … a tail by the way which is really [its] majority …’.6 Winston is their enfant terrible, and I think him simply poisonous, but he is a sort of safety valve through which the eruptive forces of the party are vomited forth with a minimum of danger … Personally I should like to see The Times adopt a less cassant tone … for I believe the only wise and patriotic policy in present circumstances is not to goad the extremists but to try and strengthen the hands of the moderates, who have a hard enough row to hoe anyhow.7

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As the country – and The Times – accustomed themselves to the new administration, Chirol’s ordinarily smooth sail through the waters of Printing House Square continued to be unusually turbulent. For one thing, Buckle suddenly developed an interest in foreign affairs. When and if he couldn’t come up with a view of his own, he wrangled over Chirol’s. Bell, normally Chirol’s first line of defence, was too caught up with the purely business side of the paper to be of much help. All the same Chirol was remarkably patient with Buckle’s irritability and stubbornness. He understood, as he told Bland, that the paper had found itself, thanks to their recent disagreement over Kitchener, in a ‘rather false position, and he naturally feels a bit sore about it. I daresay this [attitude] will wear off.’8 As it was he had little time on his return from India to fret over the editor’s sour temper or even about the political climate in Britain. Between his long absence and Blakiston’s suicide the foreign department had gone rather adrift. It was not until early June, out from under the worst of the arrears, that he really found the time to ruminate, or rather fulminate, on certain of his favourite bêtes noires. Domestic affairs were much to the fore in the country, hardly surprising given the prejudices and preferences of the Liberal majority, but Chirol’s comments, following his concerns, were more about the nature of the new political orientation than about the details of domestic legislation. The Liberals, and lots of them, seemed quite firm in the saddle, but his eyes were fixed on the political newcomers sharing that commodious seat. The most compelling thing about the election that had just taken place, he reminded any who would listen, was not the size of the Liberal victory; it was the introduction of organised labour into the political equation. Some people were shocked to find that there was such a thing as a British Labour Party, his only surprise was that working men had held back so long from making use of the power which franchise reform had long since given them. By conceding, however grudgingly, that democracy ‘need not and should not in itself constitute a danger’ and saying that he had no ‘fanatical distrust’ of the English working classes, he sounded more flexible than in truth he ever was. In fact he was filled with concern given the tendency of politicians to appeal exclusively to the ‘lowest and most selfish interests’ of the working man, preaching of rights with no attempt to teach responsibility or duty. And how on earth would the labouring classes ever be able to run an empire? What will [happen] when the Imperial Government itself has been captured by a class which … is … absolutely ignorant of all the larger questions upon which the very existence of our Empire is conditioned? Even Grey … has

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found it necessary to pander to the curious sentimentalism of the British working class by making that very ill-advised speech of his about disarmament. That is the great trouble,…no one seems to have the courage to speak up to the Democracy and put plainly before it what things are possible and what things are impossible. The most that anybody ventures to do is to hint that its ideas are slightly utopian, and as the demos has not the slightest notion what ‘utopian’ means, this does not produce very much effect.9

Not one to shirk reality, Chirol took himself off to a meeting of the Labour Party to see how the demos was being tamed and trained. He retreated in horror, finding the whole business every bit as dreadful as he had imagined. Nary a word was spoken about duties, neither large, social duties or small, family ones. ‘Of Religion of course never the faintest hint, except to jeer at extinct superstitions … [and] say quite brutally that they have no use for either Church or Chapel, for “neither Church nor Chapel ever put a pound of bread into your stomachs”.’ Being himself rather conflicted over the question of religion, Chirol skated carefully around the topic of dogmatic faith, while clinging to the ethical conceptions that he felt were religion’s saving grace. Without those the apocalypse must come, and he saw the dread twins, moral and social anarchy, on hand. Thundering away like his Huguenot grandfather, although substituting human for divine authority, he proclaimed to his friends that ‘if we are getting rotten at the heart no Imperial or international policies can save us from destruction’. Apparently forgetting his trust in Sir Edward Grey, he bemoaned the lack of a leader – of any stripe – with the courage to tell ‘home truths’ to the people. Forgetting also some of his very real reservations about Teddy Roosevelt, he wished for a leader of his virility, his strong healthy convictions and the courage of them …10 Given these terrible home-grown demons, it was almost fortunate that he had to pay attention to his usual laundry list of foreign concerns, the Far East, Persia, Russia, Germany, South Africa, not to mention the everpresent Kitchener. On the subject of China his mind was ‘absolutely blank’ and he wrote rather sharply to Morrison in search of information. There seemed to be any number of reasons to be concerned for the future in China but he could not get a handle on what they were exactly or what could be done to reduce or, at the very least, prepare to face them. As late as August he was still growling to Morrison that he could not ‘form for myself any clear conception of what is going on’ and that the latter’s letters, ‘doubtless through no fault of yourself’, were not as helpful as formerly. In an effort to take the sting out of this complaint he attributed his short temper to the world being generally ‘out of joint’. 279

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In China things were in fact, and rather desperately, out of joint. Nationalist sentiments were irresistibly on the rise, as in indeed they were in much of Asia and certainly in Russia, propelled in part by Japan’s meteoric rise to the status of a Great Power. Nationalist stirrings were hardly unknown in turn-of-the-century China. The Boxer Rebellion had been marked by a fierce hatred of the white men in their midst. But the Boxers were disorganised and sheer rage proved an insufficient focus. Their failure made it clear that there must be basic and thoroughgoing change in both governmental and social systems, before any real gain could be made. There was also a need for inspiration beyond hatred, and Japan provided it. The Chinese, mired in an inchoate and collapsing system, looked toward their plucky neighbour, successful at arms and at grafting a modern constitutional apparatus onto a deeply traditional system. For many decades Peking had watched helplessly as Europeans walked not only over their lands but walked home with untold profits made at their expense. Meanwhile Japan had become a major player in the game of international politics; no Western imperialists told her what she could or couldn’t do. In 1905 China abandoned the traditional and exclusive Confucian examination system in an attempt to modernise education. The effect was something along the line of opening Pandora’s box. At once a new world of intellectual and academic opportunity lay before many young Chinese. Although before this reform Chinese students had travelled abroad for their education, their numbers were small. Now the trickle became a substantial flow, headed mainly across the Sea of Japan. What they found when they got there was truly eye-opening. Just when the very essence of China, or of being Chinese, seemed increasingly fragile, if not irrelevant, Japan was a country in proud and obviously successful possession of itself. It was a profound lesson and it fanned powerful hopes among the visiting scholars that their own country might achieve the same thing.11 Those same hopes and dreams were stirring in Persia, another decrepit system where a weak autocrat was besieged by an increasingly insistent popular party. The Russians spoke in terms of a Persian revolution, Hardinge, having had a close look at their own revolution, preferred the word ‘reform’.12 Whatever it was called, it was another manifestation of the vogue for free institutions and nationalist recognition. The Russians had got a Duma, however crippled and ineffective; the Persians would not settle for less. In August the Shah graciously gave way and called for an assembly, but Chirol was typically sceptical. ‘The Shah and his people 280

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appear to be celebrating a sort of constitutional honeymoon for the present,’ he wrote to Springy, ‘though I confess I am not very sanguine as to its permanency …’ What he did most sincerely hope was that the Anglo-Russian talks then under way, which dealt in large part with relative positions in and on Persia, would not ‘hamper the Persians in working out their own salvation if they are in any way competent to do so’.13 In 1906 there was no dearth of tricky and troubling work at the Foreign Office in Downing Street, nor at its counterpart at Printing House Square. Arguably the most crucial project on the foreign docket – if only because its repercussions would be literally worldwide – was the attempt to forge a workable agreement with Russia. While it was true that Chirol had long since feared Russia and did not particularly trust her now, he could not but see an opportunity in the aftermath of her military defeat and political upheavals. Early on during the Russo-Japanese War Chirol predicted that a Russian defeat – not yet in sight when he wrote – would not only enormously alter the outlook throughout Asia, it would give London a much greater chance than ever before of coming to an understanding on reasonable terms with their long-term enemy. By 1905 the combination of the entente and the conclusive reality of Russia’s terrible Asian tumble brought another positive feature to light. Previously it had seemed quite hopeless to contemplate the possibility of Russia ceasing to be an enemy factor in Europe as well as in Asia. Now, on the contrary, there is at least a fair chance of securing her co-operation in restoring the balance of power in Europe, whilst in Asia her power and possibly even her desire to do us mischief has been, to say the least, abated for many years to come …14

Anglo-Russian talks, focused on central Asia, where the tradition of confrontation was well established, went slowly. Chirol was not surprised. Russia was virtually paralysed by the struggle between innovation and stagnation, Duma and bureaucracy, along with every form of violence both civil and military. It was small wonder that diplomatic initiative suffered since the Russian government had so many other fish to fry. The more confused and embattled things got on the domestic front in Russia, the more he worried that neither St Petersburg nor London would be able to find the political ways and diplomatic means to reach the necessary compromises and concessions. In both capitals there were influential nay-sayers, especially among the militarists, and Chirol feared the scare tactics of men such as Kitchener. He and his cronies were already ‘giving tongue’ against any agreement, but Chirol trusted Morley to 281

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overrule their foolishness. It was regrettable that there was no Russian equivalent ‘upon whom we could reckon to deal as effectively with [their] military extremists’.15 That there were political stumbling blocks on his own side Chirol was well aware, and he spent almost as much time worrying about the toughmindedness of his own Liberal government as the obstructionist tactics of the reactionary one in St Petersburg. When the talks slowed or stalled his tendency was to find fault with the Liberals’ inclination to sidestep hard truths, particularly foreign ones. To say openly, for example, that Russia was intractable – should she prove so – would be to admit that we cannot ‘stand at ease’ in India, and if we can’t ‘stand at ease’ there, we can’t reduce our army or for that matter our navy, and if we can’t reduce them, how are we to find £20–25,000,000 a year for Old Age Pensions, and if we can’t throw that sop to the People, how is the Liberal party to stop the mouths of the Labourites and arrest the revolt of Socialism?16

Thundering of socialist doom and the horrible ‘dry rot at the heart of the country’ seemed to give Chirol a boost. Rather ruefully he admitted that the ‘gloom of an English winter’ made it easy to see things in a bad light and that all things considered it seemed best to ‘go on pegging away to the best of one’s ability in one’s own little sphere’.17 He was amused to find that the Anglo-Russian negotiations in that little sphere were much more likely to bear fruit than those going on at a higher level. The ‘Ruskies’ really seem to care, he told Florence, about having an ‘Our Own Correspondent’ in St Petersburg. Hardinge had said as much years before, but at that point the insult to Brahams was fresh and Printing House Square, Chirol included, self-righteous, and the ambassador’s pleas were in vain.18 Two years later, with many things changed, including his own priorities, Chirol was much more inclined to be generous, although he was not so sure that ‘others in the say at the paper will be ready to take such a sensible view’.19 In fact they were, and at the end of November he telegraphed to the temporary correspondent then in the Russian capital to be careful not to give the impression that the paper was in a hurry, but was merely raising the possibility that it might respond to St Petersburg’s wish that former relations be restored. Within three weeks, in what he thought was a conciliatory, not overly triumphant leader, he told the readers of The Times, in a considerably more long-winded fashion, that [w]e have reason to know that the desire exists in responsible quarters in St Petersburg that the correspondence of The Times in the Russian capital

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should be placed once more on a normal footing, and we respond all the more willingly to that desire, in view of the very widespread wish in both countries to see all past misunderstandings removed, and relations of mutual friendship and confidence established between two nations which inherit the burden of many common responsibilities and of many common duties … The work they have to do may be indefinitely retarded and ultimately marred by suspicion and covert enmity, as it may be furthered and made easy by a reasonable trust in each other’s good intentions, and by a clear understanding of each other’s interests.

While his leader made it clear to the outside world that The Times was willing to be reasonable and helpful in promoting good relations with Russia, to his friends at the Foreign Office it was a signal that he would use his own little sphere to help with their slow-moving negotiations. A case in point was the coming visit of the Ameer of Afghanistan, another key player in the proposed central Asian settlement, to India. Play up the ‘distinctively Afghan features of the performance’, he told his man in India, throw in lots of local colour and pomp and circumstance, describe the royal visitor, what he looks like, what interests him, what sort of person he seems to be. When it came down to any political features of the visit he might rely on his own discretion as long as he took into account ‘that in the present state of our negotiations with Russia we don’t want to emphasise needlessly or aggressively the importance of the Ameer’s visit, which will anyhow be used for all it is worth by the opponents of an Angle-Russian understanding by Russians and others’.20 Among these ‘others’ were, first and foremost, the Germans. An AngloRussian rapprochement was precisely what they did not want. The year 1906 had not in the least gone as either the Chancellor or the Wilhelmstrasse had hoped, or planned, and moods were grim. They had begun to turn sour the winter before when Lord Rosebery – counted on by Holstein to encourage British reasonableness over Morocco – had not reappeared at the British Foreign Office. Instead the Wilhelmstrasse was faced with the cool, sceptical and pronouncedly pro-French Grey. They were also faced with the conference over Morocco which they had engineered, ostensibly to protect their commercial rights and privileges in the lawless country, but also to temper, if not derail, the intimacy between Britain and France. After months of prior negotiations over what would be talked about and who would be invited to do it, the conferees finally sat down at the Spanish town of Algeciras on 16 January 1906. Their work was effectively over by the end of March, and the Act of Algeciras was signed, sealed and 283

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delivered to the world on 7 April. This piece of paper, which among other things guaranteed the independence of the Sultan and the integrity of his shoddy domain and stipulated the use of the ‘open door’ for international trade, was perfectly satisfactory if read in Paris or London. It did not go down at all well in Berlin. It was in the ‘other things’ clauses that the real story – that the French had got virtual control of Morocco, just as they had wanted in the first place – lay. The Germans had miscalculated, badly and early on, and given their blind spots, mixed messages and methods, it is hardly surprising that they were outmanoeuvred. There was nothing to do but smile and, sign the Act, but in private they had to admit defeat. Not only did the Anglo-French friendship emerge unscathed, it was strengthened, as was suspicion of Germany in London and also in St Petersburg. The Kaiser was furious ‘with the Chancellor whom he accuses of having led him into an impasse from which he cannot escape with honour … and taunts [him] with having induced him to take a step [Tangier] on grounds which turned out to be false’.21 Bülow fell conveniently ill and escaped, if not to his bed, to his house, but not before seeing to it that the head that should be sacrificed was Holstein’s. So it was that a long and singular career ended in a tangle of deceit and bitterness. In a letter to his cousin in 1905 Holstein said, apropos Morocco, that ‘[w]e don’t want to achieve anything in particular…our action was intended to demonstrate “that things can’t be done without us” and above all to bring down Delcassé’.22 The latter was indeed brought down, but would be back. Holstein too was brought down, in part by his own hand but with generous help from his highly problematical friend Bülow. He would not be back. Chirol was in India, half attending the royals and immersed in the Kitchener drama, during the whole of the Algeciras conference. It is inconceivable that he was not informed, one way or another, as to what was going on in Spain. But there is not a word, nary a speculation, about the conference in his correspondence during these months. The terms of the final Act were published almost simultaneously with his return to London; again there was silence from his corner. That might be explained by his fixation on the Kitchener business and having to spend both time and energy on forcing Buckle to publish his letter. And then, when he did turn his attention to foreign questions, it was not to north Africa, or Europe, but to the Far East. Chirol’s relative neglect of the Germans did not mean that he found them any more agreeable, trustworthy or less threatening than he had 284

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for at least a decade. While not always first on his list of concerns, they were always high up on it. By 1905 no one in the know within Europe, and some outside as well, would maintain that Anglo-German relations were much more than correct. As one expert on the subject put it, the antagonism between the two countries had become ‘a permanent feature in international politics’.23 Certainly it was a primary component of Chirol’s world-view whether he harped on it or not. By mid-decade some curious offshoots of the chronic tension between Berlin and London began to appear. Groups and organisations were formed on both sides of the North Sea, made up of people in all walks of life – politicians, military men, intellectuals, businessmen, journalists, pacifists of various hues – whose mission was to relieve or even remove the friction. In Britain they called themselves things such as the AngloGerman Union Club and the Anglo-German Friendship Committee and held mass meetings, gave talks, published newspapers. On the German side chambers of commerce in cities from Berlin to Cologne gave voice to similar conciliatory themes. Soon enough reciprocal visits were organised. First mayors and burgomasters traipsed through each other’s cities, followed by similar visits by editors and journalists. The Foreign Office was predictably underwhelmed by all these proceedings, as were nationalists of all stripes in both countries. Certainly Chirol was. Although the entente had sailed through the Moroccan test in fine shape, he, and others, remained alert for signs that the Germans were not done with the diplomatic wrecking ball. On 26 June he hoisted a warning flag in the paper, one specially designed to catch the eye not only of Germans but also of the new crop of Germanophiles at home. He was pleased, he said, as all English people should be, to be told by their German visitors that they were the best of hosts. At the same time, he went on, he hoped that all the visitors would not follow the example of their fellow representative from the Cologne Gazette, that well-known voice of the German government, and infer from all the nice speeches they had heard that the next step would be to settle the many differences separating their two countries. That was a lovely sentiment and one hard to quarrel with, but what lay behind, and presumably inspired, the Cologne paper’s ‘pious hope’ was not so unexceptional, nor pleasant. If anybody in the Fatherland still has any misgivings on the subject [of a reconciliation] he is bidden by…the organ of the German Foreign Office to…see how uneasy [the French] are already growing. We [in England] have not … noticed any signs of such uneasiness in France, and we give the French credit for far too much common sense to believe that they will

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attach political significance to this exchange of private courtesies… It is not in France that we fear any misunderstanding of this subject. The relations of close friendship which have grown up between ourselves and the French rest on much too solid foundations … But there would be a serious danger for our future relations with Germany herself if our visitors carried home with them the impression … that they have succeeded where their own Government failed – namely in undermining the entente cordiale between this country and France.24

Grey thanked him warmly for his words as the Foreign Minister was just as unhappy as the foreign editor about all the ‘silly pro-German manifestations’. Chirol liked nothing better than being of use, especially to someone he admired as much as he did Grey. Basking in the latter’s gratitude, he looked on with great amusement as the visiting Germans ‘tumbled over each other to disclaim the sentiments to which the Cologne Gazette man had given such premature utterance’. The author himself was first in line and did his turnabout with ‘splendid cheek’.25 That part was funny to watch, but there was also a decidedly less amusing side. All the ‘silly’ pro-German ‘gush’ on the part of the ‘hosts’ might very well give an undesirable political significance to a coming meeting between King and Kaiser. He was less concerned that the ‘gush’ would ignite any warmth in the permanently cool relationship between the ‘august personages’, or even their respective governments, than that the man in the street will regard it as setting the seal upon the popular rapprochement between the two nations … As Grey said to me, he had repeatedly told the Germans that our relations with Berlin must depend largely upon the relations between Berlin and Paris, and as yet there are no indications of any desire on the part of the German Government to improve the latter.26

Shortly before the little flutter over the visiting journalists, Chirol finally commented, in writing, on Holstein’s fall from grace. In a slightly scolding letter to Steed, chiefly about troubled politics in the Dual Monarchy, he suddenly switched topics to comment on the excesses of Maximilian Harden, the founder and editor of the influential literarypolitical journal Die Zukunft. Long since no friend to Holstein, Harden had written a stunningly abusive and intimately detailed summary of the former’s long career in the service of German diplomacy and published it on 3 June in Vienna’s Neue Freie Presse. Steed immediately sent off a précis of the piece to Printing House Square. It arrived while Chirol was taking a short holiday and, much to his unhappiness, was published before he could decide whether or not it 286

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should be. He had no reason, beyond his memories of the good days with Holstein and a lasting admiration for the man’s good qualities, to either spare him criticism or testify in his defence. And in his letter to Steed nothing suggests that it was residual warm feelings for Holstein that made Chirol regret so deeply that Harden’s ‘vituperative’ attack had been noticed in The Times. Instead it was his continuing determination to stamp out any spark of intrigue lit in the Wilhelmstrasse and designed to blow up the entente. ‘The Germans,’ he reminded Steed, are very anxious to represent Holstein as the main inspirer of the antiBritish policy of their Foreign Office, and his dismissal as an earnest of the Emperor’s desire to restore good relations between the two countries. Hence the endeavours of their semi-official Press to paint him even blacker that he really was. Harden’s article, as you sent it, has at once been reproduced by the pro-German papers in this country to point the moral that now that Holstein has gone one of the chief influences against an Anglo-German Entente has disappeared, and we ought therefore to make haste to respond to this proof of goodwill on the part of Germany!27

The Germans would wait in vain for Chirol to give them any editorial support. He was, however, perfectly willing to use their evident desire to ‘make up’ to public opinion in Britain, but would do so for his own purposes. An opportunity presented itself almost immediately in the form of a long-running and sensationally scandalous situation in King Leopold of Belgium’s personal fiefdom in the heart of Africa. On 11 June Buckle passed on a letter of complaint for Chirol to answer. Its author, Edmund Dene Morel, had written to complain of The Times’ lacklustre support for reform in the benighted Congo Free State – a misnomer if there ever was one. Well before Morel’s letter reached Chirol’s desk the treatment of the natives in this rubber-and mineral-rich property had become something of an international cause célèbre. Morel, a born crusader and man of outrage, was the heart and soul of the Congo Reform Association, which he, along with Sir Roger Casement, an Englishman who had served as British consul in the Congo, had founded two years earlier. Chirol certainly knew about Morel but not knowing him personally addressed his reply to ‘Dear Sir’. In it he confessed to being ‘rather at a loss to account’ for his complaint. It was a question that he himself was very much interested in, although he did qualify that to some degree by making a veiled reference to not being able to ‘ignore the political difficulties which the British government has to reckon with …’ in connection with it. Chirol left those difficulties unspecified in his letter, 287

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either out of his customary discretion or because he assumed that Morel knew what he meant.28 There was also the possibility, he continued, that what Morel took for short shrift was actually short space. There was always pressure on that commodity when Parliament was in session, which it then was. That in itself was not necessarily a bad thing, he reminded Morel, as a sitting Parliament could help as well as harm. It was only a matter of time, and a short time, before a question on the need for reforms would be raised in the House and when that happened the paper would have a fresh opportunity of supporting it.29 When, just a few days later, a statement was made in the House, he got to work at once on a leader that appeared before the week was out. In it Chirol took pains to show that The Times was firmly behind reform. Chirol hoped, as he told Morel, that this piece might help to dispel any doubt in his mind as to the sentiments of The Times. The previous year, already feeling unwelcome pressure, King Leopold had sent a Commission of Inquiry, handpicked by himself, to the Congo. On the basis of their report, a Reform Commission in Brussels was set up to determine the nature and extent of what should be done. The commission’s long report was given to the King toward the end of 1905. Even its impenetrably bureaucratic language could not hide the brutality and terror it described. Certainly Leopold was staggered, not so much by what he had read but by the thought of what might happen when his critics did. As wily as he was greedy, Leopold devised a way to ‘tailor’ the damning report so that its impact would be neutralised while appearing to make things clearer. On 3 November, the day before official publication in Brussels, major newspapers in Britain and in the United States, The Times among them, received what was described as a ‘complete and authentic résumé’ of that document. This abridged version came from a reliable-seeming source and was welcomed by journalists as a way of having early and authentic news on one of the great topics of the day without having to digest many pages of officialese both dense and French.30 Chirol admitted that the paper had at first relied on this summary. But, since neither French nor officialese put him off, he also read the report itself. It was, he discovered, in spite of many euphemisms and omissions, a severe indictment of the whole system of administration in the Congo State, and the reforms suggested by it were held to represent the very minimum that the Congo State would have to do in order to regain some measure of credit with the civilized world.31

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He himself was deeply shocked to learn in detail what had happened, and still was happening, in the Congo. Normally such uncivilised behaviour would have elicited passionate denunciation. But something or someone seemed to be sitting on his outrage, or at least on his printed outrage, and Morel was not given – even when Chirol was fully engaged in trying to help him – a conspicuously free run in the paper. Before he ever laid eyes on the man, he suggested that Morel would be better off writing to him at his ‘private and permanent’ address, a much safer place to blow off steam than at Printing House Square, where someone else might read his letters.32 For months he said that his was not necessarily the deciding vote for what went in or was left out of the paper, or how, if printed, it appeared – as letter, or leader or headed article. At one point he told Morel that he could almost certainly get a long-delayed letter of his published but would he please look through the piece ‘before it is set up and give it a fresh date … [and when] you return it please address it direct to the Editor without reference to our correspondence on the subject’.33 Morel was an energetic and impatient fighter, and Chirol did try to lessen his growing frustration with The Times. He himself knew all too well ‘from my own experience how natural it is when one feels very acutely on a particular subject, to regard as deliberate unfairness what is merely the result of inadequate appreciation on the part of those whose interest is necessarily and in the nature of things less keen than one’s own’. He took what private steps were available; talked with Grey, whose ear, by this time, he certainly had, and wrote anonymously for the National Review as he had Maxse’s ear, and pages, as well. As he told the latter it may be improvident for him to sign what he wrote and suggested ‘A Plain Man’ or ‘Plain Facts’. ‘What I hope lends force to my article is that it does not deal in speculations or unsupported charges, but merely relates “plain facts” admitted by the Belgians themselves and stated as far as possible in their own words.’34 As much as Chirol sincerely wanted to help Morel, it proved to be easier said than done. At one point, after agreeing to get another letter printed, he warned that to ‘overdo’ the Congo in The Times just then might not work in Morel’s favour, as from ‘the tactical point of view our opinions on Congo matters would lose rather than gain if we appeared to be “running a hobby”’. By saying this he did not, he assured the zealous campaigner, want to throw cold water on your enthusiasm, but I feel confident that after our conversation the other day you will take whatever I say in good part, and rest assured that my chief object is to serve the same interests

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to which you have devoted yourself in what appears to me to be the best and most effective way.35

Chirol was obviously not having it all his way in the foreign room. Although the likely obstruction seemed to be Buckle, it is not clear that the editor, in turn, was also feeling pressure from Whitehall. Public opinion was demanding reform in the Belgian Congo, Leopold cast as the devil incarnate by the man on the street. But policy-makers were all too aware that there was somewhat more to Belgium than having a despicable monarch allowing gruesome deeds to be done to helpless people. Her neutrality was guaranteed by the British government, but with all the increasingly frustrated might of Germany lying to her east that might prove to be a dangerous guarantee. Almost as soon as Chirol began to communicate with Morel it occurred to him that Leopold’s neighbours, France and Germany, also had considerable African interests and, in the case of the latter, a new desire to modify her bully-boy reputation in Britain. ‘For some time past’ he had been impressing upon his German and Germanophile friends, now so desirous of cooperating with Britain, that the Congo was the ‘one field … where her cooperation would produce an excellent effect upon public opinion’. He had reason to think, why he didn’t say, that this hint might have been listened to in Berlin. There could be no doubt that they were very anxious to make a good impression on public opinion and ‘few things would be cheaper and more effective as far as a large section of sentimental opinion goes, than an announcement that Germany was ready to join us in putting an end to Congo atrocities’.36 In the autumn, with Parliament back in session, it once again became difficult for Chirol to find space for the Congo, and his correspondence with Morel dropped off. By the end of November, however, the Belgian chamber began to debate its future, and that miserable place once again affected Chirol’s life in a newly disagreeable way. Having finally hired a suitable replacement for Blakiston, Chirol found it necessary to send him to Brussels. He thought that a week should see the debates through but was mistaken. To be once again without an effective ‘second’ in a busy season was not what the doctor had ordered. On 14 December, the debates finally over and a vote just taken, Chirol told Morel that it would take some time to determine the next steps. From the little that he knew at that point it seemed that the King had suffered a ‘distinct rebuff’; whether it would lead to real reforms was still unknown. While waiting to see, Chirol proposed to lie low and made a strong case for Morel to do likewise. He hoped that the latter would not 290

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make any big move until after the new year as nothing could be accomplished over the holiday season and it was probably better ‘to avoid the appearance of impulsive and unconsidered action’.37 During the months that Chirol pushed and pulled to get the right amount of Congo material into The Times he became increasingly attentive to what was going on in Germany – and not only in connection with the Congo question. By the beginning of October he had amassed a private archive on Berlin’s doings. He had no quarrel with Germany wanting to smooth things out; he himself did not want conflict and had said as much both privately and in the paper. This did not mean that he was any less sceptical about their motives and intentions, nor particularly pleased either by France’s lingering fear of their neighbour or by the continuing activities of all the do-gooders on both sides of the North Sea. What really worried Chirol about the recent to-ing and fro-ing between London and Berlin, including the King’s unavoidable visit to his disagreeable nephew, was that it would give – or the Germans would try and use it to give – the wrong impression of British foreign policy aims, not only to the British public but to Paris and St Petersburg. As it happened the royal visit ended on a cordial note but nothing of positive consequence came of it, and its chief participants came away with negative feelings intact.38 Chirol was well satisfied by the futility of the royal and ministerial discussions, but not by the way that they were portrayed in the Deutsche Revue, one of the most prestigious, but not one of the most independent, of German periodicals. In the first week of September he decided to help set things right. On the 5th The Times carried George Saunders’ translation of the most salient portions of the Revue article. It also carried a long leader from Chirol, opening with the observation that as this particular periodical was well known to represent ‘in an exceptional degree’ the views of the most responsible German statesmen it should be given very close attention. The first mistake made by the German writer, or writers, was to exaggerate the significance of the visit. The second was to distort the part played by King Edward. Saying that the discussions were frank and unconstrained was unexceptional enough. But to say that they were so because of the King’s clear desire to prepare the ground for a political exchange of views, views that, it insinuated, might include the possibility of some sort of a political agreement between London and Berlin, was not. If what the writer had in mind was an agreement along the lines of the entente with France, then he had overlooked the fact that the 291

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necessary conditions for that sort of agreement were missing. The entente was predicated upon the settlement of several very critical extra-European questions at issue between Britain and France, in Egypt, Morocco, Newfoundland and elsewhere – questions that had for years poisoned relations and caused occasional talk of war. The article in the Revue suggested that the recent royal meeting made possible a cordial understanding based on the settlement of serious quarrels that did not exist. ‘All that we can say,’ said Chirol, who in fact had quite a bit to say, is that if such a cause of conflict exists, or has existed, if there is any concrete issue which might lead, or could have led, to a rupture between the two countries, let Germany name it, and we for our part shall cordially welcome its removal by friendly and reasonable discussion. The article in the Deutsche Revue unfortunately furnishes in itself very clear evidence that the hopes and aims of German policy are of an entirely different character.

In spite of its diplomatic euphemisms the article, to his eye, was yet another attempt to undermine the entente. If that was Germany’s intention, they were facing an uphill, if not an impossible, fight. At the very least they would have to contend with him. We see no reason whatever why we should quarrel with Germany, or why Germany should quarrel with us, but we do see many reasons why our relations with Germany cannot, in present circumstances, acquire the same character of intimacy which our relations with France have now happily acquired. To modify these relations … at the bidding of Germany would be to recognize a sort of German hegemony in Europe; and history is there to tell us that England’s greatness is based upon her resistance in the past to similar claims …39

If truth be told Chirol was more unsettled about the Germans relocating their entente-spoiling efforts from Paris to London than this article lets on. Grey, he was sure, would not fall for any imported insinuations about French trustworthiness, or an undignified subservience of British to French policy. He feared, however, that other ministers were ‘by no means [so] sound’, also worried about the extraordinary gullibility of both the British public and even some otherwise wellinformed newspapers. He was almost as concerned that, although the pourparles between Printing House Square and the Russians were moving along nicely, the same could not be said of those at the governmental level. Springy, once again in Tehran, was concerned about problems being caused there by a new ‘popular’ party, already protesting about what seemed to them to be 292

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the division of their country between Russia and Britain. While Chirol himself did not ‘quite like’ the fact that Britain would have to wash its hands of this new party, he thought it was worth making sacrifices and accepting a certain amount of opprobrium in order to ‘clear up once and for all the question whether we can or cannot come to terms [with St Petersburg] …’.40 Grey, he noted, was seemingly content to wait and see what the next Duma might do about the internal unrest so troubling Russia. Chirol’s own government was also much on his mind, and both Springy and Nicolson were treated to harangues on his favourite themes of ‘dry rot’ and ‘moral anarchy’. The one addressed to Springy was occasioned by Lord Crewe having argued against the idea of flying the Union Jack on the national schools. Just look at his argument, Chirol thundered. It is that you ‘cannot associate the flag with school-work [or] children will get to hate it, i.e. that if you associate the idea of country with the idea of duty, both will be equally loathed. Read Treitschke, Volume One and compare the spirit in which Stein and Hardenberg approached the question of national education.’ Lloyd George too drew his wrath by saying ‘in public, that the money wasted over the S.A. war would have put 10 pounds into the pocket of every British working man, woman & child’. As he told Springy, he himself had no love for capitalism – though he surely had far less for any brand of socialism – ‘but for sordid appeals to the lowest forms of self-interest, politicians can give points even to landlords and Randlords. Even family ties are denounced as an unjust restriction of the right of every human being to get the most for him or her self out of life.’41 Politics within his own ‘little sphere’ at Printing House Square were also quite bumpy. Wickham Steed was cross that an article of his on Austro-Italian tensions had been sat on; Chirol’s sympathy with his irritation was genuine, if a tad condescending. He knew at first hand how galling it was to do what one thought of as a particularly good piece of work on a significant topic and send it off to sit in a pigeonhole. But Steed must remember that he had no monopoly on such disappointments. ‘Is it not far worse for instance to have to sit here and suffer one’s own views ignored on questions which one holds to be of vital importance to the future of the Empire, as your humble servant has had to do with regard to certain crucial aspects of Indian policy?’ International politics were in the midst of vast changes in both scope and emphasis, changes that had to be recognised and accommodated in chancellories, foreign offices and newspaper offices as well if they wanted to survive. 293

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Our columns are invaded by questions which 10 or 15 years ago did not exist for us: Far East, the internal situation in India, Labour questions in Australia and New Zealand, Preferential relations with our colonies, Capital v. Labour in the U.S., the position of coloured labour in all our colonies, the new regime in S.A., etc., etc. Many of these are big questions affecting not only political interests, but the whole future of our Empire, the whole structure of society. They necessarily dwarf diplomatic questions of the old order which still engross the Chancelleries of most European capitals.

It was no longer possible for correspondents to focus too closely on issues in their own backyard. As important as things in that backyard might be, they now had to be weighed in the world scale, the strictly European one was no longer the true measure. It was a pity, he went on, that Steed was stuck away in Vienna. For though I quite agree that your part of the world is in travail with serious issues, I don’t think they will affect the course of the world’s history now as they would have done say fifty or even twenty years ago. You may think I am crazy, but I believe at the present moment the exclusion of a few Japanese children from school at San Francisco is a potentially much bigger event than would be the death of your Emperor-King!42

As prescient as Chirol often was, he missed the boat in this instance. It took the death, not of the Emperor-King, but of his nephew, to bring down that old European-centred world and, by doing so, set the stage for a world of unavoidably global issues. Lest Steed should remind him that a great deal of the increasingly scarce newsprint was devoted to the ‘parish pump’, he knew it well and regretted it the more. But, as his business was foreign, not domestic, affairs, he had resigned himself to the fact that the paper must answer to the tastes of the large numbers of its readers who still hung about that pump, and Steed would be well advised to do the same. The latter took this letter in remarkably good part. It counted a great deal just to have had the editor’s attention. As long as there is something to work for and a feeling that one is in touch with the Office, drudgery is a delight and the most insignificant telegram an object of solicitude; but when that feeling goes one longs to make boots, or break stones, rather than send disjointed and soulless items of news, and even important work is only done pour acquit de conscience.

As for the importance of global news, he too realised that strictly European affairs could not dominate journalistic attention as they once had. But – a meaningful ‘but’ – was there not a danger in going too far in reducing 294

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their importance? England, after all, was still in Europe and all of her transoceanic connections might turn out to be sources of weakness, not strength, unless her position in Europe was ‘unassailable’. The response from the foreign room, if there was one, is missing. It was a particularly hectic season; Chirol was horribly driven, normally the precursor to being horribly ill. Determined to avoid the usual, he waited impatiently for Gordon Browne, his new assistant, to get back from Brussels so that he himself could get away to Switzerland. There, unless he were to become an ‘inadvertent’ snowman, he planned to ‘acquire complete immunity from the flue and other obnoxious bacilli by skiing all day in perpetual sunshine and sleeping all night with the windows open in a temperature of minus 40 degrees of frost’. No mail would be forwarded, and The Times would be his only link with the ‘outside and unfrozen world’. The break proved to be all that he had hoped, and he turned up in London in the new year, bright as a new penny, to face the usual mass of backed-up work. All too soon the penny was spent. His last letter of 1906, written only hours before leaving London, was addressed to Morel and was another warning about going forward carefully, if at all, at least until the new year. On his return from Switzerland he picked up where he had left off with the impatient reformer. The time for pressing the reluctant Leopold had come. But Morel should not expect too much of it to come direct from Whitehall. Grey was loath to have Leopold complain of foreign interference and much preferred to encourage Belgian objections to his filthy regime in the Congo. Nor was Chirol very forthcoming about his own organisation’s willingness to enter the lists. As ‘far as he could judge’, Printing House Square, while not wanting to be indifferent to the Congo, or let the reform question slide, would draw the line at anything savouring of coercion. He himself thought that the course Morel favoured was not open to that objection. But, in case Morel had forgotten, ‘my opinion is not always or necessarily decisive’.43 Chirol had once hoped that Germany might move against the Belgian King, but it was now clear it couldn’t and wouldn’t. The hesitation had in part to do with Berlin’s own problem in South West Africa, where the native Hereros, persecuted unto death by their German overlords, had long since been in revolt. In December that far-away protest action led to a parliamentary revolt in Berlin. Bülow, trying simultaneously to reorganise the German Colonial Office and to get supplementary funds out of the Reichstag for the ongoing fight against the Hereros, came up 295

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against a perfect storm of criticism and resistance on the part of Germany’s two largest parties, the Centre and the Social Democrats. With that he dissolved the recalcitrant Reichstag and called for new elections to be held at the end of January 1907. Many men’s eyes turned toward Germany as election day approached, Chirol’s among them. Lascelles wrote to say that from where he sat – more or less first row centre – it looked as if Bülow were a ‘goon coon’. Chirol was sceptical. No matter that he was further from the stage than the ambassador, he felt that he knew his Bülow, or rather his Bülows. One was a man with whom one might not choose to ride down the storm. The other was ‘a sort of india-rubber mannikin you can pinch and pummel, but somehow always comes up smiling again’. Which one would it be? Chirol was grateful he didn’t have large sums at stake on the final issue. Whichever way the results came in, January 25 will be a journée des dupes for somebody. Of course if Bülow’s Bloc is defeated, he will have to go. In the meantime there is nothing to which he is not prepared to stoop in order to conquer. He even pays discreet nocturnal visits to Holstein to consult him about foreign affairs!44

The 25th came, bringing an ‘immense’ surprise to many people, even, if one believes Chirol, to Bülow himself. The big losers in the voting were the Socialists; Bülow not only saved his face but got his working edge by cobbling together a heterogeneous group of liberal parties that would work with the conservatives. Having been modest in his predictions, Chirol was philosophic over the outcome, unlike his friend Lascelles, who, having consigned Bülow to the political waste bin, was quite grumpy at finding him still at his desk. Chirol figured that the Kaiser and ‘his Bülow’chen’ would have a stiff row to hoe in the new legislature, no matter their so-called victory – which in the meantime ‘seems to have gone to their heads in the most extraordinary manner, probably because it was so unexpected. The Katzenjammer will be proportionately severe.’45 Or so Chirol cordially hoped. What was significant about the recent election, what really caught his attention, was that Bülow fought it, for the first time in German history as Chirol pointed out to Nicolson, on an issue – the Colonial Office and German west Africa – closely tied to Weltpolitik. Apparently it was the sole issue that got the support of the various groups now making up the new bloc. And in so far as the campaign had been shaped as much by the Pan-Germans and the Navy League as by Bülow and his close cronies, sooner or later, if his precious majority was not to 296

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disintegrate, the Chancellor would be compelled to see that some of his new supporters’ expectations were met. Meanwhile Bülow had been beating his big drum so hard that it was impossible to focus on the fact that instead of pulverising his opposition he had merely won a snap victory that gave a working majority in the Reichstag to a minority in the country itself. What Chirol found more galling even than Bülow’s showing off was the way so many papers in Britain fell for it. There was a move afoot to take British pressmen to Berlin in the summer, ‘to grace the triumphator’s chariot’ and give encouragement to German liberalism, a plan that won a full measure of Chirol’s sarcasm. He ground his teeth over radical journalists portraying the German Navy League and the Pan-German League as legitimate expressions of German patriotism while maintaining that their counterparts in the British Navy League and Imperial Defence League were simply instruments of militarism and jingoism!46 Luckily for the arrears-burdened Chirol there had been a brief lull in foreign news during January as people waited to see what would happen in Germany. In Russia a new Duma also had to be elected. Persia was ‘as dead as the late Shah’ and he reckoned that it would be several months before anyone would have a clear picture of how well or poorly the new regime in Tehran might do. It was one thing to look to the new Mejlis to set things on a positive footing, quite another for it to be able to do so. And even if it could it would take time to pull the country out of the pit it was in and there was no guarantee at all that Russia would stand by and let it try to do so. The one reliable constant in Russian policy, to his way of thinking, was that nothing could induce it to ‘give fair play to progressive forces in Oriental countries upon which she can exert her influence’. As for London’s eternal pourparles with Russia, he was neither enthusiastic about, nor particularly encouraged by, London’s attitude. It would be all for the best if the experience of dealing with the Russians – sure to be costly in the end – would open the government’s eyes to the fact that ‘all give and no take is not … likely to conduce to successful negotiations’.47 Quite soon he seemed willing to modify that position. It was February, the weather gloomy, Springy’s accounts of Russian intrigues and intransigence in Tehran equally so. Chirol now thought the best course might be to give the Russians a freer hand in Persia – by which he did not mean, then or ever, south-eastern Persia – and go ahead and ‘cut our own coat according to our very small piece of cloth’. But he insisted that the little coat should carry a price tag. If the Russians were expecting Britain 297

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to adjust herself to their exigencies in Persia, then they should understand that Britain wanted them to adjust to her exigencies in Europe. Like the Steed of a few months earlier he thought and talked more about the fluid relationships within the Continent and how important it was to have a sturdy, workable and reassuring balance of power to regulate them. Someone, Grey, or Nicolson, or perhaps even Wallace, should say very frankly in St Petersburg that London might be more willing to let them have their own way in Persia if we had some evidence that we should find you with us & with our friends & not against us & them when the European Armageddon comes. There is much that we might concede to Russia as a partner in an AngloFranco-Russian Triplice in Europe. But if Russia is to have a free hand to reinsure herself with Berlin, & to revive the old Three Emperors’ alliance when Franz Ferdinand comes to the throne, … then we can make no concessions anywhere and must simply go on fighting for our own hand as best we can.48

He feared that the government would never be so plain-spoken, which was unfortunate since undue circumspection would only play into the hands of the ever-conniving Germans. While busy with their bamanners. The Kaiser was even reported to be ready to chat about ‘the beauties of the millennium and the virtue of disarmament’ with W.T. Stead. The latter was then in Berlin as the so-called ‘Ambassador of the Prince of Peace’, a self-conferred designation according to the derisive, if somewhat defensive, Chirol. ‘One can hardly wonder,’ as he told Springy, ‘when such things happen that foreigners look upon us as a nation of hypocrites.’49 As for the increasingly relevant question of armaments, he had good reason to think that Germany, who had never stopped arming herself, was, as usual, playing games. At the moment she appeared to be angling to get the topic slipped off the agenda at the upcoming Hague Peace Conference and ‘relegated to the discrete pernumbra of confidential exchanges of views par voie diplomatigue!’. This would merely enable the Germans to hide their true colours while indulging in all kinds of entente smashing at Paris and doubt sowing in St Petersburg. He worried lest Lascelles even suggest to the Kaiser that Britain would be willing to put a certain number of ships out of commission if he would postpone building the same number of new ships. Wouldn’t ‘Cocky Billy’ then have a jolly time whispering to the Quai d’Orsay that the British were willing to come to an understanding with him behind their backs on the subject of naval armaments, the only thing that Britain really had to offer 298

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to the French? At St Petersburg he could say that, in spite of English advances, and at great cost to his country, he would not stop for a moment trying to provide a fleet capable – until the Russian fleet was reconstructed – of single-handedly holding in check British naval preponderance. Chirol’s own advice was simple: get the Russian agreement signed. March, month of change, brightener of days and moods, brought that action notably closer. Not only was there a new momentum, better yet it was in a positive direction. By mid-month Chirol felt confident enough to tell Bland that, barring another catastrophic domestic upheaval in Russia or an unforeseen coup de tête on the part of Nicholas II, an agreement was almost ‘within sight of port’ – and none too soon. The more he surveyed the European scene, the more he wanted, he told Springy, any understanding with Russia which shall offer a fair prospect of permanency on the one condition that it provides a definite barrier against Russian penetration – peaceful or otherwise – towards our Indian frontiers… If paripassu an agreement can also be brought off between Russia and Japan and between France and Japan, even the majority which Bülow has scraped together in the new Reichstag will not be able to do much in the way of promoting William’s Weltpolitik – although we shall have to be prepared for a fresh outburst of Potsdamerung such as followed the AngloFrench Entente … 50

‘I hope you follow me,’ he continued, by which he meant, in his longwinded sentence, a construct which ‘rather emulates … a semi-official lucubration in the Norddeutsch!’. As for Springy following him in his sentiments, Chirol was perfectly well aware that he emphatically did not. Springy’s sympathies and concerns were all with the Persians and their nascent democracy, his animosities and fears heaped on the autocratic, predatory, bureaucratic Russians, ‘those clothed barbarians’ whom he had learned to despise during his recent years in St Petersburg. He scoffed, almost bitterly for a most un-bitter man, at Chirol’s belief that they would ever join Britain against Germany. The two courts are as thick as thieves and for the same reason. They will lose their plunder if they quarrel. When I see the way France is treated and spoken of … and think that we are doing our best, we English, to have the privilege of supporting the other leg of the Russian footstool, when I see day after day the endless manoeuvres to which here [in Tehran] I am expected to submit, when I think of the splendid professions as to freedom, etc. of our present Government, I don’t know what to say.51

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Chirol was concerned enough at Springy’s tone to sympathise with what must be a very trying situation within Persia. But might he not be taking things ‘too tragically’? Being in Persia it was not unnatural that he focused closely on how an Anglo-Russian arrangement would affect the future of the Persians, struggling as they were to set up a new way of governing themselves. Their aspirations may well be noble and the outcome of the struggle undeniably important. But he must also realise he was the British minister to Persia and as such serving the British government. That government, in turn, could not focus closely on Persia’s future except, and in so far, as it affected British interests. Those interests were first and foremost the safeguarding of India and for that some sort of barrier was necessary. There were, in Chirol’s view, two ways to erect it. One was to preserve the whole of Persia as an efficient bufferstate, the other to set apart ‘a zone from which Russian influence is to be permanently excluded and which will adequately cover the approaches to our Indian Empire from both a strategical and political point of view’. Opinion in London, including his, was that the first option was unrealistic, therefore the second was the only way to go. Chirol anticipated his friend’s rejoinder; that by handing over all of northern Persia, including Tehran, to Russia, Britain was essentially giving the whole of the country to her, ‘save and except the zone [of] chiefly “light soil”, as Lord Salisbury would have said …’. And how was it possible to begrudge the Russians their preponderance in the north since it was ‘really nothing more than the recognition of an accomplished fact’? Again he held up the bigger picture. How would the Russians approach the overall agreement, the parts of it not concerned with Persia, or even with central Asia? That was now the real question, and one very hard to answer.52 At the same time what he was hearing from both Grey and Hardinge as to the likely terms of an agreement was generally positive. Nicolson’s obvious enthusiasm was also encouraging. Springy admitted that Chirol had the best and latest information he was apparently the only person at this point to whom ‘dips’ were willing to talk. But still their debate went on. Chirol, lest Springy use his own argument so as to point out that Nicolson was too close to the Russians to see forest for trees, admitted in advance that, while the ambassador might be mixing up the genealogy of wish and thought, he was a ‘shrewd and coolheaded fellow and, if he is right, then I do not think we can allow any consideration for Persia qua Persia to stand in the way of a rapprochement with Russia which on grounds of world policy is of such supreme importance to us’.53 300

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It would be more than helpful in cementing a solid agreement if the Persians themselves put their house in order so as to protect and foster the bit of their own country that was left to them. But would they, or rather, could they? Are they not too rotten a reed for us to think of leaning upon, if we can possibly avoid such an entanglement? I dare say you will think me unusually cynical, but I would let Mejliss and Mollahs and Shahs and Atabegs go hang without the slightest compunction if I saw my way to reducing safely by a single lakh the military burdens of India or strengthening by a single link the chain which we have to forge in order to keep German ambitions within bounds.54

Chirol laid great stress on the importance of being able to reduce military expenditures in India. All this was part and parcel of his ongoing fear of the powerful, and powerfully inflammatory, combination of Kitchener’s military schemes, undue burdens on Indian taxpayers and the no longer latent unrest in the subcontinent. Added to this tangle of fears was the growing awareness that the aggressive Weltpolitik advocates that had helped keep Bülow at the Chancellory would be calling in their chips sooner or later, thus the more important it was to have the Russian chip more or less securely in British hands.

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Politics at Home, Abroad and at Printing House Square

The foreign scene was relatively quiet at the start of 1907, but no one outside the foreign room at Printing House Square seemed to notice or care. To Chirol’s eternal dismay few in Britain gave a fig about ‘abroad’. They were gripped by what was happening under their own noses, not the noses of the German Chancellor, the Persian Shah, or even King Leopold just over the Channel. There was simply no blinking that fact; the wider world mattered little even when it came to the presumably worldly readers of The Times. This was neither a new, nor an unwarranted, complaint on his part. But even Chirol had to admit that the home front offered plenty in the way of anticipation, trepidation, irritation, and celebration, depending on where one sat or wanted to be sitting. Given the make-up, not to mention the platform, of the Liberal government, and the scope of its parliamentary advantage, there were prospects of change around every political corner. Chirol saw little to be happy about on either side of the political divide. Seeing the back of Balfour, Brodrick and company had been a muchsavoured pleasure. On the other hand, seeing the front of CampbellBannerman and some of his more Radical fellow ministers, not to mention the big rowdy crowd sitting behind them in the House of Commons, had done nothing for his peace of mind.1 Chirol was all for having new life pumped into the body politic as long as it did not carry with it any socialist bacilli. Dead government vs. Red government was no choice at all. At the start of 1907, with Parliament out on a long and 302

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much-needed recess, that miserable trade-off remained only speculative. But, given the rare combination of ample space and little in the way of pressing foreign news, Chirol speculated both freely and sombrely as to what lay ahead. The outlook was bleak for a man who said to anyone who would listen how much he disliked and distrusted party politics, party points of view, party purposes, party advantages. Even The Times, once so fiercely independent, was no longer ‘above party’, much to his discomfort. Aside from Lord Grey, who was doing fine work at the Foreign Office, as was Morley at the Indian, he found little good to say about the Cabinet. On the opposition side the ‘old gang’, made up of Balfour and his cronies along with the rather more ardent of the ‘whole-hogger’ tariff reformers, were no better than the men who had turned them out. Curzon was the only surviving member of the ‘old’ – and presumably best – ‘school’ of Conservatives but not of much use as long as he was kept out at pasture. Chirol was amused by the way the Conservatives were predicting a rapid return to power. In his view, the longer Balfour and Company twiddled their thumbs and waited for this mirage to become reality, the more irrelevant they became. The King opened Parliament on 12 February. On the 21st Chirol’s friend Lord Newton introduced a startling bill into the House of Lords. Newton was anything but a political extremist, nor was his bill, on the face of it, revolutionary. It did, however, suggest making some long-overdue reforms in the Upper House. Perhaps because it was Newton’s bill, perhaps because he sensed the size of the iceberg of which it was just the tip, Chirol took a special interest in its prospects. They were dismal, which did not surprise him. Their Conservative Lordships did not take well to the notion of change. The more they tried to kill Newton’s idea and bury reform in general, the more Chirol saw reform burying them. It would be a fate, according to him, that they had earned. Having had nearly two decades to buttress their stronghold, their foolish leaders had done exactly nothing. Now what Balfour was doing was worse than nothing. Wrapped in an illusory sense of his own power he was sitting pretty, tossing out everything sent up by his opponents and persuaded by this lordly activity that it was really he who was running the country.2 In reality, as Chirol took a certain pleasure in pointing out, the Unionist party was not only discredited but virtually powerless. When the Liberals down below realised that the peers had no intention whatsoever of reforming themselves they rose up in righteous rage and 303

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issued a resolution on the subject. The Prime Minister stood up as well and said something to the effect that when it came to this question the Commons had not exhausted their resources. At that Chirol himself sat up, took a second look, and decided that the combination of resolution and Campbell-Bannerman’s remark was not just empty thunder. Looking ahead he saw that, should a dissolution take place any time soon on any one of the immensely popular populist issues then available, the Radicals were almost certain to stay on top and just as certain to be handed a mandate to do something with the antiquated and obstructionist Lords. If so, the ‘virtual abolition of the second Chamber [could] be brought within the range of practical politics – staked, as it were, on the next throw of the political dice which may or may not be “loaded” – say with a promise of old age pensions or some such bribe for the millions …’.3 Chirol was easily spooked by the socialist bogeyman. And although he held no particular brief for the House of Lords, he was quite firmly wedded to British traditions and institutions in general. What he believed in above all was the empire. Already in something of a state over what was happening to and in it, he quite naturally feared that a profound break with tradition – and surely the abolition of the House of Lords would qualify as that – would further undermine its stability. At the same time he could not deny Campbell-Bannerman’s assertion ‘that the House of Lords has become a mere annex of one of the Parties in the State, or that the position to which it is thus reduced is incompatible with the discharge of its proper functions as contemplated by our Constitution’.4 If domestic politics were dispiriting, foreign ones were opaque. The weeks did not exactly drag, although, ‘in the grey monotony of a London winter and the equally grey monotony of routine work’, they soon became a dreary blur with very little, he sighed to Florence, to mark their passage.5 His health, for once, was not an issue but his mother’s was, and he tired himself going up and down to Brighton. Once again he predicted the end. He also realised that as long as she lingered he must stay near at hand, which put paid to his dream of a spring trip to visit Florence and Springy at Tehran. ‘I don’t think you can realize,’ he wrote almost petulantly to Florence, ‘what a joy it would be to me to spend a month with you, and purr in your sunshine! I had a very excellent physical sunbath at Montana [Switzerland] at Xmas, but I want my moral sunbath too.’6 Chirol was no stranger to depression, but the blues of that winter came in a rather new form. In previous years his worst bouts usually followed along in the wake of the flu and were as much physical as spiritual. The winter of 1907 he remained uncharacteristically robust, tormented not 304

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by fever or lassitude or sleeplessness but by a profound loneliness. He said little about why he felt so lonely, only that scheduling reforms at Printing House Square meant earlier hours, which in turn made it next to impossible to dine out with friends as he had always done. As his social life dwindled he felt himself turning into ‘a sort of hermit crab’. Worse yet, as he explained Florence, he had begun to actively dislike his own company and then, accordingly, to dislike seeing people and having to inflict it on them. He could, because he must, keep up with his professional correspondence but personal letters – long since his lifeline to absent friends – had become something of a chore.7 When he did subject himself on others via the mails – and he did – his subject was more often than not the wretched state of British politics. He complained bitterly and comprehensively about the condition of the country, how stale and unprofitable politics now were, how hard it was for him to either care or share in any of the hoopla, how few good men there were, how one party was as bad as the other, and that underneath all the violent, roaring talk was a dreadful shallowness of purpose. There was trouble everywhere he looked. The muddle brought on by army reforms was worsening by the day, the condition of the navy under the regime of ‘Jacky’ Fisher8 even more alarming. Kitchener’s Indian command had been extended for two more years, just as political agitation, some of which he liked to attribute to the mistakes of the latter’s regime, was spreading faster than ever in the subcontinent. The Colonial Conference then under way in London had become little more than a political cockpit, the parties going for each other and nobody paying much attention to any of the colonies other than those that were selfgoverning.9 To his utter regret it seemed that Cromer was set to retire just as there had been a few ominous incidents among the ‘Gippy’ troops, nothing serious yet but enough to set Chirol to worrying about the future. Parliament, of course, was anything but reassuring, the government was floundering in the quicksand of its campaign promises, and the opposition as usual went without adequate leadership. Given all this to consider he struggled briefly against his tendency to look on the dark side, but didn’t get far. ‘Happily things are’, or so he wanted to suppose, ‘never quite so black as they look, but they look black enough in all conscience beneath the careless surface of material prosperity. Even that prosperity may mean only that we are living on our capital.’10 Faced as he was with the dregs of winter, his mother’s decline, his office life constricted, his social life dull, English politics rotten root and branch, and no escape hatch labelled Tehran, Chirol hit upon an extraordinary 305

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way of putting all that dreary mess at arm’s length. He would leave his flat in central London to share a house on the outskirts of the city with a family by the name of Marillier. Mr Marillier, a widower with two young daughters, part-time art critic and full-time managing director of Morris and Company, had recently remarried and moved his small family into Kelmscott House, William Morris’s lovely old place on the Thames at Hammersmith. How Chirol knew Marillier, or became so close to him, he never said, or at least wrote down. But that they were people after his own heart is evident. The new Mrs Marillier was a talented musician, and both she and her husband were ‘interested chiefly in literature and art without being in the least “intense” or pretentious’. Their lives were simple and quiet, there were charming children on hand and a delightfully homey feeling about the house and its lovely garden. This was a bold and unprecedented plan, but not quite as precipitous as it seemed, as there was to be a trial period of several months. If, at the end of that, ‘they suit me and I suit them & it all suits together’, he would give up the flat at Queen Anne’s Mansions and move in permanently. His enthusiasm for the scheme was palpable. As he told Florence, herself the daughter he had always wanted, he was ‘woefully tired of the loneliness of bachelor existence’. And did she, he wondered, think him as mad as he was lonely?11 What Florence felt, or said, if she said anything, did not really matter as the experiment, lovely during the months that it lasted, failed in the end. The little group got along fine, the house seemed to suit, but Hammersmith, new underground or no, was simply too far from Printing House Square. Complain as he did that winter, not all the days were gloomy. In early February he went to visit Curzon and his ‘fascinating’ little girls at the Priory, Reigate, a ‘romantic old pile’ once lived in by Katherine of Aragon. He went out feeling typically sour and out of sorts and came back ‘quite human again’, if bemused by the ‘curious system’ that was British politics. ‘One day [it] raises men to positions of immense responsibility and power, and then consigns them to complete inactivity in the full maturity of their powers … as if we had such a plethora of ability that they never could be missed!’12 Rosebery’s defeat in a by-election the following month caused similar head-shaking. ‘His seems to me,’ he wrote to Springy, ‘one of the more melancholy cases of unfulfilled promise. “Unstable as water, thou shalt never prosper.” Yet one feels that the country is punished with him, for we can ill afford to lose such an asset as he might have been.’13 Concerned as he was about the state of British politics, high and low, Chirol was all the more displeased by the ones at his own shop. Every day, 306

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or so it seemed to him, The Times became more clearly partisan – which meant Conservative – on most issues. He struggled mightily to keep his own pages non-party but it was an uphill fight. The débacle of the Unionist party gave us a chance such as we are not likely to have again of reconsidering our whole position, of accepting the new situation created by the general election, and of reverting to something like our old attitude of independence from purely party prejudices and passions. I believe we might in that way have enormously strengthened the moderate element in the Cabinet and in Parliament and done real service to the country. But vox clamantis in deserto.14

Chirol was also increasingly short-tempered with some of his men abroad. In most cases friction between editor and correspondent was smoothed over by a combination of frank talk, reasonable explanations, and judicious praise. But Chirol’s frame of mind that gloomy winter, not to mention his own difficulties with the prevailing temper at Printing House Square, took a toll on his patience and his diplomatic skills. In early April he had a sharp exchange with Bourchier, the Times man in the Balkans, a month or so later it was Steed’s turn. Bourchier’s sin was being slow, Steed’s was being rude. With the former he complained twice in very quick succession and two quite different voices. The first letter, more typical of the diplomatic Chirol, was clearly cross, but careful to mix praise with censure. While pointing out that journalism was ‘a profession in which one must after all sometime “hustle” a bit’, Bourchier would be wrong to take the point in a negative way. His work was of very great value and if he, Chirol, sounded annoyed it was only because he sensed that Bourchier was too likely to ‘sacrifice the practical to the ideal’ in his dispatches. His following letter began with the observation that the previous message was written ‘with great restraint as I was anxious to avoid hurting the susceptibilities of an old colleague and friend’. That had changed, literally overnight. Your telegram of tonight shows … that you do not at all realize how seriously we think you have failed us … A correspondent cannot always take his own time & do his work exactly in the way that suits his own convenience, & certainly in your own case where for weeks & months together we leave you free to do so, we expect that when the interests of the paper require it, you should rise to the emergency by a proportionate effort … Journalism abhors the word ‘impossible’ & it is by no means impossible to combine serious work with promptitude. The Times is after all a daily paper, & not a magazine, & nowadays no excellence of work can make up for lagging behind public interest.15

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The following month he fired off an equally angry note to Steed about the ‘astonishing’ tone that he had used with Hubbard, the man who had succeeded him at Rome. Chirol was clearly angry, but in truth he was shocked – almost horrified – to think that Steed, Hubbard’s senior in terms of service, if not in years, could so blatantly insult not only a colleague, but a colleague that he should have known The Times valued highly. The mere fact that The Times appointed Hubbard to be one of its representatives abroad makes your profession of ignorance [as to his moral reputation in England] savour of impertinence, [and] not toward Hubbard alone. It is not pleasant to have to say to you what I have said, but the length & intimacy of our relations & my sponsorship for you, which I should be sorry to have to regret, when you entered the service of The Times entitles me, I think, to write to you in my private capacity with a frankness & directness which I hope may never be required in my official capacity.16

The raw irritability of that rebuke could not be put down to gloomy weather, doom-laden politics, nor to overwork. On the contrary he was just back, albeit a bit earlier than he would have wished, from a marvellous few weeks in the ‘magic of an Italian spring’. Having had to forgo Tehran, he scanned the European map, with filial tether in mind, and decided that it could stretch at least as far as a gondola on the Grand Canal. The calm peacefulness of Venice suited him perfectly. There was so little of the aggressive modernity of cities such as London, no trams, or cars, or omnibuses, no rush, little noise. Naturally there were flaws; he loathed the ‘commonplace dress’ of the twentieth-century travellers and the ‘worse than commonplace tawdriness of the newfangled shops’ that catered to them. But those he would somehow manage to avoid, turning his head around so as to live in the XVth century with the people who made history and were probably the greatest Imperialists that the world has ever known, though they didn’t write leading articles about it! On second thought I’m afraid they did, for it was at Venice that journalism was invented in the shape of a newssheet, price one gazi, an Arab coin then current all over the Mediterranean, and hence the word Gazetta!17

Steed was obviously no beneficiary of this Venetian idyll. Perhaps it was the return to the unruly clamour and messy doings of the twentieth century that made Chirol particularly testy, perhaps because the suddenness of that return was unexpected. His lovely ‘laze’ was cut short, as it turned out, by news of serious rioting in India. That was worrying enough, 308

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but what really unnerved him were rumours of unrest among the Sikh regiments. It seemed that recent complaints among those special soldiers were not the customary wrangling over arrears in pay, and both common soldiers and non-commissioned officers had been seen at local political rallies, something that they were expressly forbidden to do. It was the sort of news Chirol had been expecting ever since his long tour of the previous year, the work of Kitchener bearing fruit. Those particular upsets and uprisings were, in fact, soon smoothed down. But Chirol still saw the wolf near, if not precisely in, the imperial fold in the form of the local demagogue and agitator. Thus, for a few weeks in June 1907, his concerns as to the outcome of the Anglo-Russian negotiations, the coming Hague Peace Conference, the endless diplomatic manoeuvrings, subtle and not so subtle, of the spoilsport Germans, the small but undeniable rift in the Anglo-Japanese lute,18 all yielded briefly to his determination to publicise the danger facing the Raj. What struck him in particular was how fast sedition was spreading, and how far. Once-tranquil areas were not only getting the message but enthusing over it. Even the Muslims, long the traditional enemies of the Hindus and, by default if nothing else, supporters of the Raj, were being cordially invited by their enemies to join with them in putting an end to it. On 3 June he published a long letter under the heading ‘The “Gospel of the New Movement” in India’. In two and a half dense columns he essentially shouted ‘heads up’ to a public and a Parliament he feared had long since been lulled into a comfortable feeling of security thanks to unrealistic reports coming from their officials in India. Chirol’s way of correcting these mistakes was to offer excerpts from three recent ‘missionary’ addresses given by a Mr Chandra Pal, one of the most able and fervent apostles of the so-called ‘new movement’. It could not but be useful, he pointed out to his readers, ‘to have an opportunity of learning on such undisputed authority what are the arguments employed, the objects pursued, and the methods proposed by the party which he represents’. By deploying great chunks of Chandra Pal’s subversive longwindedness, Chirol showed how the ‘new movement’ first dismissed the notion that any progress whatsoever had been made in giving Indians a meaningful share in their own administration, then announced that there was effectively nothing – neither gradual integration nor the sword – that would, in the end, keep India under the British yoke. Such preaching, warned Chirol, amounted to ‘nothing less than an open and defiant declaration of war against British rule and British administration’. 309

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As he told Barrow privately, it was a message that must be addressed, across party lines, and now. To shrug it off, or play politics with it, could only make things worse.19 Long, private and very similar letters went out to his usual circle. After more or less repeating what he had said in the paper, Chirol threw in something that he had not – or not been able to – put before the public. Britain, he insisted, had brought some of this trouble down upon her own head by tolerating the deplorable shenanigans of Brodrick, Balfour and Kitchener. He himself had no doubts that, for the moment, there were vastly more loyal than disloyal natives. But the future was worrying. If the now loyal supporters of the Raj were terrorised either into remaining silent, or worse, buying into the ‘new movement’, things could rapidly disintegrate. That this sorry state of affairs was brought about in part, even a large part, ‘by the loss of dignity and prestige inflicted upon the government of India by the late government at home when it threw over Curzon with every circumstance of contumely in favour of Kitchener’ now became Chirol’s gospel. He preached it where and when he could, reminding his friends that he had once pointed out that no good could possibly come from the way that Curzon was jettisoned and Kitchener empowered. ‘But mine was a voice crying in the wilderness, and there is no use now in going back to bygone history. In fact all one can do, and what one ought to do now, is to try and save whatever prestige and authority remain to the Indian government and the present Viceroy.’20 Convinced as he was that in India much more depended on administration than on legislation, he looked for a firm hand on the helm. Minto’s, alas, he found rather wavering. The more problematic the Viceroy, the more Chirol looked to Morley. The Secretary of State must see things in the right light, and he did his best to help. I said to him plainly that from a man of his position, age and character we had a right to expect statesmanship and not politics [… ] and he replied with considerable emphasis, ‘I know, I know. It is perhaps rather hard that this great responsibility should have been laid upon me in my old age – the heaviest burden that I have ever had to bear. [… ] But I am not going to gamble with the lives of my countrymen and countrywomen out there (he laid great stress on the women). If they are to be tossed about in a storm in that great unknown sea of brown humanity, I will not have it said of me that they went under because I flinched from the storm-in-ateapot which a few Parliamentary hot-heads may raise.’ Those I think are

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almost exactly the words he used. Will he act up to them … ? I hope and think so …21

The flare-up in India was indeed effectively addressed – at least for the moment – which allowed Chirol to turn his attention back to the doings in St Petersburg. From all that he could learn, the Anglo-Russian talks were coming along nicely. Very nicely from his point of view, as it seemed that the finished document would provide for an effective defence of India. It apparently would also pledge Britain to defend the areas of south-eastern Persia – Seistan and Baluchistan – should the Russians ever break their word and move in that direction. Chirol was as astounded as he was pleased that the present government had agreed to such a provision. In the meanwhile his long-running argument with Springy continued. His case against the latter’s accusation that Britain’s ‘desertion’ of the popular party, or parties, in Persia – people who objected to having their country effectively divided between Russia and Britain – would badly damage her standing throughout the Muslim world was not one of his strongest. He could not, and did not, try to dismiss the importance of Muslim opinion. That was a page out of his own bible. Instead he argued that as the Persians were largely Shiah, and ‘our’, as he put it, Indian Muslims mainly Sunni, it was unlikely, ‘except for purposes of agitation’, that the latter would ‘get very much excited over the fate of such “sons of burnt fathers” as the Persians’. Moreover the shape that the unrest in India had assumed tended, he thought – for the present at least – ‘to rally the Mahomedans to the Raj as against the Hindu’.22 ‘For the present’, in Chirol’s mouth, was not meant to be even partially reassuring. He was less concerned, he told his unhappy friend in Tehran, at having half a loaf than at the prospects of having no loaf at all. Should the agreement fall through, all the old antagonism would return, made more bitter by failure and weighing in on every question on the international agenda. Germany would be delighted to take back her convenient position as tertius gaudens, France far less thrilled to reassume her embarrassing one sandwiched between Berlin and London. Japan would be constantly on the lookout for British provocation in central Asia, lest she be dragged into a conflict against both her will and her best interests. For all these reasons – which he hoped Springy might see – an agreement with Russia, no matter its imperfections, was the better choice. Although it seemed that progress was being made at St Petersburg, there were still potential bumps in the road ahead and some of them were in Britain. In this case Chirol feared the new guard rather more than the old, anxious lest the crowd of resolute Radicals succeed in putting 311

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their large, collective foot down against doing anything in tandem with a despotic government bent on stifling an unloved infant democracy. This is not to say that he found the most obdurate sections of the opposition particularly reassuring. A combination of Liberal-haters and Unionists still committed to a ‘forward’ policy on the Indian frontier might well find common cause in wrecking any agreement, the former in order to damage the present government, the latter because they did not want to see any real limit to military expansion along India’s border. The Times had not yet come out for or against, a hesitation caused, as he complained to Nicolson, by its party point of view. It became his personal project to see that every effort was made at Printing House Square to avert or, at least, to minimise any Conservative attack on the agreement, and he became increasingly impatient to see the document ‘safely in port’. Even when that looked set to happen, one detail – intangible, but to his mind supremely important – was still out on the open water. Above and beyond the concrete terms, the ‘who gets what, who does what’, the settlement must have what he liked to call a ‘moral effect’. If it lacked that, it would neither work nor last. It must be seen, both in Russia and at home, as well as by other Powers, to have the kind of broad-based popular and party support given Britain’s earlier agreements with Japan and France. Only then could there be a real rapprochement between the two old foes, leading in turn to a general transformation of their relations. Should people in London, or in India – his eye on Kitchener and Minto – continue to question the ability of any negotiated document, however finely wrought, to put a meaningful stop to what had been decades of bickering and ingrained suspicions, there would be the devil to pay. When it came to this ‘moral support’ element Chirol truly feared the rabid Liberal-haters among the opposition. Bent, he was convinced, on selfish, short-sighted political gains, they were prepared to emasculate any agreement they failed to defeat outright. He doubted that the responsible leaders would try to do so, ‘for neither Balfour nor Lansdowne can fail to realise that so far as Persia is concerned, not to speak of Tibet, the record of the late government is not particularly brilliant’. But all that was needed to wreck the ‘moral’ effect were a ‘sufficient number of free-lances to create the impression abroad, and in Russia especially, that public opinion is not yet as a whole by any means reconciled to friendly relations with our old Asiatic rival’.23 Back in St Petersburg the settlement so feared and fussed over was near at hand. By the end of August the diplomats were done. There was little outright joy in either capital, but, and certainly in Chirol’s case, a feeling 312

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of relief that the Great Game might finally be over. The Anglo-Russian Agreement was formally signed on the last day of the month. That same day the Persian Prime Minister was assassinated. Only ‘a dramatic coincidence’, said Chirol, but upped his pressure on Florence and Springy to come home. Although the Foreign Office also thought it time for him to leave Tehran, Springy would not budge. He was furious with his superiors in London for having failed even to tell him that the agreement was done and in force until three days after the event. He first knew of it by reading the news in the press. Was this some sort of sign, he wondered angrily, ‘that Persian public opinion was not to be considered’?24 For months he had been warning of dire consequences within Persia once the people began to digest what was to happen to them. Chirol was himself aware that it was a matter of no little importance how they took it, and agreed that it would come as ‘an unpleasantly cold douche for all concerned [in Britain] if its publications were to be followed by any anti-European outbreak which might serve as an excuse for Russian intervention’.25 He was also, he assured Springy, not happy to have to disappoint the people of Persia even though he could not bring himself to believe that they were at all ready for the ‘democracy’ they seemed to want so fervently. Not for months but for years Chirol had been warning everybody in sight, to little if any avail, that Britain was drifting along in Persia without a clear policy and without the right men. The new agreement had the inestimable virtue of making Whitehall finally ‘nail our flag to the mast – a not very lofty or commanding mast but better than nothing at all’.26 The main point in his Middle Eastern Question, as he reminded the despairing Springy, had been that, without a clear and definite policy in Persia, Britain would soon wake up to find Russian trains chugging along the border of Afghanistan, Russian ships sailing about in the Gulf and the Indian Ocean, and Russian soldiers bivouacking in Seistan and Baluchistan. The value of the new arrangement lay in the fact that it recognised that such dangers actually existed and addressed them in concrete terms. On paper it did look like an enormous give-away, he had already admitted that. But to have formal recognition of British ascendency in the south-east meant that in terms of Britain’s – and Chirol’s – primary interests, which were Indian, Britain had actually secured the substance and merely given away the shadow. When an army friend in India wrote to say that from where he sat it was not so clear that Seistan and Baluchistan would prove either an adequate or a permanent guarantee against Russian encroachment, Chirol 313

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remained remarkably unperturbed. Perhaps they would not, he wrote to Springy, but, since the friend had also said that it might be two or three decades before what was only a presumed danger became a real one, he could not take the warning ‘too tragically’. Especially, he added almost gaily – and one wonders with what degree of honest belief – ‘as by that time there will probably be no British India and perhaps no British Empire to be concerned about!’.27 By the summer of 1907 the quiet that had marked the opening of the year was the faintest of memories, and Chirol’s work seemed to him to grow and grow, helped in part by a ‘regular cyclone’ of sickness that raged through the office and tied him to his ‘treadmill’. Hammersmith helped a bit, but living ‘astride’ Morris’s lovely old house and his own flat at Queen Anne’s Gardens was not ideal. Astonishingly enough, he calmly told O’Conor that he had very little to complain about. ‘Nothing much’ was not ‘nothing at all’, and when Chirol felt like grumbling there was always the Second Hague Peace Conference, which opened on 15 June and meandered on well into the autumn. From the day it opened he was busy fault-finding. Joseph Choate, the head of the American delegation, was not slow to notice. He singled out The Times – ‘still the great organ of British public opinion, especially on foreign affairs’ – as particularly critical. ‘Not only was it constantly uttering severe criticisms upon what was done or not done, it openly set us down as largely composed of a group of second-class diplomatists, who were trying to see how we could best dupe each other.’28 Choate had not singled out any particular delegation as getting the worst treatment, but Chirol certainly did not spare his own. Not only was it weak, it had been weakened in advance. Only Sir Ernest Satow, already at The Hague as a member of the international court of arbitration, was deemed to be ‘doing well’. That was hardly fulsome praise but it was better than the ‘sentimental faddist’ or ‘diplomatic cypher’ which he bestowed on Satow’s fellow delegates Sir Donald Reay and Sir Henry Howard. He was initially willing to admit that Sir Edward Fry, the head of the delegation, was an able lawyer, but, as a mild and gentle Quaker, hardly the man to be dealing with rough and real talk of war and peace. There was also RearAdmiral Sir Charles Ottley, a man who had real ability but was not equipped with ‘sufficiently heavy guns’ for an occasion on which most of the heavy fighting seemed to fall on him. It would be comical, if were not so outrageous, that, while all the other Great Powers had beribboned admirals on their teams, ‘the greatest naval Power in the world [was] represented only by a junior Post Captain’. This he blamed on 314

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Jacky Fisher, for wanting to have someone ‘whom he had well under his thumb’.29 A month into the discussions and debates the conference had boiled down to what was essentially an Anglo-German face-off. It seemed that Fry, in an effort to do his bit to improve relations with the Germans, had given Baron Marschall chapter and verse of the British scheme for an international Prize Court, even going so far as to read the text aloud to his German counterpart. Marschall listened carefully, and the very next day, much to Fry’s consternation, unveiled a German plan that confronted the British position point by point. For the poor, naive, ‘hare-headed’ Fry, said Chirol, the only thing left to do was go home and use ‘the Quaker’s equivalent for strong language’. But, at the very least, Fry’s treatment woke him up to the difficulties of trying to be best friends with the Germans, and that was one point to his credit. The Peace Conference was not the only thing to grumble about should Chirol be so disposed. The sin of apathy was a perennial complaint, and, he rarely tired of warning his friends and colleagues that the great British public does not care a hang now about China or the Far East, and will want something far more sensational than breaches of concessions or quibbles about the Open Door to rouse it … I am afraid even our keenest Imperialists ‘forget’ India [when it] is to my mind far and away the gravest Imperial question of the time… Very few people speak of it, which may not be altogether regrettable, but even fewer people think about it.30

He, on the other hand, thought about it all the time, ‘most preoccupied’ by it in June, its condition of ‘paramount importance’ in July, in August the situation there only ‘superficially better’, and by September turning into a ‘thorny problem’. It was a problem that threw a wide shadow. Toward the end of the year, when pushed by Bourchier to have The Times support a new reform campaign at Constantinople – the eternal problem of Macedonia being once again to the fore – Chirol pointed out that given current problems in Egypt and especially in India it was not particularly desirable for either the paper or the government to head a crusade at Constantinople unless they absolutely must. It was not the time to be rubbing Muslim feeling the wrong way, especially since the behaviour of the Balkan Christians ‘of all sects and races’ had been just as appalling as, if not more appalling than, that of their Muslim neighbours. It seemed to him more than unwise to expose Britain ‘to the charge of racial and religious hostility towards Islam 315

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[by advocating] the coercion of Turkey without advocating also equally strong measures against the Balkan states responsible for four fifths of the present bloodshed and anarchy …’.31 Another Indian problem much on his mind was increasing military costs, costs that were exciting increasing resistance among those Indians paying attention to the burdens they were asked to bear. In the last days of 1906, the Indian National Congress, meeting at Calcutta, passed a resolution protesting against these mounting charges. One of the most appealing features of the new Russian agreement, and one that Chirol made much of, was that it would lessen military expenditures. Kitchener, he knew, would be dead set against having his funds, and therefore his plans, trimmed. He himself was still dead set against Kitchener. Shortly after the signing of the Anglo-Russian pact, Morley wrote privately to Lord Minto concerning rumours that the commander-inchief had been intriguing with the press in Britain to speak out against the treaty. Minto, ignoring Morley’s injunctions about keeping this business to himself, spoke about it to Kitchener. Infuriated, the commander-in-chief immediately blamed The Times. Behind Morley he saw Chirol, behind Chirol the arch-enemy, Lord Curzon. He had heard from his own sources in London that it was during the time that Chirol had been standing in for an ailing Buckle that the paper suggested that it was a good time, given the reduced threat from Russia, to reduce British forces in India. Repington had at once written a strong protest against such a policy and ‘probably’ told Chirol that it looked suspiciously as if he were simply going out of his way to make as much trouble for Kitchener as he possibly could. It was at that point, in Kitchener’s imagination if nowhere else, that Chirol went to Morley to say that he, Kitchener, was intriguing with Repington against the treaty. Morley had obviously swallowed Chirol’s account whole, otherwise he would not have written the way he had to the Viceroy. ‘This might,’ Kitchener noted grimly, ‘have caused serious trouble between the Viceroy and myself and infinite harm out here, and would thus have brought about exactly what Curzon most desires.’32 Kitchener’s outrage grew the more he felt victimised. There was Chirol, breezily breaking all the ‘usual rules of pressmen’, and Britain herself, not ‘breeding patriotic children, [but] producing a brood of lying, backbiting bloodsuckers, or disgusted servants [such as himself]’. He commissioned his friend and factotum Raymond Marker to find out from Repington if his suppositions were right. Not a bad hand himself when it came to intriguing, he suggested that Marker might also pay a call on the ‘honest’ 316

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Buckle to let him know what Chirol had been up to behind his back. But whatever Marker did or said he must be very careful not to let Mr Morley find out in any way that the Viceroy [has spoken to me] as he impressed on Lord Minto great secrecy, thus passing on the obligation Chirol doubtless placed [him] under in order to cover his tracks and enable his stab in the back to be delivered in the darkest night.33

There were, of course, other concerns besides India on Chirol’s docket. Doings in the Congo continued to haunt and harry him – as did the zealous Morel. Efforts to relieve the natives’ agony by transferring rule from King to country sputtered along in Brussels throughout 1907. Morel, anxious for progress and increasingly chafed by Chirol’s frequent reminders as to the necessity of going slowly, suggested that the foreign editor’s heart might not be really in the struggle. That at least got a rapid response, although probably not the one Morel wanted. Chirol insisted that he shared the reformer’s ultimate goal, it was just his ‘modus procedend’ that he found troubling. ‘I rather gathered that you have so little faith in the results of annexation that you would not be sorry to see the Belgians reject it in the hope apparently that some sort of international administration might ultimately be forced upon Leopold.’ If that supposition fitted, then Morel should resign himself to getting no support from the British government as he was sure that neither the present administration, nor any future one, would run the risk of advocating the use of force. Chirol himself felt that annexation was the only viable solution and was being careful in the paper so as not to ‘play into the hands of those Belgians who would represent annexation as a surrender to foreign pressure…’.34 He was willing to concede that, in the end, the ideal solution might turn out to be some sort of international control. But in his view ‘it can only be considered, and, if necessary, advocated, after annexation has proved to be impossible’.35 Chirol would not alter this position nor would Morel stop trying to impress him with ‘the logicalness’ of his own point of view. ‘I want to walk warily, too,’ he wrote, pointing out that he had not ‘allowed a word of criticism of Grey to escape me’. But the whole point of modus operandi turns upon what is wariness, and what is strength, and what is weakness in this matter at the present juncture … In short I feel very convincingly that a solution is to be gained more quickly, more rapidly, more surely by a consistent, firm attitude, than by disarming ourselves as it were in face of the enemy.

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perhaps I shall be forgiven. Anyway I am awfully relieved to know that you don’t disapprove of my attitude, even if you can’t agree with it from a tactical point of view.’36 In his gracious – but still unyielding – response, Chirol assured Morel that he had far and away ‘too great a regard for the sincerity and energy of your championship of a difficult and in many respects thankless cause’ to be annoyed. Morel must always keep in mind the fact that he, Chirol, would not cease to respect his views, even if they diverged much further from his own than was now the case. As for Morel’s logic, there was nothing wrong with it in theory. It was only that he himself had long since decided that logic neither did nor could govern the world, ‘least of all the world of politics’.37 Occupied as Chirol was with the reception of the Anglo-Russian Agreement, the deteriorating situation in Persia, the winding up of the Hague Conference, and the inconclusive bargaining going on in Brussels – not to mention the rather florid political drama constantly playing at home – the Germans were not necessarily uppermost in his mind. Nor were they absent, and certainly not when it came to his assessment of the situation in Morocco. As 1907 progressed it became evident the French had a lot on their hands with their new possession. Three years earlier Chirol had warned his friend Etienne that the ramshackle desert kingdom might well turn out to be something of a pig in a poke. Now, so it seemed, the pig had become a regular wild boar, with a pickelhaube perhaps behind it! And Etienne is in a fix and so wants to throw the blame upon us. Poor devils, it is hard upon the French. Tails they lose and heads they don’t win. If they let things drift, they abdicate their position and William deposes them. If they make a clean job of it W[illiam] says: That’s all right, but we must share and share alike. None of your sacre selfishness …38

Whatever they were up to in Morocco, or at The Hague, the Germans also had other things on their minds – and very much on their tongues – as well. Outwardly straightlaced and puritanical, after their Kaiser’s pattern, Berlin society loved nothing better than a good scandal. In the summer of 1907 there was a particularly juicy one on hand. Maximilian Harden, recent persecutor and now bosom friend of Holstein, had turned his critical attentions onto none other than the Kaiser’s old and dear friend Philipp von Eulenburg and other high-ranking intimates of both Kaiser and von Eulenburg. The members of this group, according to Harden, were unfit to hold whatever positions they enjoyed as they were morally depraved, in fact were homosexual. Recourse was had to the libel courts, 318

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judgments were issued and then overturned, newspapers flew off the stands, statements were made in the Reichstag. Poor Eulenburg, the former favourite, finally collapsed but was still made to testify, this time in a perjury trial cleverly arranged by Harden to make him admit to having committed perverted acts. The Kaiser reacted harshly toward his former intimate. Unable, of course, to defend him publicly, he also withheld any private solace. At the same time there were signs that he took his fall much to heart, and by the autumn seemed perilously close to emotional collapse himself.39 It was in this notably unstable condition that he arrived at Windsor to pay a call on his royal uncle. Recent events, Chirol observed, had clearly ‘knocked the stuffing’ out of him. They hadn’t done much for the Empress either, and she seemed nervous as to how people would receive them. ‘The Berlin “revelations” have been a terrible blow to her rather puritanical pride,’ he told Bland, ‘which had hitherto flattered her that the German capital was not as other capitals – neither as Paris, the modern Babylon, nor as London, the luxurious Capua of a decadent Empire.’40 In the end the Kaiser’s visit, according to Chirol’s exacting standard, went off remarkably well.41 He hoped that the French might now be able to relax a bit, nor had anything untoward happened that might touch off another Anglo-German press war. When the whole business had been concluded, and without mishap, he was not alone in being both pleased and relieved. Apparently the King himself was not only ‘in excellent humour and spirits’ with the way the visit had gone, but equally happy to be ‘emancipated’ from his problematic nephew.42 As pleased as Chirol was, his view of future Anglo-German relations was not sanguine. On the very day that the Kaiser left Windsor – but not Britain – Berlin announced that German battleships would from that point on be replaced after 20 years’ service rather than the current 25 years. Whitehall did not react well, nor did Chirol. Newer ships could only mean heavier taxes and how better, he reflected, to get up steam for the latter than to ‘turn on the old pressure valves of Anglophobia, and if they are turned on what becomes of the professions of undying friendship during the Windsor week, and what figures will our [Teutonophiles] cut over here?’. The Times’ policy, which was his, was to ‘sit tight and watch’.43 At that point Chirol himself had been sitting tight at Printing House Square for much longer than usual. Two weeks earlier he had written to Bland that he was thinking of having Saunders come over to London, perhaps as early as the start of the new year, to sit in for him for a few months. If that went well he hoped to set up some ‘more permanent 319

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arrangement’ for sharing the foreign room so as to have ‘longer terms of release for myself’. This was not the first time Chirol had mentioned changes at the office, but the first time he had said anything so definite. In September he told Florence Spring-Rice that there was talk of change at Printing House Square, ‘and some … are impending … (this however quite between ourselves) which might conceivably “reconstruct” me out of it’.44 He seemed more worried about having his finances reconstructed than his position, but noted wryly that he would no doubt qualify for five shillings per week under the old age pensions ‘which our benevolent rulers contemplate giving us’ and which was one of the most noire of his current bêtes. He continued to keep his tone light, at least on the money question, even as things on that front deteriorated. Toward the end of 1907 there was a serious financial panic in the United States. An American friend passing through London had accurately predicted the crash and told him to sell any and all of his American shares. He did nothing, and, as he later told Bland, could not figure out why. ‘Conscientious scruples, or stupidity, or want of pluck? Or all three combined? I don’t know myself sufficiently to say!’ What he did know was that all his ‘poor little investments have shrunk to still littler proportions, and I am chained proportionally tighter to my galley bench’.45 Whether he knew it or not, and his letter to Florence suggests that he knew something, moves were being made to loosen those bonds. Three months earlier Bell had sent a brief, and most surprising, letter to George Morrison, wanting, he said, to ‘ask you confidentially a very straight question. Would you be disposed to give up China and come to London as Foreign Editor of The Times?’ Morrison’s reaction was equally succinct. ‘Now there was a staggerer,’ he confessed to his diary. ‘What am I to do?’46 Bell made it perfectly plain that he could not make a hard and fast offer as there was, at that point, no vacancy. But, considering that there were due to be a ‘good many changes at the paper during the next six months, he needed to know Morrison’s views and, most particularly whether or not he would take the post should it become vacant. ‘I am writing to no one else but you,’ said Bell, ‘and no single person knows that I am writing to you nor will know.’47 But, as surprising as this offer seemed to Morrison, he was not the first to be considered. At the tail end of 1906, J. L. Garvin, angling for a partnership with Lord Northcliffe, an early, and enthusiastic, proponent of ‘new’ journalism and the proprietor of the very successful Daily Mail, wrote to say that he had recently had a tempting offer from The Times. He assured Northcliffe that he had done nothing to encourage Printing House Square, they had 320

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come to him entirely on their own. What they had in mind, so he said, was his joining the staff as assistant director of the foreign department, running it alternately with Chirol with a view to eventually – no timetable was mentioned – taking over completely. Garvin was certainly tempted – ‘as a post of honour and responsibility it is superior to anything else that could be offered to me [and] I know more of foreign affairs as a whole than anybody in this country except Chirol’ – but not very willing. Apart from Moberly Bellism and crippled finances which prevent The Times foreign service from being anything like what it should … [the] offer would satisfy one faculty and limit the rest … I am unconventional and human, and The Times is academic … Printing House Square, though willing to give more scope to me than to others, would restrain and cramp my methods.48

There had been hints in Chirol’s letters for a year or more that things were not necessarily for the best at Printing House Square. He was so close to Bell that he knew full well of the heroic efforts his old friend had to make, and against what odds, to keep the paper afloat. He also knew that more, and more drastic, measures were needed. As early as 1905 Chirol was telling his correspondents that some of the increasing pressure on space in the paper was due, ‘happily’, to the increase in advertisements. But, by the end of 1906, it was already horribly evident to an increasingly desperate Bell that no amount of advertising income, or income from subsidiary ventures he had fostered, such as The Times Atlas, The Times Book Club, The Times edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, could necessarily pull things out of the hole. During 1907 a welter of accusations flew between the lesser proprietors and the dominant Walter family, along with various schemes, alignments and last-ditch efforts by a remarkable array of people, all determined, after their own fashion, to save The Times. In mid-summer Chirol compared Printing House Square with the British Empire. As a microcosm of the latter, the former ‘just muddles through, and it is a wonder that it muddles through as successfully as it does. But how long will this miracle continue in either case’?49

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New Beginnings, Old Problems

In the first week of January 1908 the dark clouds of rumour and conjecture that had been closing over the offices of The Times parted. Out stepped Arthur Walter, to hurl a thunderbolt that shook old Printing House Square to its dusty foundations. He had found the money needed to keep the paper alive; it belonged to Mr C. Arthur Pearson.1 An agreement had been drafted and signed; pending the completion of the necessary legal steps, Mr Pearson would become the new managing director. Five months earlier Mr Justice Warrington had put an end to the outdated partnership at will, the terms of which had governed the paper for the best part of a century. He named Arthur Walter, the chief proprietor, as receiver, and ordered that the property be sold. With that the question, or questions, became: to whom, for how much, and under what conditions? The only point on which anyone connected with The Times seemed ready to agree was that the old Thunderer should not be put through the indignity of a public auction. Bell, in tandem with Messrs Hooper and Jackson, the American entrepreneurs who had brought him the Britannica and the Book Club projects, had a plausible scheme ready to hand. What they envisaged was a massing together of all the activities and properties currently housed at Printing House Square – the paper itself, the printing business, the Book Club, Atlas, Britannica, the book-selling firm of Hooper and Jackson – into one corporation in which Arthur Walter would have the controlling interest. There were clear advantages to their plan; it could be put into 322

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play at once, even better it would not make untoward changes in the current editorial staff, nor would it alter the traditions of the paper in any unhappy way. But there was a problem as well and it was a major one. To make such a thing happen, all the lesser proprietors would have to give their approval. Within that disparate and fractious group were many who disliked the innovations already wrought by Bell and Hooper and Jackson, or who simply wanted Walter and his autocratic ways to be set aside for good. Although the Bell plan envisaged not the slightest change in the character of The Times, sceptics were already saying that, thanks to quite noticeable changes in advertising design and to the alien Book Club idea, it was already becoming an ‘American’-style journal. These grumbles got to Walter, who himself found the prospect of ‘Americanisation’ thoroughly unappetising, and he turned the proposal down flat. Having severely disappointed his manager and never having consulted with the editor or foreign editor at all, Walter left three rather disgruntled men to continue to run the badly limping paper until he could come up with a suitable alternative. By October, with time running short and nothing on offer that he liked, Walter became fearful lest he be forced to agree to a public sale. In some desperation he turned to his financial friends in the City to see if he could come up with enough money to float The Times, Limited, and an operational package to go with it. All made it very plain to Walter that ‘City’ money would only take kindly to a thoroughly reorganised and modernised paper, one that would attract a considerably larger number of both subscribers and advertisers. Their advice was to be rid of Bell, Hooper and Jackson and to install a manager capable of making the necessary changes. Cyril Arthur Pearson’s name came up early on. He had certainly had an enormous success with his populist papers and was, as Joseph Chamberlain said – and he knew a businessman when he saw one – one of the greatest ‘hustlers’ he had ever known. Neither Pearson’s style of journalism, nor his hustling abilities, were to Chirol’s liking. As he and Bell saw comfortably eye to eye when it came to the journalistic principles and traditions of The Times, and Hooper and Jackson, as far as he could see, posed no threat on that front, he did not complain about the projects they dreamed up to earn more money. But by the end of 1907 Chirol knew that even more radical changes were – and had to be – on the way. All the same neither he, nor any other member of what would soon come to be known as the ‘Old Gang’ – Buckle, Bell, Capper,2 Monypenny – would have believed 323

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that Arthur Walter would turn to Pearson to be the instrument of those changes. The 1st of January was a Wednesday. Bell left for France that day and would not be back in the office until late on Sunday evening, January 5th. Chirol, having already been spread rather thin during the recent epidemic of illness, was increasingly distracted by a budding quarrel with Morrison. The note of wry humour that had marked much of his private correspondence in recent months was now gone. As he told Bland, the outlook at the office was so discouraging that one hadn’t ‘much heart’ for work. Saunders was about to arrive so that he might have a bit of a break, but there was no mention of any more permanent ‘sharing’ arrangement. In a postscript added the following day he mentioned that there had just been an official announcement concerning the ‘transfer’ of the paper. What he was referring to was the following brief notice carried in The Times on Tuesday 7 January. Negotiations are in progress whereby it is contemplated that The Times newspaper shall be formed into a limited company under the proposed chairmanship of Mr Walter. The newspaper, as heretofore, will be published at Printing House Square. The business management will be reorganized by Mr C. Arthur Pearson, the proposed managing director. The editorial character of the paper will remain unchanged, and will be conducted, as in the past, on lines independent of party politics. The contemplated arrangements will in all probability require the sanction of the Court before they become definitive.

This notice was published in order to squash a fast-spreading rumour that the new managing director was to be Alfred Harmsworth, Lord Northcliffe,3 lest such talk upset the financing of the Pearson scheme. Buckle now learned what had been done behind his back. On the morning of January 6th Walter told him that a notice concerning the future of The Times must be drafted at once so as to appear in the following day’s paper. It was not just necessary, but crucial, so he said, to assure the smaller proprietors that there was a workable plan in hand and it had nothing whatsoever to do with Alfred Harmsworth. With that he outlined the Pearson arrangement, described the considerations that informed and led up to it, and then, finally, produced the document that had been signed by Pearson six days before. Buckle, utterly stunned, argued long and hard against naming any names in the notice. Walter, adamant, got his way. In the rush and tussle, Buckle had no time to consult with either Bell or Chirol 324

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before the fought-over paragraph went off to the printer. Once it did he wrote very bluntly to Arthur Walter to say that from where he sat it seemed uncertain whether the advantage, which Pearson’s experience of the newspaper business will bring to the management of the paper, may not be outweighed by his association in the public mind with a press of very different aims and ideals. In other words, though I trust his policy may help us, I fear his name will do us harm.

Hardly surprisingly he went on to say that he was particularly disappointed that such a fundamental step should have been taken without directing so much as one word to himself beforehand.4 Bell, who had come into the office late on the evening of the 6th, was simply handed a proof of the notice. Thunderstruck, he too took up his pen. ‘Forgive me,’ he wrote to Arthur Walter, ‘if I say that I cannot help feeling deeply hurt at the want of confidence you have shown in one who has tried to serve you faithfully and who regarded you as a friend.’5 To Chirol the announcement was nothing less than a ‘bombshell’. On the 8th he wrote – not to Arthur Walter, but to Springy – that the shocking news meant that he must look to his own future. Do you think your American connexions would enable you to help me to get the London correspondence of some decent American paper? I don’t want you to do anything at present, but simply to know whether you think you could do anything. I know very little more than what appeared in the paper yesterday, though that little is by no means reassuring, … it is just as well to be prepared for the worst.6

The worst took quite a while to arrive. Instead John Walter, on behalf of his father, told Chirol that he might, in turn, tell his principal men abroad that it was Walter’s personal ‘hope and belief that nothing would be done to alter the position’ of the foreign department or the agencies abroad. Chirol did as he was told, but with scant enthusiasm. Although he thought it probably best that he keep his personal opinions to himself in those letters, he was unable to do so in his letter to Bland. Nothing ‘news-wise’, he told his friend, could match what was then going on at Printing House Square. In a PS marked for his ‘private eye alone’ he admitted that the ‘poisonous fumes’ of Walter’s ‘bombshell’ were still in the air and rage and despair were the order of the day. Every single soul in the place had been taken unawares, and, if the secrecy was not bad enough, ‘the black ingratitude with which Bell’s splendid devotion has been repaid’ was worse. As for the future, his future, he 325

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was biding his time. He was told by well-wishers that Pearson would not dare to meddle with the foreign department, as it was the chief asset of The Times qua world reputation. That may be, but if I had only myself to consider I should certainly insist on guarantees – or go. But I must consider also my colleagues here who are in different ways perhaps in a less strong or independent position, and also the interests of our staff abroad of which I am in a way the guardian. I am heartbroken anyhow over the whole infernal business. At best all one can hope to do is to save something from the wreckage.7

People in general seemed shocked to discover not only that The Times was struggling simply to keep publishing, but that it had to be so drastically reorganised in order to do so. Chirol was inundated with expressions of dismay. Oh ‘my beloved Domnul’, Gertrude wrote in her impetuous way, is there nothing to be done to ‘save the only paper of its kind in the whole world … I do feel for you more than I can say. The thing is a national disaster … this last great bulwark falling before the rising tide of vulgarity and réclame. Say what one likes, it can never be built up again.’8 St Loe Strachey had similar thoughts. Still, it was crucial, as he told Chirol, to do nothing rash or in a rage, but wait and see how things developed. Remember that you with your splendid organisation of foreign intelligence are the greatest asset remaining to the Times, and I cannot believe that any journalist, even if one takes the most pessimistic view of his limitations, would be so mad as to throw away that asset. Meantime I consider it of great importance in the public interest that you should remain in control of the foreign intelligence … When you vacate that post I shall regard it as nothing short of a national disaster.9

When Kitty Maxse wrote to ask how the ‘revolution’ at Printing House Square would affect his position, he did not mince words. ‘Disastrously,’ he answered, [as] it is abroad even more perhaps than at home that the association of a man like Pearson with The Times will give the death blow to its influence. The effect already all over the continent has been disastrous and from all quarters the same accounts reach me of the despair – or exultation as the case may be – with which the news of the downfall of The Times has been received in all the great European capitals.

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a word of warning sold into the hands of a man ‘whose name stinks in the nostrils of every decent journalist …’.10 Garvin, one of his fiery pen-pushing friends, and another with whom he did not always see eye to eye on political matters had just that January become the editor of Lord Northcliffe’s Observer. On 1 February Chirol wrote to congratulate him – after a fashion. If Pearson was the epitome of a ‘yellow’ journalist, he was one in the shadow of Alfred Harmsworth. Chirol had never had a kind word to say about the Daily Mail.11 But by the beginning of February he had worked himself into a such a state over Pearson that Harmsworth actually seemed a lesser evil. A month earlier, he told Garvin, he should scarcely have thought to congratulate him on becoming the editor on a Harmsworth paper. But there are circles in the inferno of ‘modern’ journalism, as in Dante’s, and I can at least now heartily congratulate you upon not having fallen to the nethermost depths which are yawning beneath poor me. It is not, to my mind, a question of this or that policy being maintained by The Times, but solely of the maintenance of those traditions of journalistic honesty, independence, and decency for which The Times, whatever its policies for the time being, has hitherto stood.12

By that time Bell was hard at work trying to trump the Walter–Pearson deal. He canvassed his large circle of influential friends to see where he might find the necessary – and necessarily untainted – monies. He found much in the way of sympathy but no cash. Buckle and Chirol also made the rounds of the high and the mighty. At the end of January Buckle told Arthur Walter that Balfour, Lansdowne, the Chamberlains (Joe and Austen), Curzon, Edward Grey and Morley, in addition to many lesser personages, all strongly deprecated the introduction of Pearson. He capped this list of home-grown somebodies by saying that neither the French government nor the American President were the least bit happy either. One of Chirol’s assignments, and, as it turned out, a crucial one, was to talk to Sir Edward Tennant.13 As an important, but lesser, proprietor of The Times, Tennant had been tapped to become one of the new directors of the proposed incorporation, in large part to reassure the other small proprietors whose approval of the Pearson takeover was needed. Chirol’s arguments against his accepting this post, leavened by a strong dose of outrage, proved irresistible. On 7 February Arthur Walter was told by Tennant that as far as he was concerned the appointment of Mr Pearson would not effect the object which the proprietors desire. It is held on every hand that under the direction of Mr

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Pearson The Times could not maintain the traditions of the past. I must ask you to withdraw my name from the Board and to give this resignation such publicity as you may think fit.14

As Bell later told Morrison, with the possible exception of Pearson himself, that ‘ignorant windbag’, Chirol did the most to blow up the scheme by convincing Tennant that he was the only reputable man connected with it, ‘whereupon he resigned’. But then Chirol had to convince Sir Edward to join with Buckle, Bell and himself to find a new and better way to save the paper. That took an equal dose of persuasion, Walter having poisoned Tennant’s mind against Bell. It was not until Chirol managed to get the two men together, and a lot of explaining done, ‘that he very handsomely apologised to me, joined us and worked heartily with us to get round the rest’.15 From the start Hooper and Jackson supported Bell, all the while aware that any revival of their own plan was now impossible. But wanting to save their connections with The Times, whose name was a significant asset to them, they did what they could do to help in the search for money. Such funds must come from a source or sources unable to compromise the independent character of the paper. They must also be reliably sufficient. It was no good going to the City, the money men there had made their views plain by backing Pearson. It was also impossible to substitute George Newnes, another ‘popular press’ baron, for Pearson. Harmsworth, one would think, was even more out of the question – but not for long.16 Alfred Harmsworth had long since had his eye on The Times. In 1898 he paid his first visit to Printing House Square. It seemed that he, Harmsworth, had been offered some shares in the paper by one of the dissatisfied small proprietors and was keen to buy. Walter was equally keen to keep him from doing so. No one, he told his visitor – somewhat inaccurately – who was not a member of the (by then quite extended) Walter family had ever been brought into the partnership. And that, as far as he was concerned, would continue to be the case.17 Harmsworth went away empty-handed, but he would be back. In mid-January, as Bell was beginning his search for funding, Hooper had a talk with Kennedy Jones, Harmsworth’s right hand at the Daily News. Jones spoke of the latter’s interest in The Times. In response, Hooper spelled out the seemingly impossible difficulties he would face in trying to buy it. All the same he agreed to talk to Bell. The latter’s reaction was utterly predictable. It was no and never. For one thing, all the people who 328

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had come forward to protest against Pearson might actually accept him if only to protect the paper from Harmsworth. It seemed an uncompromising stance, but not so slowly – and surely prodded by Hooper – the reality of the situation bore in upon Bell. For one thing Harmsworth might well offer Walter more money than he could refuse. Bell had no money with which to defeat Pearson, let alone Harmsworth. In the end it was all about money, a great deal of it and, equally important, ready to hand. This Harmsworth possessed and was prepared to use. At that point Bell began to wonder if he could concoct a plan by which Harmsworth, as financial controller, might allow himself to be controlled by himself as manager, in combination with a board of directors made up of most of the other members of the ‘Old Gang’. Walter’s fatal mistake was to let people know that Pearson was to be in control of The Times, hence all the complaints that the paper would not be safe. Bell now convinced himself that if he could get Harmsworth to agree not to interfere with the traditions or the ‘line’ of The Times, and to remain strictly anonymous, as purchaser, until the paper was back on firm ground, he might have found a workable solution. Two things were indispensable; Harmsworth must give sufficient guarantees and his name must be kept utterly secret. The final weeks of January and the start of February were confused and anxious and to no one more than Bell. Harmsworth was non-committal, Pearson still standing. Bell had to tell both Arthur Walter and Buckle that he had a saviour at hand, but that they could not know his name. Walter, beginning to regret his support of Pearson as the outcry against him grew, took that announcement in better part than did the editor. On 4 February, Bell and Harmsworth finally sat down to discuss their ‘deal’; both were cautious. Harmsworth began by saying that he was going to buy The Times, ‘with your [Bell’s] assistance, if you will give it; without, if you will not’. Bell answered that he was perfectly willing to discuss his buying the paper, provided the right guarantees were given. Money was vital, but the maintenance of the paper’s character and the continued security of the present editorial staff were equally so. Harmsworth assured him that there was nothing he wanted more than to have The Times of the future conducted along the same lines as The Times of the past. The parliamentary reports must continue, likewise the comprehensive foreign dispatches, and all the other special features that made The Times the unique property that it was. Nor, he added, did he have the slightest reservation about having Bell continue as managing director. 329

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By the time the two men parted, Bell had convinced himself not only that the scheme was viable, but that, with himself, Buckle and Chirol still at the office, there was no point in further discussing or defining where the ultimate responsibility for policy lay. Thus, and according to his own wishes, Bell’s powers within the reorganisation scheme were left remarkably vague. On 9 February, without so much as a word to either Buckle or Chirol, or to anyone else, he put his name to a brief but pointed letter, the first paragraph of which – as drafted by Harmsworth – said that ‘in the event of your acquiring The Times newspaper I shall act as your Managing Director for five years and carry out your absolute instructions’. Bell would be duly sorry, in time, that he had put his name to that sentence. But in those hectic, worrying days, believing that Harmsworth really meant what he had said, and frantic to be rid of Pearson, Bell put reservations aside.18 On 10 February Chirol, writing to Bland about continuing problems in China – one of the few ‘outside’ issues still able to distract him – noted in a postscript that ‘the battle of P.H. Square’ was still raging. While he hoped, and more than half believed, that he and his colleagues had beaten off the Pearson attack, one mustn’t shout until one is out of the wood. And if Pearson is beaten, some other combination will have to be found, for re-construction of some sort is inevitable. There are one or two combinations in the field, any one of which would be at any rate better than Pearson’s, but it is no use attempting to discuss them until P. is actually buried – and be d … d to him!19

On 14 February that time seemed to have finally, and definitively, come. The egregious Pearson – although not quite buried – was ‘as dead as a door-nail’ and Chirol gave himself a modest pat on the back for being the one who drove the last and the biggest nail into his coffin by getting Tennant to desert him.20 It was a big victory and an utterly welcome relief, but there remained the problem of getting the ill-assorted and hard-tohandle lesser proprietors to approve Bell’s alternative scheme. Its anonymous character proved a huge stumbling block, only overcome by Bell arranging for Lord Halsbury, the former Lord Chancellor, to give it an unqualified endorsement as to ‘soundness’. Halsbury’s support won over Chirol, who, along with Buckle – who took rather longer to digest the ‘bitter pill’ – now knew that the name in question was Harmsworth’s. It also had a calming and positive effect on the other proprietors, who did not. As of 16 March the Walter family no longer owned The Times. On the 17th a small notice appeared in the paper, the last paragraph of which 330

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said that ‘there will be no change whatever in the political or editorial direction of the paper, which will be conducted by the same Staff on the independent lines pursued uninterruptedly for so many years’. The name of the purchaser remained unknown to the outside world, and to most of the inside world at Printing House Square as well he was merely X. Chirol and Buckle, who knew all, accepted him on the basis of Bell’s assurances that he had put proper constraints in place. Bell alone knew that what had been agreed upon in the past few weeks X would be free to disagree with should he care to do so in the future. But, for now, life in the office looked set to go on as before; for the moment it was going on without Chirol. The only sign that all was not well with him that winter, beyond typical – and never more understandable – complaints about worry and stress, was a brief bout with a head cold. Pearson and Walter between them accounted for a good deal of the stress, but in addition to their worrying machinations, and in part related to them, he had a very sharp and upsetting quarrel with Leo Maxse. At the tail end of January the National Review finally weighed in on the changes being mooted at The Times. As pleased as Chirol was that Maxse had finally stepped in, the more distressed he was at the way he did so. Like Strachey, Maxse claimed that the foreign department was the reason The Times continued to be considered a great journal. Maxse himself was then very much caught up in the passionate debate going on in Britain as to whether or not the government – and particularly ‘Jacky’ Fisher – was dealing properly with the threat posed by a rapidly growing German fleet. The Times’ tendency to support Fisher infuriated him, thus his praise for the foreign department, whose editor he trusted to remain reliably wary of the Germans. Chirol was no fan of Fisher, and was clearly more than wary of the Germans, but he was also just then very caught up in a battle to save the whole of The Times and not just his piece of it. That Maxse should take the position he had, at the moment when the solidarity and common feeling among the whole staff was the only ‘consoling’ feature at Printing House Square, upset him deeply. Chirol hated being singled out for praise, ‘almost in opposition to my editor, whose fine qualities I have never realized so fully as during this crisis when efforts have certainly not been spared to induce him to throw me over for his own advantage’. What he, Maxse, had virtually ignored in the National Review was that the question at issue was not whether the Pearsonification of The Times would affect its policy in this or that respect, but that it would inevitably lower the whole standard of

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the paper and strike a serious blow at the independence and integrity of journalism for which, irrespective of the precise opinions it has supported, The Times has hitherto invariably stood.21

Whatever Maxse said in response, Chirol found it badly wanting. He was sorry, he wrote back in turn, to have put him to the trouble of answering at all. For himself, as apparently not for Maxse, it all boiled down to a question of journalistic principle, not political policy. He would rather, Chirol said sharply, see the paper fall into the hands of political opponents with whom he could not cooperate, than to fall under the control of the corrupt and degrading influences which are steadily lowering British journalism to the level of the American Yellow Press. You apparently have no regard for the honesty of a man’s opinions if they happen to differ from yours. All that you are concerned with in the Times matter is the maintenance of its foreign policy on certain lines which coincide with your own. Had I dreamt that that was your position – and if anybody but yourself had told me it was, I should not have believed him – it would have been impossible for me to welcome your help as I did.22

Signing himself off ‘with profound regret’ Chirol vowed not to refer to the matter again. Almost at once, nettled by another letter from Maxse, he broke his vow. After admitting that there was little use in going over their fundamental differences yet again, he went over them in passionate detail, one last time, to define as closely as possible what he meant by the ‘traditions of The Times’. Chirol’s definition included, ‘first and foremost’, its strict financial integrity, which had kept any taint of corruption out of editorial remarks on finance and commerce. After financial integrity came the ‘absolute honesty of public purpose with which the policies of the paper…are conducted’, followed by the large degree of independence and breadth of judgment, including security of tenure, granted to the most important members of the staff ‘whereby they are enabled and encouraged to do their very best according to their lights without fear or favour…’, and lastly ‘a certain tone of self-restraint and dignity in public controversies’. These were the essential things about The Times that he wanted to see preserved ‘irrespective’ of the paper’s political perspective. With Maxse, Chirol was sorry to say, it seemed otherwise. The revelation that this is your criterion of journalism has pained me very deeply, for I had … fondly imagined that the earnestness, I might almost say the fierceness of your political convictions, did not preclude altogether a larger view of the ethics of journalism and of public life generally. I can only assume that a sense of dogmatic infallibility, to which I have never

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attained, in matters political carries with it the same irresistible impulse towards comprehensive ‘damnation clauses’ [as] dogmatic infallibility in matters theological … I have had my say. It has been painful for me, and, I think, perhaps even for you too. For it seems to me it must be a terrible thing to build not upon what one’s friends are – for that, if they are worth their salt, must be a constant quantity – but upon what they think, for that must necessarily be a largely fluctuating quantity. […] What holding ground have you got when you measure a man’s worth merely by the coincidence of his opinions with your own? No, my dear Maxse, I am sorry for both of us, but, for your own sake, I am more sorry for you, greatly as I am myself a loser.23

This sort of thing, along with the unrelenting uncertainty and anxiety, coming on top of months of particularly intense labour, took a sharp toll on Chirol’s health. It seems a wonder that he held on as long as he did; by March he no longer could and took to his bed, where, forbidden to have any contact with the outside world, including no newspapers or personal letters, he did not learn until the 23rd of the month that Pearson was finally gone. Bell had ‘saved’ The Times, Lord Northcliffe – or X – was the sole owner, Chirol, Buckle, Monypenny and Bell were directors of the new company, and Arthur Walter chairman for life. By that time Chirol was recuperating – slowly – in Italy. It helped the process along, he wrote to Bell, to have had such ‘reassuring’ news from him. Willingly to believe that Bell really did have X in leading strings meant that the paper now had a fair chance for a great future, greater indeed than its past, for I believe its reputation in the ‘great days’ of Delane was very largely due to the absence of all serious competition. [… ] It would be a greater thing to restore [it] to a similar position of preeminence in spite of the enormous competition there is today – and I don’t see why it shouldn’t be done.24

Chirol spent nearly the whole of April in Italy. Early in the month he told Florence that he felt quite ‘robustious’, physically, but should he try and do much in the way of reading or writing his head could be ‘rather queer’. The slowness of his recovery weighed on him, particularly as he hated to be left out of the start of the new regime at Printing House Square. But slow it was, and not until the 28th was he was finally on his way home, determined, or so he said, to take things more easily and have more such holidays, fearing that if he didn’t the next collapse might well be his last. By the time Chirol was back in London he was ready, or so he thought, to get back to work. His doctor disagreed. By way of compromise he 333

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worked from his flat at Queen Anne’s Mansions, technically ‘out’ of the office but no less determined to be an active part of the reborn paper. To his particular joy he learned that Repington’s wings were due to be ‘clipped’. His own department was also to be reorganised and he himself to have a much lighter workload. As that was being done, he was to lie rather low and, in particular, ‘not to touch’ on anything of a political nature. That, for Chirol, was a tall order and he soon enough fell short. Domestic politics he might, although not without effort, be able to avoid. But it was next to impossible not to worry about the constellation of problems, none of them simple nor straightforward, that fell within his own ‘small sphere’. India, as ever, was a galaxy of concerns in and of itself, but with Afghanistan, China and Japan thrown in, not to mention an intensifying quarrel with George Morrison, the combination was too much for his patched-together nerves. In mid-May his doctor, fearing an imminent relapse, ordered him not only to stay away from Printing House Square, but to leave London entirely. Off the beleaguered foreign editor went to a secluded rest home in deepest Devonshire. There he was to be once again without contact with the outside world, whatever its problems. Ever since the end of the Russo-Japanese War, or at least since the conclusion of the peace, Chirol and Morrison had been intermittently at odds – increasingly sharp odds – mainly over what British priorities were, or should be, in the Far East as well as over the actions, and the future, of both China and Japan. Morrison was also increasingly resentful at what he felt were Chirol’s unjust and unnecessary editorial attentions to his work. Although a talented journalist, Morrison was hot-tempered, fiercely ambitious and somewhat paranoid. Chirol had sensitivities of his own, not to mention rather categorical opinions as to how best to combine responsible journalism with meaningful diplomacy. As early as mid-summer 1905 Chirol, struck by an odd tone in Morrison’s letters, began to wonder if the Peking correspondent was sick and tired of matters Chinese and wanting to leave Peking once the RussoJapanese War – ‘his war’, as Chirol put it – was over. When Bell assured him that that was not at all the case Chirol wrote at once to say how delighted he was to discover that he had ‘entirely misconstrued’ the tone in his recent letters.25 Although there seemed to be little or no contact between Chirol and Morrison during the months that the former spent trailing about India with the royals, it was to Morrison that Chirol poured out his profound anxieties about Kitchener and his anger at being muzzled by Buckle. Once back in London, battling the Kitchener ‘monster’ 334

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with one hand and putting the foreign department back on track with the other, he had little time left over for the Far East. When he could turn his attention in that direction it was mid-summer and the result was ‘confusion worse confounded’. The opaque politics of China and the rather high-handed behaviour of the victorious Japanese in Manchuria were of real concern to Chirol. But so was the worsening relationship between his correspondents at Peking and Shanghai, and he now feared for the future of this excellent combination of eyes and ears. While he would have been unhappy to lose either of these men, there is no question that, however he admired and depended upon Morrison’s considerable skills, Chirol was more attached, emotionally, to Bland. Try and see, he wrote to the latter in mid-September, that ‘we are all working for the flag – pretty hard work too, in these times – and we must bear and forbear … So don’t take any passing differences too much to heart, but ask yourself whether your failing is not perhaps to be rather too impatient & “touchy”.’ This bit of advice, which he surely heard addressed to himself more than once over the years, Chirol sent with blessings from ‘your godfather and godmother in journalistic work – and sure it’s a proud godparent he is’. All the same he had to agree that Morrison was behaving oddly. He had recently had a letter from him written in a strangely bitter vein, inveighing against the pro-Japanese policy of the paper … in fact shouting black wherever he had shouted white when he was over here a few months ago, and vice-versa, and all in the shrillest tone. I suppose it is the heat or something! I have answered him quite frankly, but I hope good humouredly. The way in which he flies off into extremes, and often into antipodal extremes, is however rather disconcerting.26

Chirol’s ‘good-humoured’ response to Morrison’s shrill letter was not without a bite of its own. He made no bones about the fact that the latter’s abrupt shifts in points of view perplexed him, and not only him but the British Foreign Secretary as well. Nor did he mince many words when it came to Morrison’s increasingly negative attitude toward the Japanese. He could not deny that he found his correspondent’s remarks about their behaviour in Manchuria regrettable, but that did not mean that he would refuse to publish them, any more than he would refuse to publish the Tokyo correspondent’s remarks in defence of that behaviour. At the same time he, Chirol, did not ‘suppose that you endorse the remarks which you tell us are made about Brinkley, still less about The Times being subsidised by the Japanese government …’. Having had his say, Chirol put in the 335

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good-humoured bit. Please don’t think, he continued, that I mind your frankness as I like to know exactly what you think. Let me hear from you often, ‘and growl as much as you like to me so long as you don’t mind my growling back in return’.27 For the rest of 1906 and throughout the following year the letters that passed, in their slow fashion, between Chirol and Morrison were not marked by evidence of bad blood. At one point, in mid-1907, when he felt that there were some ‘unfortunate mistakes’ in a leader on Chinese politics, Morrison merely pointed them out, offering also to send Chirol the latest edition of the obviously indispensable Mayers handbook on Higher Metropolitan and Provincial Authorities of China. Chirol was suitably grateful for the corrections, but noted that Mayers or no Mayers, I am afraid we shall never be safe against slips, either in telegrams or in leaders, now that the work has to be rushed through under such increased pressure in view of our earlier hours. It is simply impossible to do the work thoroughly and carefully under these conditions, especially in the absence of any improved organisation, which is a thing unknown and apparently unknowable in the Times office …28

Hard to achieve was more the case. It was only a month after getting this letter from the foreign editor that Bell wrote to Morrison to suggest that he might have that post himself if he so chose. It was because of this ‘staggerer’ that the Peking correspondent showed up in London toward the end of 1907. ‘Morrison is in great form,’ Chirol relayed to Bland, full of a breezy optimism with regard to the regeneration of China which rather startled his audience, I think, at the [China] Association dinner last week. [… ] Fortunately as far as I am concerned you are there to administer to me periodical cold douches which prevent me from yielding altogether to [his] enchantments.29

If the notations in Morrison’s diary are any indication, he had an almost daily opportunity to enchant Chirol. The abbreviated tale they tell suggest that he had little success, and did not much enjoy making the effort. Upon occasion he noted that he found Chirol ‘cheery’, or that the two of them had had a ‘long and agreeable’ talk. But these remarks were the exception, not the rule. Much more frequently Morrison described the foreign editor as emotionally ‘jumpy’, physically decrepit, and ‘very trying’ to work with. At one point he referred to Chirol as a ‘treacherous sneak’, leaving out how or why he earned the ugly description.30 By January Morrison was back in China ‘inveighing’ against Chirol, whereupon Bland noted in his diary that his work had been interrupted by 336

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the Peking correspondent coming in to ‘inveigh’ against Chirol.31 Meanwhile, Chirol was doing some inveighing of his own. Not only had Morrison reportedly said, while in London, that he was going back to Peking to ‘smash Japan as [he] smashed Russia’, he was overselling his ‘China for the Chinese’ message. ‘One of these nights,’ Chirol told Bland, he would have to use a leader ‘to pour a little water into Morrison’s wine’. He supposed that he must also write direct to Peking and have it all out, a big nuisance at any time, but just now especially with things so upset at the office. Without wasting much time, Chirol took care of that ‘nuisance’ at once, enclosing in his letter the original of a telegram from Peking about the situation in Manchuria dated 15 January 1908 and the form in which this message appeared in the paper on the 18th. ‘As you know,’ Chirol wrote, ‘I am very reluctant to interfere with the opinions of our correspondents, but in this case the statement of facts as you presented them appeared to us to be so misleading, and the tendency of your telegram so directly opposed to the policy of the paper, that we felt bound to exercise our right of control.’ It troubled Chirol to have Morrison insist that there was a meaningful improvement in Chinese attitudes toward Britain, and that people must pay sufficient credit to it. In Chirol’s frankly stated view it was impossible to recognise and celebrate a ‘reality’ that was, on all available evidence, frankly chimerical. But, even worse than Morrison’s obstinate insistence on an improvement that Chirol could not see, was the ‘tone of open and bitter hostility you adopt towards the Japanese’. This ran entirely counter, as Morrison surely knew, to the policy of both the paper and the British government. ‘I thought from your language to me [in London] that you recognized the expediency of refraining, not from criticism which can always be expressed in a guarded way without detriment to good relations, but from unnecessarily irritating hostility.’ If the Japanese should come to believe that these were in any way official views, it might well confirm in their minds what the Germans, and perhaps others, were busily putting about – that, having used them to defeat the Russians in the Far East, Britain was now looking for a fight so as to throw them over. That would be most regrettable, as all responsible people felt that the alliance is and will be for many years to come as important for British world-policy as it has ever been in the past, and to jeopardize its maintenance for the sake of some obscure questions in Manchuria would be the height of madness. The Times, at any rate so long as I have any say in the matter, can be no party to it, and I think I may safely say that these are not merely

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my personal views – in which the Editor fully concurs – but also the views of the F.O.32

While there was much in Chirol’s letter to raise Morrison’s eyebrows and, as Chirol would soon see, his ire, the next message, sent at the beginning of February, was quite unequivocal. He had been shocked to have just had a letter from Morrison in which he called Brinkley a ‘paid servant of the Japanese’. Even in a private letter the form-conscious Chirol drew the line at having one of his correspondents refer to a colleague who ‘retains the confidence of the paper’ in such terms – ‘even if there were any justification for them in the subject-matter of your letter, which in my opinion there is not’. Lest Morrison carp at his defence of Brinkley, Chirol noted with some asperity that he was doing nothing more for the latter than he had done previously for Morrison himself ‘when your championship of the Japanese – now so inexplicably converted into such unmeasured hostility – exposed you to similar unjust insinuations’. Nor should he forget that so long as he, as foreign editor, continued to have ‘any controlling influence on the paper’ he felt ‘in duty bound to express my views to you on such matters freely and frankly, though it is distressing to me to find myself obliged to do so’. As he was then much caught up in the fight to save The Times, he joked sourly that Morrison might console himself ‘with the thought that if the Pearson combine comes off, you will probably be released before very long from my thraldom!’.33 Morrison’s response to the first of Chirol’s letters was a long time coming. It was also notably indignant. He denied vehemently having said anything while in London about ‘smashing’ the Japanese. Not only had he been ‘grossly and maliciously misrepresented’, the fact that Chirol had believed it was astonishing. He simply could not comprehend how ‘you, who are my chief and whom I serve with entire devotion and loyalty, could believe such a preposterous calumny. You have known me many years. Have you ever known me to boast of what I could do or of what I have done?’34 Warming to his task, Morrison categorically denied being hostile toward Japan. It was not ‘just’ to use that as an excuse for cutting or, worse yet, entirely suppressing his messages. He was critical, yes, but his criticisms were based on fact, not feeling, and he was convinced that they were in Japan’s best interests, not to mention Britain’s. ‘I do nothing here hastily. I never send a message to you except after careful deliberation and, wherever necessary, after consultation with men whose judgment I respect. [… ] Sentiment never enters into my work. I pride myself upon 338

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being calm and open-minded.’35 Chirol, he more than suggested, was anything but. Your temperament and mine are essentially different. You have the artistic temperament: you have extraordinary gifts but you are too often guided by sentiment and by emotion. The affection which you inspire in such hosts of friends of different temperaments and different intellectual capacities could only be inspired by a nature profoundly receptive and sympathetic and impressionable. I have no such gifts but I have an innate love of scientific precision of statements of fact and I am absolutely impervious to all sentimental or personal considerations. My one wish is to tell the truth as I believe it though I do not forget your once quoting to me that le vrai n’est pas toujours bon à dire.

More than once he returned to Chirol’s ‘sensitive fibre’, his being in a state of ‘hyperexcitation’ which ‘obscured’ his judgment. Finally out of steam or, as he put it, simply ‘tired of writing’, Morrison added a brief sentence to say that he hoped Italy had set Chirol up again as he obviously ‘badly needed a change’.36 Chirol’s response to this outpouring surely tested Morrison’s vaunted calmness. Although he himself was prepared to accept Morrison’s denial of any hostility toward the Japanese, it was an impression left ‘on the minds of more than one person with whom you came into contact with over here’. And it was also most regrettable that he stressed Japanese shortcomings so consistently, ‘not … in a hostile spirit, since you disclaim any such hostility, but at any rate with an asperity which could hardly have been exceeded had you been animated by hostility’. As ever, Chirol focused on the big picture. There were times, and this was one of them, when it was crucial to distinguish between the right to criticise Japanese behaviour and the expediency of doing so. In international politics there must always be some give and take. [… ] The right to take up a point and make it a subject of more or less strong protest always exists. But in international as in social relations, life would be intolerable were everyone to insist upon exercising his every right. Our relations with Russia when she was exceeding her treaty rights in Manchuria were such that it was politically expedient for us to claim against her the exercise of every title of our rights. Her aggression … was part and parcel of her aggressive policy throughout Asia, which threatened the British Empire in one of its most vital point, namely India. That is not the case in regard to Japan …37

Lest these comments only intensified Morrison’s obvious anger, Chirol pointed out that he too was distressed by some of measures the Japanese 339

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had taken in Manchuria, and had written privately to friends in Japan to say so. Brinkley, too, had been warned about his pro-Japanese proclivities. But Morrison must understand that grievances could cut both ways. Tokyo surely had legitimate reasons for complaining of the treatment meted out to the Japanese in some of the largest of Britain’s colonies. Given that, it seemed right to Chirol to show ‘the same restraint’ in dealing with any grievances we may have against Japanese actions in Manchuria that responsible Japanese are showing in dealing with their grievances against us. In closing he tried, somewhat stiffly, to make amends. Morrison must know, or ought to, that his appreciation of the excellent work you have done for us since the day we parted [in Bangkok], more than ten years ago, is combined with very sincere personal friendship. Certainly you are one of the last people to whom I should be wittingly unjust. But just because I am your friend as well as your chief, I think it my duty to tell you quite frankly when and why I disagree with you.38

No sooner had Chirol discharged this unpleasant duty than he was sent off to his rest cure in Devonshire. This month of exile was half over on 6 June. He was feeling somewhat better and hoped that his doctor would agree to his going to stay with the Spring-Rices in Yorkshire for a bit. In the event Dr Greenbaum extended his banishment from London, and the ‘bit’ with the Springys became the best part of the rest of the summer. Thus, from mid-March until the end of August, Chirol was not only out of the office but also – almost – completely removed from the affairs of the world. At the start of 1908 things had been relatively tranquil, at least on the surface, across most of the European continent, the Balkans, as usual, excepted. Given the battle then raging at Printing House Square, any degree of international tranquillity was a blessing for the hard-pressed Chirol. But, as time tarries for no man, neither do international complications wait for the settlement of business disputes. Nowhere was tranquillity more transient than in south-eastern Europe. Given his all-consuming concerns at Printing House Square and his deteriorating health, Chirol had scant time or energy to worry over that part of the world, nor could he ignore it. The latest problem began with an unexpected announcement by the Austro-Hungarian Foreign Minister, Baron Aehrenthal, that his government had received permission from the Ottoman government to build a rail-line south-eastward through the Sandjak of Novi Bazar, a small parcel of nominally Ottoman territory, which Austria had garrisoned, and effectively run, ever since the signing 340

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of the Treaty of Berlin. Speaking of the need for access to the Aegean and the rich trade routes of the east, Aehrenthal made the railroad building seem a simple proposal for an understandable reason. Others saw it rather differently. The Russian press called it a ‘move to Germanize the Near East’, and Isvolsky, the Russian Foreign Minister, although warned in advance by Aehrenthal as to what was coming, complained that he had been duped. Austria’s unilateral step effectively killed, as far as the Russians were concerned, the none too robust Austro-Russian understanding that had somehow managed to keep a tenuous balance in the Balkans for the best part of a decade. Nor were the Russians furious at the Austrians alone, as Chirol duly noted. As much as they resented Aerenthal’s high-handed snub, they were also looking to Berlin as having given him the confidence to administer it. What Chirol hoped was that the Austrian move would finally serve to wake people up to the realisation that collective action under the aegis of the old Concert of Europe was now impossible. Aehrenthal had surely demonstrated ‘the hollowness of the “Concert” and the [resulting ] danger of isolated action’.39 In the paper he tried his best to get this danger across to his readers. With coercion by the ‘Concert’ out of the question, ‘coercion by England, or by any member of the Concert acting independently of the rest, involves the manifest risk of a European war unless the Powers that stand aloof specifically pledge their consent to our intervention and its consequences. Would the Powers give the pledge?’40 It was clearly a worry, but, distracted as he was at the beginning of 1908, he put his faith in Grey to pull Britain out of the ‘morass’ and gave what attention he had left to what was happening in Berlin. In early February 1908, Admiral Tirpitz told the members of the Reichstag that he saw no reason why the passage of a supplementary naval bill should be causing so much ‘uneasiness’ in Britain. But, whatever Tirpitz, or the Kaiser, thought about the unreasonableness of British fears, they were very real and Chirol shared them. He was painfully aware that a naval challenge issued in Berlin would reverberate far from its European setting, hence the connection he saw between an ever bigger and stronger German navy and the vital importance of maintaining the AngloJapanese Alliance. We cannot … afford to alienate Japan to whom Germany is ready even now to volunteer assurances as she did to Russia a few years ago that Manchuria is Wurst to her. If I am right in my diagnosis of this country, we shall have to rely more and more upon our alliances and sacrifice more and more

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all side issues, in order to keep Germany at any rate isolated until the day of Armageddon.41

During Chirol’s long absence from Printing House Square, still not fully over even at the end of August, there had been some notable political changes both at home and abroad. Herbert Asquith had moved into Downing Street on Campbell-Bannerman’s death, while at Constantinople Abdul Hamid was also more or less gone, not yet into the presence of Allah but into the constraints of constitutional government. His long and largely miserable rule came to an end in mid-July thanks to the actions of what came to be called the ‘Young Turks’. This loose grouping was led by military men, but included former dissidents back from exile as well as stay-at-homes finally out of patience with the fabulous corruption, inefficiency, brutality and paranoia of the Hamidian regime and the increasingly irritating incursions of the Great Powers in Turkish affairs. Death and revolution had also been at work at Printing House Square. First and foremost there was the Northcliffe revolution. Although the man himself seemed content at this point to keep his promise to stay out of sight, his money was very much in evidence. For the first time in nearly 20 years, Bell was not strapped for cash. At long last, and none too soon, mechanical renovation and technical updating were under way. Bell, busy as he was with the start-up of the new system, not only remained strongly interested in the foreign department, but, with Chirol sidelined, assumed even more control over its personnel. Chirol had had time between collapses to share in the decision to bring Saunders back to serve as his temporary replacement and had also agreed that if all went well he might, in due course, take over the foreign department. But, when Bell decided to move Steed from Vienna to Berlin, Chirol was too ill to be consulted. Steed, as it turned out, wanted no part of Berlin. ‘Saunders is not liked,’ he wrote to Bell, ‘but I am hated in Berlin.’ Bell brushed that aside, assuring him that he had the ability to overcome any prejudice against him that might exist and ‘to establish your position as fearlessly, as independently and at the same time with as much good judgment as [Saunders] has shown’.42 At that Steed gave in, grudgingly, and, as a small gesture of thanks, Bell allowed that he might remain in Vienna until the coming autumn. Saunders came back to London, he thought for good, in late May. He went promptly to Queen Anne’s Mansions to talk over all manner of things with Chirol, including Steed’s new posting. That was the first Chirol had heard of it and he went to work at once to squash the plan. Teetering on the verge of another collapse, he dispatched his friend – and Grey’s 342

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right-hand man – William Tyrrell to Printing House Square to convince Bell that it was a mistake. Tyrrell got nowhere with the determined Bell and so set to work on Buckle, telling the editor that Grey himself had no desire to see Steed sent to Berlin. When Northcliffe himself added his no, Bell finally relented and told Steed that he could stay in Vienna. In mid-August Chirol wrote to Northcliffe to say that at long last his health was much improved and that he had been doing a great deal of thinking in recent days about the future of his department. Lavino’s sudden death had just opened up the all-important Paris office, which meant more juggling of correspondents. Bell and Buckle were keen to send Saunders. Chirol was pleased at the idea, Saunders most definitely was not. Having only just come home after many years abroad in a city he despised, he baulked at the idea of heading back across the Channel. Nonsense, said Chirol, Paris was hardly to be compared to Berlin. The obvious felicities and the convenient closeness of the French capital aside, Anglo-French relations had now become … practically the key-stone of the European equilibrium [and] Germany being what you and I know her to be, it is of very great importance that we should have in Paris a man who is thoroughly familiar with her modus operandi and will not be led into playing into her hands through ignorance …, as might well be the case with very able men who had not had your experience … To be brief – you are the best man we could have here for the Foreign Department, but you are not so indispensably the best man for it as you are for Paris.43

Chirol’s plea won out. But what no one in London appeared to realise was that Steed had had his eye on the Paris post for some time and no doubts as to his qualifications for it. As disappointed to be denied Paris as he was irritated to be offered Berlin – and mistakenly blaming Chirol for both – he decided to retire from the paper altogether as soon as it was feasible. Even after he was told that he would not have to go to Berlin, but could stay where he was, and where there were numerous indications that he would soon be much needed, he did not change his mind. Thus, from September on, Chirol’s frail health, his desire to prove himself to Northcliffe, combined with Steed’s frustrated ambition, and Bourchier’s soreness over the foreign editor’s strictures, spelled nothing but trouble for the foreign room. Needless to say, much of that trouble came down on Chirol’s still weak head. Bourchier and Chirol, for all that they both were attracted by the ‘East’, rarely saw eye to eye when it came to the Ottoman world. The former, sympathising deeply with the oppressed Christians in the Sultan’s European territories, wanted nothing more than to see the Turks driven 343

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out completely. Chirol, never enamoured of the corrupt Ottoman regime, nevertheless had a keen appreciation of the importance of not alienating Muslim opinion, given the difficulties faced by the empire in both Egypt and India. Deeply entrenched in the local culture and politics of their surroundings and naturally affected by opinions heard on the spot, men such as Morrison and Bourchier were alienated by Chirol’s clear preference for the long, and the broad, view of international affairs. They saw, respectively, the struggle of the Chinese to reform themselves and the struggle of Balkan Christians to be free of Ottoman domination. Both wanted to put The Times behind these goals, however much a success on those fronts might clash with other aims of British policy. That autumn the violence in the Sultan’s Macedonian vilayets surpassed its own sorry record. Violence begat violence, arson, murder, rape and plunder were the order of the day. For many months the Powers and the Sultan had been arguing fruitlessly over reform schemes for Macedonia, fiddling with details, each determined to get the most while giving the least. Bourchier, heart and soul with the Balkan Christians in their desire to be out from under the dead hand of the Sultan, squirmed uncomfortably himself under Chirol’s. No one at home, said Chirol, cared about the chaos that so upset Bourchier. Nor was he himself in favour of having The Times push for a new reform campaign by retailing horror stories. [c]onsidering that, in this latter stage at any rate of the Macedonian question, the Christians of all races and sects have been far worse offenders than the Turks, we should be exposing ourselves to the charge of racial and religious hostility towards Islam if we advocated the coercion of Turkey without advocating also equally strong measures against the Balkan states responsible for four fifths of the present bloodshed and anarchy …44

Nothing could have pleased the Balkan correspondent less than this message. But that was where Chirol stood, and stood firmly, at the start of 1908. For much of the rest of the year, as he did battle first with Pearson and then with illness and depression, the myriad problems of south-eastern Europe were far from uppermost in his mind, nor is it clear during those many weeks of virtual exile if he knew, or was allowed to know, much of what was actually happening. Months later, better but still not able to take up his usual tasks at the office, Bell suggested that he take a long working trip through the major European capitals, reaching Constantinople by December in time for the opening ceremonies of the new Turkish Parliament. Similar tours had done wonders for Chirol’s health and state of mind in the past, most 344

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particularly when they included long stretches of time spent at sea. This time the only water on offer was the Channel, but Bell hoped that by going in a relatively leisurely fashion from city to city he would not only be well away from the day-to-day pressures at the office but able to get back in touch with the European scene. It would also give him the opportunity to discuss with the various European correspondents the scope and nature of the recent changes at Printing House Square. No sooner were these plans formalised than Harriet Chirol had a massive stroke. It was the blow her son had been expecting for the best part of a decade. Even now, to his horror, it did not kill her but left her paralysed and unconscious, as good as dead, but not. It was clear, to him, and certainly to his doctor, that his own health was not up to simply sitting by and waiting for the end. Thus he set off for Paris and points east, albeit rather reluctantly, on 4 October. What he learned on his arrival changed the nature of his tour, put all Europe on edge for months on end and strained his none too positive relations with both Steed and Bourchier to the breaking point. In the midst of it all his mother did at last die, but that, at least, was a blessing and he knew it. Chirol arrived in Paris to hear from Saunders that word was out that the following day, 5 October, Prince Ferdinand would proclaim himself Tsar of an independent Bulgaria, and on next, the 6th, the Dual Monarchy of Austria-Hungary would make its de facto control of the Ottoman provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina de jure. Chirol heard the same news from Clemenceau himself, who – on seeing him – had somewhat dramatically announced that, at last, ‘la grosse crise’ was upon them. It was stunning news, to be sure, but not completely unexpected. The British government had known since August that Ferdinand was planning some sort of coup, although by the time that Grey got around to sending a circular to the powers proposing collective representations at Sofia in order to head it off it was far too late. Bourchier, alas, was also a bit late. On 28 September he told the office that responsible circles in Sofia did not credit the rumours about Ferdinand. Two days later he made an about-face, telegraphing to say that signs now pointed toward an early announcement, but furnishing no further details. Chirol’s reaction to all this was rather sanguine. On the day of the Austrian announcement he had dinner with Bland at a restaurant in the Bois de Boulogne. In his diary Bland noted that Chirol seemed more concerned with the future of the paper than with the latest assaults on the sick man of Europe. Nor did he think that the present crisis would result in war, if only because at the present time all the Powers were intent, 345

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for reasons of their own, on having peace.45 From Paris Chirol was to go on to Berlin, but Grey called him back to London instead, wanting his views on the news from the Balkans in advance of a coming visit from the Russian Foreign Minister. The latter, during the course of a meeting with Baron Aehrenthal in mid-September, had, in essence, agreed that Russia would acquiesce in both the annexation plan and in independence for Bulgaria in return for Austrian support for the opening of the Straits. When the two men parted Isvolsky was under the firm impression that nothing would be made public in either Vienna or Sofia until he had had time to make the rounds of European capitals – from Rome to Paris, then London and, finally Berlin – to explain this provisional agreement and convince the other Powers of the wisdom of agreeing to it. But when he got to Paris, one day ahead of Chirol, he too learned – also to his surprise, and, in his case, consternation – that the irrepressible Ferdinand had decided to act sooner rather than later, and Vienna felt that they had no choice but to do the same. Chirol found Grey ‘perfectly cool and collected and with a very clear idea of what he wanted’. Isvolsky, whom he stayed on to see as well, was the opposite, ‘distinctly agitated and sorry for himself [as] he felt that he had got himself into a hole, and, I think, realized that he could not afford to go back to St P. without a solution’.46 One of the things that Grey wanted was Chirol’s help in gauging the attitudes of the other Powers. Bell was ready to have him do a series of ‘special articles’ on the popular feelings in the various capitals toward what was already beginning to assume the look of Clemenceau’s crise, and that assignment would serve as his official cover. While under it he would also meet and talk with as many and as senior statesmen as possible, passing on what he learned in another, and confidential, series of reports direct to Grey. Buoyed up by this double assignment and anxious to get back to the Continent, Chirol rather hastily drafted a telegram to send to the errant Bourchier. Its contents would complicate the weeks, if not the years, ahead in ways that he could not have foreseen. What the telegram, which went out over Bell’s signature, said was that Bourchier had ‘so completely misled us or yourself been misled in regard to the situation that you are entirely discredited as an authority on Balkans and have lost usefulness there. We are sending Gordon Browne and advise your leaving on his arrival.’47 The shocked Bourchier, who for years afterward referred to it as the ‘infamous telegram’, realised at once that it was Chirol’s doing, signature notwithstanding.48 While still trying to take in the full measure of his disgrace Bourchier received a second telegram, 346

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telling him to go to Belgrade and wait for Chirol so as to talk things out with him. Bourchier did as he was told, and a bit more. From the Serbian capital he got in touch with Steed – then nursing his own grievances with Chirol – and poured out his tale of woe and persecution. As he did so Chirol was in Berlin, staying for the last time with Frank Lascelles, who, having spent 13 years trying, against mounting odds, to make the way smooth between London and Berlin was about to retire. The two old friends agreed, at that point, that the current crisis was unlikely to cause any unnecessary strain on Anglo-German relations.49 In Chirol’s opinion the Germans were in the uncomfortable position of trying to sit simultaneously ‘on the Austrian stool, in regard to Bosnia, and on the Turkish stool, in regard to Bulgaria, but even Bülow’s adroitness is not quite equal to that acrobatic feat’. Not that Germany might not have an important part to play in the days ahead. Should the Powers get to the point of agreeing to a general conference to settle all the complications caused by the recent announcements, and should Austria, as she was currently threatening, refuse to join in, then Britain might ‘press home the point … that Germany has a splendid opportunity of giving effect to her constant professions of a desire to serve the cause of peace by giving good advice in Vienna …’. If she shirked it would certainly lend credence to those who believed that, loud denials aside, Berlin knew well ahead of time what Vienna was planning. Chirol himself was not sure how much had been known. Probably more than officials let on, although it was also likely that Aehrenthal had jockeyed Bülow as he had Isvolsky, or that Franz Ferdinand had said just enough to the Kaiser to keep Aehrenthal from having to ‘open his bosom’ to the Chancellor. If either was so, it all boiled down to a useful scenario in which Berlin could profess ‘sympathy’ with Grey’s efforts to arrange a settlement and ‘loyalty’ to her ally, all the while trying fervently to strengthen the hands of the Turks.50 On 19 October, his last day in Berlin, Chirol had a long conversation with his old friend and frequent adversary, Holstein. One last time the two men went over the worsening history of Anglo-German relations. Time was running out when Chirol finally got around to the present crisis. Holstein defended Austria stoutly. On the question of advising her to submit to the ruling of a general conference he retorted almost angrily that Germany would neither attend a conference herself without her ally, nor would she advise the latter to accept such a solution if she were unwilling to do so. ‘We might,’ he went on in his usual way, ‘have used our good offices in Vienna, had we been consulted: but as usual, we have 347

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not been consulted. You and France and Russia have been confabulating for a fortnight and drawing up your terms, and you want us to advise Austria to submit herself to self-appointed judges: that is really too much.’ It was vintage Holstein and Chirol got nowhere in trying to argue with him. After some further talk on what might be the future of the new regime in Turkey, Holstein brought the conversation back to the danger the Entente Powers would be in if they irritated Austria too much. ‘Remember,’ he said, ‘there we come in too.’ The Emperor would never go to war if he could possibly avoid it, but there were two things that he could not tolerate. One was any provocation from France, the other was to have Austria threatened. Neither case was all that likely, ‘for France knows what she would bring upon herself, and Russia probably also knows that in her present military condition she is not fit even to meet the Austrian Army’. Chirol was struck, as he made plain to Grey, not so much by what Holstein said, as by the authority with which he said it. The Foreign Minister himself ‘could not have spoken with more assurance. He was probably conscious of the impression he was making upon me [and] as we parted … said: “Of course I no longer speak as a responsible official, but I need not tell you that I still know perfectly well what I am talking about.”’51 Chirol was never to see Holstein again as the latter was dead within the year. Nor would he see his mother, who died that very day. No sooner was his interview with Holstein over than he was on his way to Brighton. On 20 October he saw her buried, grateful that her suffering was finished. Luckily – for his health both spiritual and physical – he had no time to dwell on his loss. By the 24th he was back in Paris, discussing the latest developments with Clemenceau. He found the Prime Minister ‘pretty perky’ given furious Turks, outraged Serbs, not to mention a wholly separate crisis then convulsing Morocco.52 Chirol’s stay in Paris was brief; on the night of the 25th he was on his way to Vienna. But no sooner was he there than he decided that he must ‘run up’ to St Petersburg – which was not on his original agenda – if he intended to have a true ‘bird’s-eye view’ of the situation as seen from the different, and differing, European capitals. There he saw everyone from Isvolsky and Stolypin to ‘half a dozen other men of light and leading besides a number of Parliamentarians who are making themselves felt’. The atmosphere was not relaxed, but barring ‘accidents’ he doubted an immediate conflagration. All the same events in south-eastern Europe, the results of which were still unfolding, ‘will have an enduring effect upon the whole European constellation’.53 348

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For one so interested in being where history was happening, St Petersburg in November 1908 fitted the bill. ‘I could not have come here at a more psychological moment,’ he wrote to the Foreign Office, ‘for I believe we are witnessing the final snapping of the tie which for one hundred years has bound St Petersburg to Berlin. For the first time, Court, Duma, People are united in the cry of “Los von Deutschland”.’ The telling moment had come, Chirol felt, during Isvolsky’s recent discussions with Grey. It was then that he, in Russia’s name, finally broke with the old Drei-Kaiser-Bund policy of ‘compensations’. For daring to do so he had met with outright hostility in Berlin and an Austro-German front of ‘almost aggressive solidarity’. The Russians, from all that Chirol could gather, and he was busy gathering, were convinced that the AustroGerman alliance had been given an extension directed specifically against the Anglo-French–Russian grouping.54 Meanwhile officials in St Petersburg were stupefied by an interview with the Kaiser that had recently been carried in London’s Daily Telegraph. During his conversation with the interviewer William bent over backward to prove his sincere, and long-held, desire to be on good terms with the British. The latter got quite a bit of cynical enjoyment out of his statements, if only at the discomfort it caused the poor Kaiser at home, where his own subjects took more than poorly to the news that their ruler was, and always had been, pro-British. In Russia, according to Chirol, the reaction was nothing short of ‘stupendous’. This foolishness, he told the Foreign Office, must surely have ‘driven the last and biggest nail into the coffin of Russo-German intimacy … Certainly the feeling here from the topmost top downwards seems to be very friendly [toward Britain] and genuinely so [and] the Kaiser’s outburst has done no end of good in that respect.’55 On his return to Vienna, Chirol went to call on the British ambassador, Sir Edward Goschen, who was soon to take Lascelles’ place in Berlin. The ambassador had just come away from a conversation with Aerenthal during which the Foreign Minister assured him that Austria would not raise any objections to the calling of a conference, but only if it was specified in advance that there would be no discussion of the annexation. Chirol, fresh from his own talks with Isvolsky, made it plain that the Russian Foreign Minister had every intention of protesting against, or at all events criticising, the annexation at any conference. Writing then to Grey, Goschen admitted that such a thing would be most unfortunate, for ‘to judge from Baron Aerenthal’s categorical language … the consequence of such an announcement would infallibly be a refusal on 349

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the part of Austria-Hungary to attend …’.56 In his diary Goschen added that ‘[i]f there is no Conference it is probable that Servia and Montenegro may move. And if they move, no one can tell where movement will stop.’57 A week after his audience with Goschen, Chirol was in Sofia, having stopped at Belgrade to meet with the bitter Bourchier. On 20 October the latter had written to Steed in great anger and distress. Chirol, he had learned, was to hold an inquiry here, where nobody knows anything of the circumstances, not at Sofia, as I asked. [… ] My principal crime it seems is that I did not reveal beforehand and denounce as a ‘despicable intrigue’ Ferdinand’s secret arrangement with Aehrenthal… I have been accused…‘of swallowing every story that the Bulgarians may choose to invent’. Lastly Bell ‘finds on inquiry’ that I have written criticisms on the Young Turks ‘which are deemed unjust’… I gather…that they mean to smash me up, but there will be the form of a trial. I know you will be my friend as far as you can, and what you may say now may have considerable weight …58

Steed himself had been saying for some time that his intention was to quit Vienna and return to England. After reading Bourchier’s distraught appeal he made up his mind not only to do so but to resign from The Times more or less at once. Among the reasons for doing so, which he put in a memorandum and gave to Chirol on 26 October, were the treatment meted out to Bourchier, and his own sharp disappointment at being passed over for Paris. As for the criticisms that had been levelled at his own work by Bell, which he now, and wrongly, thought stemmed from Chirol, he maintained stoutly that ‘accuracy of judgment, political consistency and diligence are no protection against interested calumny; and that a superior, while admitting he is not in a position to judge personally of one’s work, may allow his attitude to be influenced by slander’.59 Chirol was not as shocked by Steed’s memo as he might have been had Bell not warned him in advance that the Bourchier–Steed business was more serious than either he, or Chirol, had realised. Bell also advised him to see what more he could learn of the circumstances of Ferdinand’s declaration when he was in St Petersburg, Vienna and Belgrade with an eye to calming things down. When Chirol returned to Vienna after his trip to St Petersburg he did try and mollify Steed, telling him among other things that at age 38 he had more than enough time ahead of him to have the Paris post. But nothing, at that point, seemed to shake the correspondent’s utter determination to be done with the Austrian capital and the paper as well.60 Believing that he had failed with Steed,61 Chirol 350

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went on to see what could be done at Belgrade. There, after what seems to have been a remarkable battle, he did rather better. On 17 November, writing from Belgrade, Bourchier told Steed that ‘our friend’ had come and gone. There had been two interviews in Belgrade and he was just back from a quick visit to Sofia, where they had talked once more. At the first meeting Chirol had taken a very ‘magisterial’ line, used the formidable ‘we’ as he produced ‘their’ side of the case, and seemed to Bourchier to think that ‘he had everything his own way’. As for himself, he had listened patiently and deferentially, occasionally, and mildly, defending himself. At the second interview, which lasted three hours and was, in Bourchier’s term, ‘very dramatic’, it was quite the opposite. No longer mild, the furious correspondent ‘put [Chirol] in the dock and subjected him to a terrible interrogation’. I confronted him with the unspeakable telegram, made him read it, and then fixing my eyes on him asked him whether he believed the first charge it contained? He said he did not. I then asked had he seen the telegram before its despatch? He confessed that he had. I asked did Bell believe the charge? He said ‘no’. I then said ‘You have both combined to publish a defamatory statement which you do not believe, and you have given effect to it by expelling me from my post with ignominy.’ He collapsed. I then took up each of his accusations separately and demanded proofs. He made a very poor show when cross-examined and lost his temper more than once.62

In the end, after Chirol more or less apologised, the two men dined together, one wonders how comfortably. ‘He assured me,’ Bourchier told Steed, ‘that he had written to B[ell] recommending my reinstatement at Sofia on 15 December. If this is done I suppose I must let the thing drop, but I shall be letting them off very cheaply.’63 Chirol could not have relished these quarrels, but had many other things on his mind, and his agenda, as he made his way toward Constantinople. At Sofia, when he wasn’t being interviewing or writing reports and special articles, he walked through the city, losing himself – and his worries – in thoughts of the past. His memories were happy ones, he wrote to Florence, especially of her, waiting in the courtyard of the old British agency for her father and himself to come back from their afternoon ride so that she might give their ponies a bit of sugar or a carrot, her mother hovering nearby lest they tried to bite her. Now there was a new and much grander agency, and Sofia itself had changed beyond recognition. Occasionally he stumbled upon an old landmark, but ‘the broad boulevards with electric lights and electric trams, the big blocks of 351

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houses, the “eligible mansions”, the stately National Theatre, the huge new Cathedral, … the marble faced banks and shops, where were they then?’. But, as often with Florence, he turned soon to political changes as well. The more he heard, the more he believed that the average Bulgarian was not particularly thrilled at his new status, perhaps finally seeing that the Turks were going to demand payment for an ‘independence’ that might well be ‘little more than an empty word, and for the Prince’s Royal Crown – a bauble for which they don’t care a fig’.64 To the Foreign Office he wrote that all the Bulgarians he had spoken to had assured him ‘most solemnly’ – and, according to other foreign diplomats, truthfully – that they felt in no way tied to Austria. There was no alliance, no liabilities of any kind for the future; [instead] they fully realize the Austrian-German danger for the future of all the Balkan states; [and] would view with the utmost alarm a main mise on Servia – which they anticipate – as it would bring them into most unpleasant contact with Austria-Hungary … their dearest wish is to come to a close understanding with Turkey – and then with Servia and Montenegro with a view to a strong defensive league against [Austria’s] Drang nach Osten.65

Again he emphasised the mistake the Turks were making in alienating the Bulgarians, merely to ‘pay them out’ for claiming their independence. But this was looking at things from the Bulgarian perspective. To balance things he needed to go on to the ‘new’ Turkey and so was in Constantinople within the week. Again it took some days to get his bearings in a much-changed city. But from the very start he noted that the Young Turks were almost ‘pathetic’ in their desire to lean upon Britain. As the British stock rose, the German fell. Whitehall must now be careful not to overdo caution and reserve. At the present moment, as he said in The Times, there was opportunity with a capital ‘O’ for the British government to guide, even control, developments. But, with Grey warning that London was prepared to offer little more than a hand-to-mouth policy, it did not look as if they were likely to ‘have the courage to play what ought to be a winning hand’.66 If the Germans had been favoured instead, Chirol pointed out, they would most certainly have poured advisors into every department in Constantinople. Whitehall need not do that, but they should, at the very least, concentrate on finance and on public works as the two departments which he felt would play the most crucial role in the near future. The longer Chirol spent in Constantinople the more he felt that the real and present danger to peace lay not in Turkey but in the worsening 352

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situation in Europe. The Austrians were intransigent, the Serbs enraged, and he feared that what had begun as opposition to the form67 of the act of annexation would become opposition to the deed. Germany was now widely suspected ‘of being the villain of the piece. [… ] [Even] the Turks, like most other people who have eyes to see, are convinced that but for the almost aggressive character of Germany’s support Austria would not put on so bold a front.’68 Chirol was right, the international picture was growing darker, almost by the day. But it would not be until he was back in London and the new year well under way that the crisis in the Balkans reached its apogee. By then the Germans had stopped being merely suspected of acting as Austria’s prompter. From now on they were no longer behind the scenes but had taken on a primary – and, if you were Chirol, clearly villainous – role in the drama.

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In and Out of the Foreign Room

At the beginning of 1909 Chirol was once again actually in the foreign room at Printing House Square, no longer commanded to deal piecemeal and from a distance with its never-ending, nerve-wracking business. His long recuperation wrought apparent wonders. He was, said Bell, ‘a totally different man to what he was a year ago both mentally and physically’.1 Thus rejuvenated, he set to work to prove himself a worthy director of the new Times to its still remarkably unobtrusive, but not uninterested, new owner. Although he promised his friends that he would not push himself as he had in the past, the knack of ‘going easy’ did not come easily. Nor did the telegrams and letters crossing his desk each day do much to help. Austria and Russia were at daggers drawn over Bosnia-Herzegovina, the bitter Serbs seemingly getting ready for war. Meanwhile the Young Turks were still not secure at Constantinople, the French and the Germans were once more squabbling in Morocco, and the sordid struggle in Brussels over the wretched Congo colony was not yet satisfactorily settled. Further to the east the Indian government, faced by a rising tide of sedition and physical violence, was poised to introduce the most wide-reaching political reforms in the history of British control. Even further to the east the intensifying scramble to wrest railroad concessions from a wily, if wobbly, Chinese government was complicating diplomatic relations around the globe. With all these issues, plus others less pressing but still newsworthy, clamouring for attention, Chirol had no doubt that the deteriorating 354

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situation in the Balkans stood first in line. The crux of the problem was Serbia. As the threat of war between Turkey and Bulgaria or Turkey and Austria faded,2 and tempers cooled in Constantinople, Sofia and Vienna, those in Belgrade were on the boil. Chirol pronounced the situation as ‘black as black can be’, but sounded more alarmed than he actually was. For one thing he sensed that there was, on both sides, ‘a very widespread and deep’ aversion to actually coming to blows. Should that reluctance wane he trusted that outside influences would be brought to bear. Whose he did not specify, nor, as the days passed, did his optimism hold up. Never one to dismiss the evidence provided by a kept press, he duly noted that, while the Austrian government was making conciliatory noises in the direction of Belgrade, the tone of their controlled papers was the opposite. He supposed that war might be sidestepped now, when winter weather made for difficult combat conditions. But, come spring, there might well be fighting, and worried that Vienna, ‘wirepulled by Berlin’, had long since decided that such was the right course.3 By mid-February he began to wonder if the war parties would wait even that long. There were rumours in St Petersburg that the Austrian military party were pushing for some sort of aggressive action, the sooner the better. Should it come to that, Russia would surely move as well, putting her entente partners in a very tight place indeed. Chirol was all for peace, but not for peace at any price. On one point he was adamant; nothing should be allowed to undermine the new Anglo-Russian relationship. Thus it followed that neither Whitehall nor The Times could ignore, or even play down, Russia’s special interest in her Serbian protégés. At the same time he allowed himself to hope that the Germans might keep their Austrian ally from going to extremes. Relations between London and Berlin were not exactly sunny just then, but brighter than usual, due, in part, to a recent, and unusually successful, visit of Edward VII to the German capital. All the same, ‘might’ was not ‘would’, and Chirol never was able to put much trust in what the Germans would do, no matter how cordial things might seem on the surface.4 In short order his customary wariness appeared to be vindicated. On 25 February London had an ‘almost brutally contemptuous’ answer from Berlin to ‘our really very conciliatory and harmless suggestion that before making collective remonstrances at Belgrade we should get some idea of what Austria would do to temper the wind to the shorn lamb … It looks as if she [Germany] were determined to encourage Austria to humiliate Servia so that the latter’s humiliation should rebound upon Russia.’5 356

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That same day he published a leader entitled ‘The Menace to Peace’. In it he pointed out that not a little of the menace originated in Berlin. After the pacific assurances which followed the [King’s] visit … we were certainly justified in expecting that the anxiety which was then professed in Germany to co-operate in all things … would be translated into action at so critical a juncture. But, unfortunately, … [t]he suggestion made by ourselves and the French in Berlin has been rejected, and the Cologne Gazette declares … bluntly that, if the Powers want to avert the conflagration, all they have to do is to ‘snatch the brand out of the hand of the incendiary at Belgrade’. Apart from the fact that the ‘incendiary at Belgrade’ might possibly retort that it was not he who kindled the torch, but those who violated the Treaty of Berlin last October, the language used by the organ of the German Foreign Office is certainly not the language of a peace-maker.6

At that point the tension eased, but it had nothing to do with Chirol’s scolding. Instead, Russia indicated that she might be willing, however reluctantly, to intervene at Belgrade – in tandem with France and Britain. Chirol suspected that German bullying was behind this unexpected concession. He was right, but, given that it was a step in the right direction, contented himself with pointing out that, until there was discussion and agreement between the three partners as to the nature of any intervention, ‘excessive’ optimism was out of place. Still, ‘the triple entente has been a potent factor in the maintenance of European peace since the commencement of the crisis for which none of the partners in that entente were responsible, and in it lies the best hope for an amicable settlement of the difficulties which still remain to be overcome’.7 At the beginning of March there was more sabre-rattling on both sides of the Serbo-Austrian border. Chirol, still clinging to hope, wrote to Springy that, nasty as things looked, he believed that this latest crisis would once again ‘fizzle out’ – if only temporarily. Difficult decisions would, sooner or later, have to be taken, and taken, as he saw it, in Vienna since any real, or sustainable, solution must ‘ultimately depend upon the reshaping of Austrian policy whether on Slav or on Viennese lines’.8 He had things both wrong and right. The Austro-Serbian stand-off did not fizzle out; it would, in the end, be most abruptly put out – by the Germans. But, on the other hand, Chirol was right about the southern Slav problem having only being postponed and being both intimately and ultimately tied to hard choices to be made in Vienna. For a fraught week or two Vienna was rife with rumour, fear and anticipation. Then, in the midst of preparations for war, and quite out 357

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of the blue, Steed reported that the Archduke Franz Ferdinand had been heard to say that fighting was no longer likely. Shortly thereafter word leaked out that the Russians might be willing, given certain conditions, to think differently about the annexed provinces. Chirol reminded the readers of The Times that it would be folly to ignore the danger that still existed, but nearly as foolish to abandon all hope of a solution. Negotiations were still going on; Sir Edward Grey might yet find a way for the Serbs to back down without feeling dishonoured. Much, perhaps all, depended upon the real intentions of the government in Vienna. What he had told Steed privately a month earlier he now told the world, or at least the portion of it that read The Times. ‘Russia naturally takes the deepest interest in the fate of the little Serv kingdom, and it seems possible that Servia is being treated [to] such inexplicable harshness in order that the great Slav empire and nation may be wounded through her.’9 He had hit the nail, but not entirely squarely, on the head. The great Slav empire was to be humiliated, had already been humiliated, through, but not by, Vienna. On 26 March, the day after Chirol’s leader, Steed wired that Isvolsky had told the German ambassador in St Petersburg that if Vienna invited Russia to recognise the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina she was prepared to do so. This sudden and total acquiescence, without a word of warning to either London or Paris, was a stunning piece of news. It became more so as it dawned on Whitehall, and on Printing House Square, that Berlin had arranged the whole thing. For months Chirol had suspected the Germans of alternately pushing and pulling their Austrian partner so as to thwart the efforts of the entente Powers to find a solution to the stand-off. Behind their machinations he saw the Kaiser’s paranoia at work. All the attempts made to set up a conference to deal with the crisis, and there were many, had involved a grouping of the Powers only too likely to revive his perpetual obsession that in any and every understanding between other Powers there was some covert menace to Germany. Chirol could only surmise, given the suddenness of the turnaround, that the Germans had applied some sort of irresistible pressure at St Petersburg, not only to force the Russians to accept the annexation, but to do so without any consultation with her partners. He chastised himself privately for being swayed in the past few weeks by the optimism that had taken hold in well-informed circles in London. Now he had to wonder if Russia was in the process of being coaxed back into a renewed Three Emperors Alliance, and, if so, would it be for good? What, he wondered, would then become of the Triple Entente? ‘Are the Russians themselves absolutely impotent? We are clearly 358

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in the presence of important developments which may affect the European situation and our own for years to come.’10 The following day he elaborated on this theme in The Times. The situation with which Europe is confronted involves much more than the fate of Servia. We trust it may not mean the permanent overthrow of the balance of power in Europe; but it certainly does mean that for the moment Germany has placed it in jeopardy … in order to prove, to the world in general and to Russia in particular, that with her consent and support treaties can be broken with impunity and small States ground down to the dust, and that without her consent and support the peaceful diplomacy of other Powers is doomed to sterile effort. The course which she has chosen to adopt may for the moment produce the outward appearances of peace, but it cannot make for permanent peace.

He concluded by warning Berlin and Vienna that a proud Russia would be most unlikely to forget her pro-Slav traditions or ‘easily forgive those who have forced her temporarily to depart from them’. Furthermore, Russia and Serbia were not the only aggrieved parties. ‘Even the Powers less directly interested cannot ignore the rebuff which has been inflicted upon them at the moment when they were pursuing by the ordinary methods of diplomatic negotiation the same purpose, save that of public humiliation, which Germany will doubtless claim the credit of having achieved by a display of the mailed fist.’11 They would have to make that claim under fire from The Times. ‘Why should we be parties to making Serbia drain the cup to the dregs?’ he wrote to Steed. ‘Is it not better that the ruthlessness of Germany’s Austro-Hungarian policy should be allowed to expose itself in all its brutal nakedness …?’12 Given his growing conviction that the German Empire meant business in Europe, and not necessarily peaceful business, Chirol wanted one moral, above all others, to be drawn from recent events. Everyone in Britain, he said in The Times, must keep well in mind that their navy ‘has stood more than once between Europe and the claim of some great Continental Power to be the sole and supreme arbiter of its destinies’. If necessary it must be prepared to do so again. Berlin’s arrogant display of ‘muscled diplomacy’ suggested that it was well past the time for British politicians to put an end to the current inter- and intra-party wrangling over naval estimates and the maintenance of British naval supremacy. That supremacy was, all should remember, ‘the real bulwark of European freedom’.13 These words of warning did nothing to stop the unedifying struggle between Radical Liberals, looking, said The Times, for ‘economy at the expense of the nation’s defences’, and fellow Liberals who were in favour 359

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of spending considerable sums – not to mention their Unionist opponents, angling not only for more Dreadnoughts but to sink their badly riven rivals. Chirol could not but wonder whether or not the Russians had been influenced by the sight of their putative partner fighting over whether or not to cut back on the very thing that made them a most valuable ally. Political infighting at the cost of national defence in Britain, in combination with pervasive social and economic turmoil in France, might well have made the Germans look, if only for the moment, the better bet. The Times was firmly ‘big navy’. Chirol, dismayed by Radicals and Unionists alike, but staunch when it came to supporting Grey and profoundly proud of the British navy, never had the slightest doubt that that was the right line to take. Given his concern over what was going on between Vienna and Berlin and Berlin and St Petersburg and what it might mean for the future of the Triple Entente, he himself managed to get caught up in some of the infighting – much to some sharp, if transitory, personal distress. What caused it was a sour-tempered contretemps with J.L. Garvin, a man, and a journalist, Chirol much admired. Their falling out involved, in turn, his own relationship with Grey and Garvin’s with the then First Sea Lord, ‘Jacky’ Fisher. The latter was dead set on having whatever it was that he wanted or thought he needed.14 What he wanted just then was to continue with his programme of thoroughly modernising and reallocating the resources of the British navy. Although Fisher came to be known as the ‘father’ of the Dreadnought class of battleship, the big ships were only one part of his comprehensive and far-reaching plans. As initially planned, 1907 was to see four additional ships, 1908 four more, and so on until it would dawn on the Germans that to try and keep up would be next to pointless. But after 1906 the four per year schedule was allowed to slow, due, in part, to the Liberal government having to find funds for the social programmes so dear to their Radical members’ hearts. Fisher himself seemed to countenance, if not actually engineer, this slowdown by deciding in 1907 and 1908 to cut production in order to concentrate on increasing the efficiency of the existing navy. Early in 1908, with the Unionists fretting over the cost-cutting, Garvin – long since the admiral’s most favoured publicist among the many that he used – did his best to soothe their fears by pointing out in the Observer that, although the ‘strategical rest’ from battleship building might continue, planning was going ahead full steam. Unfortunately, no sooner had he said that than German ship production took off in unexpected ways and 360

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at unprecedented speed. By the end of the year the British Admiralty became abruptly – and painfully – aware of where the economising and search for efficiency had left them.15 That knowledge became public property in March 1909, on the opening day of the debates on the naval estimates, when Balfour stood up in the House of Lords to say that Britain could no longer be certain about maintaining her advantage in Dreadnoughts. Basing his remarks on a most extreme projection, he shocked his audience by telling them that by 1912 the Germans might well have as many as 21 of the big battleships. If Radical backbenchers and ‘small navy’ men had been counting on Asquith to heap scorn on such scare tactics and scale back the £3 million in additional monies asked for in the estimates, they were disappointed. The Prime Minister did quibble about the ‘absolute accuracy’ of Balfour’s figures but then simply agreed that Britain could no longer bask in the certainty that it could turn out the big ships faster than the Germans. This sobering admission, followed in very short order by Berlin’s display of aggressive diplomacy in St Petersburg, touched off a proper naval scare. For the First Sea Lord, now again fervent for more Dreadnoughts, the panic was heaven-sent, and he exploited it for all it was worth, most particularly through Garvin and the Observer. Chirol, empire-oriented, had always looked to the navy as the epitome of the British spirit, of its intrepid resourcefulness and courageous protection of all who enjoyed the benefits of British rule. He also realised, long before the March debates made the man on the street cognisant of the fact, that the Germans had made meaningful inroads into Britain’s once commanding lead. Never an admirer of Fisher, he now decided that it was time to question not only Fisher’s high-handed methods but his very fitness to be the professional head of the navy. Determined to expose the latter’s manifold failings, Chirol turned for support to none other than Garvin. It seemed an odd choice and in the end was indeed an unhappy one. While perfectly aware of the very close relationship then existing between Fisher and the editor of the Observer, Chirol obviously trusted that his own relationship with Garvin was equally good. Thus he told the latter in a letter dated 20 March that he was writing to him ‘as I would hardly write to any other journalist in the world, because I know that I can rely absolutely on your discretion & on your single minded devotion to the public interest’. What had led him to do so, he went on, was nothing less than a ‘national emergency’. Knowing full well that he and Garvin disagreed on the touchy issue of tariff reform and, for that matter, on Fisher himself, Chirol still believed, 361

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was even confident, that these disagreements could not ‘affect our belief in one another’s sincerity’. With that he launched his attack on the First Sea Lord. What he, Chirol, had heard, on what looked to be ‘absolutely unimpeachable authority’, was that Fisher had known all along that the Germans were doing their utmost to accelerate their naval programme. Not only did he do nothing to ‘bring home’ the significance of what he knew to the British government, he went so far as to allow Asquith to describe the almost feverish activity in Germany as a ‘paper programme’ during the debate on the previous year’s estimates. Why Fisher acted thus Chirol did not even pretend to know; nor did he now think it was all that important to know. What was galling was to see him, now that the damage was done, trying to wriggle out of a tight spot by sending around a memo to people in high places, including the King, to show that he had always been in favour of building more ships. If so, then to my mind so much the worse for him, as it would only prove that he has been sinning against the light … I am convinced that he is not to be trusted as the head of the Navy at such a critical moment. What makes his responsibility exceptionally heavy is the exceptional position which he enjoyed and which no other Sea Lord before him enjoyed – coupled with the exceptional support he had secured for himself from the chief organs of public opinion.16

Since first and foremost among those organs was the Observer, Chirol had aimed well and his words – as one can only wonder if he intended them to – went direct to Fisher. The admiral was duly enraged and immediately told his ‘Beloved Friend’ Garvin to watch what he said to Chirol as he was ‘probably as false to you as to me’.17 His warning came too late; Garvin had already been talking to Chirol. Once the debates on the estimates had begun and the panic over the disclosures about the German fleet began to build, Grey met again with the German ambassador. Fisher, alarmed at the prospect that diplomacy might ease the naval scare, thereby blunting his drive for additional ships, wrote, in haste and passion, to Garvin. Secret to be burnt. My beloved Friend. … I think it is important to see you. I’ve had another long talk with Grey who has had a serious interview with [Metternich] & I myself feel secure but I don’t want to allay the deep feeling in the public mind of the immensity of all that is at stake … We have engineered 8 Dreadnoughts this year. They can’t be prevented! … Nevertheless don’t desist!18

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In the Observer on 21 March Garvin cast off all restraints, going so far as to suggest that, should Asquith’s government refuse to give in to the demand for the eight Dreadnoughts, the House of Lords should simply enforce the public will by engineering a dissolution of Parliament.19 This was going entirely too far for the Foreign Secretary. On the same day that Fisher warned Garvin not to trust Chirol, Grey warned Fisher that it was high time for Garvin to be ‘brought to book’. The leader in the Observer was one reason. Another was a disturbing report, passed on to him by an unnamed source, which said that Garvin was claiming, on Fisher’s authority, that he, Grey, had threatened to resign if the second four ships were not provided for within the current year. Grey very much wanted to believe that Fisher was not guilty of leaking what was said in the privacy of Cabinet meetings to the press.20 Garvin had claimed that he had Fisher’s authority to write as he had, if that was not true, but based instead on his own guesswork he had to leave Fisher’s name out. Fisher, upset lest the extent of his feeding of Garvin be exposed, sent Grey’s letter on to Garvin, asking the latter for a written disclaimer that he might show to the Foreign Secretary. He supposed, he also said, that Chirol was the source referred to by Grey. There was no sure proof, of course, but, considering what Chirol had recently written to Garvin, it was abundantly clear that he was no friend. Furious, Garvin did not send a disclaimer to Fisher but wrote directly to Grey, saying that Fisher had shown him his (Grey’s) letter. In defending himself he suggested that Chirol was the ‘unnamed source’ and a most malign and discreditable one at that. It was true, he continued, that he, Garvin, had discussed naval matters with both Northcliffe and Chirol but that he had done so ‘upon the assurance of both as a matter of honour and the public interest that confidence would be absolutely kept. That Lord Northcliffe has not been your informant may be regarded as certain.’ How he could be so certain Garvin did not say. What he did say was that the paraphrase that had been given to Grey was ‘so consistently inexact … [that it] could not have been more misleading and unfair … I never said to anyone that I had it direct from Fisher that you would “insist” on the second four ships being laid down this year … [and] most carefully warned both Lord Northcliffe and Chirol against any such assumption …’21 Grey, now angry with Fisher for passing on his letter without asking permission, did what he could to calm Garvin, and, it seems, to protect Chirol. ‘Please do not,’ he wrote to the former, ‘let this make mischief between you and anyone else – what was reported to me that you had said did not come direct & the error may not have been with the original 363

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informant.’22 This supplication did not mollify Garvin, who wrote to Fisher the following day that it had always been ‘the strictest tradition of The Times…that confidences should be sacredly respected. Never has such a thing been known.’ To Northcliffe he wrote that he was distressed beyond measure by the insidious and I think somewhat ignoble dexterity with which my most private words to you and Chirol have been paraphrased to Grey. The lowest provincial newspaper would have shewn greater respect for its meanest correspondent. You were so frank & kind yesterday that I feel absolutely certain as I have told Grey & Fisher that you have kept my confidence …23

With that the brief blizzard of letters ended, although there were a few, rather forlorn, flakes from Chirol, among them one to Northcliffe complaining that it would have been much better if Garvin had ‘let me know exactly what the charges are which he brings against me before denouncing me to third parties … I am really distressed about this wretched business …’24 Chirol was a temperamental man. Though not as fast to take offence – at least in this instance – as Garvin had been, he was not one to let such an attack go unanswered. There can be no question that he was genuinely upset and that part of his distress was due to his great admiration for Garvin. But to be denounced, not only unjustifiably, but indirectly, let alone to be accused of a breach of confidence, was simply unendurable. Itching to respond but fearing to make things worse, he turned somewhat surprisingly to Leo Maxse, another man he much admired and with whom he had recently wrangled to the point of upset. That battle was now apparently forgotten and he almost begged Maxse to see him as soon as possible. He was, he said, trying to excuse Garvin on the grounds that he was ‘terribly overwrought… I don’t, therefore, want to quarrel with him if it can be helped, and you are such a friend of his as well as, I hope, of mine that I should much like to talk the whole thing over with you.’25 The outcome of that talk, if indeed it took place, went unrecorded and soon enough the scrape with Garvin faded away, as did much of the political brouhaha over naval spending, once Fisher had his eight ships. Obviously the opening months of 1909 were trying ones – across Europe, at Whitehall and Westminster and in the foreign room at Printing House Square. Although Northcliffe was not often there in person, he was increasingly present in spirit. Abundantly enthusiastic about his new property and equally well supplied with nervous energy, he bombarded Moberly Bell with long letters covering all aspects of the 364

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paper. Some were full of praise, some were damning, but, whatever their contents, reply by return was expected. Toward the end of February his critical attention turned to the foreign room. Whether he sent his remarks to Chirol directly, or an increasingly weary and oppressed Bell simply passed them along, the foreign editor was quick to respond. Chirol was keen to show Northcliffe that he would be able to revamp his department to the point where it was not only as good as it had been in the past, but even better. At the same time he was not one to wither under critical fire. Addressing the ‘Chief’s’ complaints and queries one by one, Chirol explained why some messages came by post instead of wire, why at times comment was added to simple announcements, and why some items, even important ones, simply had to be ‘held over’ for a night. On that subject he noted, rather dryly, that ‘it would be helpful if, when Lord Northcliffe criticises the omission of such and such a thing from the paper, he would kindly suggest what, in his opinion, might have been left out with advantage in order to supply the necessary space’. Finally, in response to the chief’s comment that there was not enough contact between the foreign department and the correspondents, he remarked tartly that, while he had no idea how Northcliffe came to think thus, he would like to ‘mention’ that in the past eight weeks he had written altogether over a hundred letters to our correspondents in all parts of the world, besides sending 41 telegrams, and have received from them a large number of letters of great interest and value. As the correspondents with whom I am chiefly in communication only number about ten or twelve, that is hardly a record that points to want of contact.26

Picky and critical Northcliffe surely was, he was also lavish with praise when he thought the right note struck. Unfortunately, what Chirol soon needed was more than praise. However fit he was at the start of the year, by March he was clearly going downhill. Although to a certain extent the atmosphere within his department was more harmonious – things with Steed reasonably well sorted out, and he and Bell together working to smooth down Bourchier’s ruffled feathers – the outside world had not been moving to a measured pace and so neither had he. In mid-March Northcliffe took him off for a brief motoring holiday in France, in part to get to know him better but also to build him up again.27 Whatever good it did, health-wise, was soon dissipated thanks to the last spasm of the Balkan crisis and the contretemps with Garvin. As on many an occasion when Chirol’s health was on the wane, long days at sea proved to be the best medicine. He had long since been 365

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thinking that he needed to see for himself what was going on in the Far East, having not been there for eight years and increasingly concerned with what he was not, or only partially, hearing from both Morrison and from his friends in Japan. Bell too was worried, but as much for Chirol– Morrison relations as for Anglo-Chinese, Anglo-Japanese, and SinoJapanese, all of which were being affected by the conflicting views of the two men. Grey wanted to keep the alliance with Japan in good repair, Bell to restore what had once been a very successful working relationship at Printing House Square. Having originally planned to go in the autumn, Chirol soon realised that his health would not stand the wait. Worried lest Northcliffe find another long absence from his department less than satisfactory, he assured the ‘Chief’ that on his return its complete reorganisation would be his primary concern. One thing he already knew: there could be no more long nights on duty. But, as he had no desire to retire, the best course, he told Northcliffe, would be to slow down somewhat ‘so as to be able to retain the general direction of [the paper’s] foreign policy for some years to come rather than to take risks which might lead to a premature collapse of my power to serve it’.28 Having made his decision, and his promise, Chirol left London on 8 April so as to catch the SS Caledonian at Marseilles the following day. The timing, he felt, was propitious. Europe was, at least for the moment, quiet. But commercial and banking circles in London were now upset by what the Japanese might be up to in Manchuria and Korea, and he himself was concerned that Germany’s newly enhanced diplomatic clout might somehow affect things in the Far East. As he wrote to Morrison shortly before leaving London, The coup which Germany carried out last week in St Petersburg shews that for the present…she is the absolutely dominant Power in Europe, and until Russia has recuperated, which must be a matter of years, the Triple Entente will be powerless against the Central European Block. […] In these circumstances one can hardly hope for our diplomacy to be very effective anywhere where it can be countered by German diplomacy. The financial world, which … is extremely sensitive, has already begun to draw the moral for itself [and] … there is a regular rush on the part of financiers to come to terms with their Teutonic friends so as to share in the plunder … I shall not therefore be in the least surprised if the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank acts on the same principle with regard to undertakings in China.29

Chirol was bound and determined to preserve the Anglo-Japanese connection, as it, he felt, helped to protect Britain’s position in Asia. ‘Even 366

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if you and Bland have correctly gauged Japan’s policy,’ he continued, ‘and she is deliberately engaged in strengthening her grip on Southern Manchuria in the face of all her former professions about the Open Door, I do not know that it will be possible or expedient for us to set ourselves up in opposition to her.’ It might be ‘very wrong of her and may no doubt be injurious to various local British interests’, but he did not see how to justly prevent Tokyo from trying to recoup some of the losses suffered during her war with Russia.30 It was Bell who let Morrison know that Chirol would be in Tokyo in approximately six weeks’ time and would be delighted if he, Morrison, could see his way free to join him there. In response to a prompt and positive answer from Peking, Chirol himself wrote to his problematic correspondent to say how pleased he was at the prospect of the two of them being able to thrash out all these questions which are now at issue between China and Japan, and, if possible, exercise some favourable influence on the Japanese. I had a long talk yesterday with Kato [the Japanese ambassador] and I think he realises the importance of doing something to disarm the feeling which is growing up here. You have all these questions at your fingers’ ends and what I should like would be to hear you discuss them with the proper Japanese authorities and see how they meet your objections. If I went over there without you and they satisfied me, you would doubtless afterwards very rightly say to me ‘Oh! They did not tell you this’, or ‘You ought to have countered them with that’, so please bring over all your arsenal of documents and papers and we will go into it thoroughly.31

When the two men met at Tokyo they had not seen one another for a year and a half and had communicated very little during that time. At the beginning of his recent letter Chirol remarked how pleased he was to have got a ‘nice’ letter from Peking several weeks earlier, the first personal letter of any kind from Morrison in at least a year. Unfortunately this niceness had nothing much to do with Morrison’s real feelings, which were much on display in a letter to Bell two months earlier. In it he gave a peevish account of the immense amount of work he did for the paper, most of it at his own considerable expense and without much, if any, encouragement from London. Instead of support, what he got from the foreign editor was ‘gross injustice’ and it made his blood – not to mention his prose – boil just to think of it. He seemed to set himself the task of worrying me out of The Times. After writing me grossly offensive letters snarling at everything I did he would write me a letter telling me what a great affection he had for me. He had

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the most superficial knowledge of China, was full of prejudice and by the way he tampered with my messages, especially at the end, he did much to impair their value. Many letters I sent to Chirol for publication were never published or were published so many weeks and occasionally months after the event that much of the interest they contained was destroyed. I am indignant to this day when I think of the treatment he extended to me when I was so anxious to do my best.32

Reading through the letters Chirol sent to Peking in the years immediately following the Russo-Japanese War one would be hard put to categorise them as ‘grossly offensive’. Rather it is Morrison who comes across as vindictive and mendacious. Keen for power, he guarded his fame zealously and found it increasingly hard to tolerate control, criticism or competition.33 Bland, who over the years did much work for him, found that the moment he presumed to take any credit for it, thereby possibly depriving Morrison of his unique position as the Peking correspondent, the latter tried to injure him ‘in every possible and treacherous’ way. Nor did Bland doubt he would do the same to Chirol.34 Although prone to use the most ‘honeyed, excessive flattery’ when it suited his purposes, Morrison was also an unprincipled and abusive gossip, ‘really the most amazingly indiscrete person for a Times correspondent, [and] the word “loyalty” [is] not in his dictionary’.35 All this testimony goes some way toward explaining the entirely uncontrolled – and remarkably unpleasant – entries in Morrison’s diary both during Chirol’s visit and afterwards. Bell was shocked by Morrison’s ill-tempered diatribe. Writing to wish the cranky correspondent a very happy birthday, he asked for a present in return. What he wanted was for Morrison to patch things up with the foreign editor. I do not know how [the quarrel] arose and can quite believe that some things he said or wrote during a period when he was really so ill that he was not quite responsible for his actions, may have seemed to you ample justification for the views you express. [… ] This at least I can say – he has never varied in his high opinion of you. He has differed from your views on some points and in his unfortunate illness may have expressed that difference with exaggerated emphasis – but his personal opinion of you has never varied and though I have perhaps not seen all his letters to you I have seen a very friendly one that he wrote some time ago to which you have not replied … Let me beg you … first in mere justice and next as a favour to me to return to the old friendship and to let all bygones be bygones.36

That letter went out to Peking in early February; by April it seemed to have produced positive results. Bell wrote again to Morrison to say that 368

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Chirol was very pleased to be getting friendly letters from Peking. The timing, Bell continued, was perfect as Chirol was once again ill. It seemed that he identified with every problem personally. ‘The Times crisis almost killed him, the Curzon–Kitchener row became his quarrel… I never met a man who made everybody’s trouble and quarrel and difficulty his own. Other men sympathise – he becomes the actual sufferer who needs sympathy!’37 Shortly after Bell’s letter went on its way east, Chirol did as well. As he left London his quarrel with Garvin was more on his mind than his relationship with Morrison – which, in any case, he felt was on the mend. Whatever Chirol’s upsets were, they evaporated almost the minute he set foot on the Caledonia. He wrote cheerily to Maxse that he would be away for three months, ‘nearly half of which I shall spend reposefully… “sailing on an even keel o’er summer seas”’. With the prospect of interesting company and ‘plenty of room to turn round’ on an uncrowded ship, he felt at peace with the world – with the unfortunate exception of Garvin. He had wanted to make things up with him while still in London, but felt uncertain as to how to go about it since the ‘quarrel was only on his side and he never gave me a chance of knowing from himself what was really the head and front of my offending … Anyhow if you ever have an opportunity of dispelling his morbid suspicions, please do. I have so much regard for him that it worries me to think that he should have held me capable of betraying his confidence!’38 By the third week in April Chirol was in Bombay, his health almost back to normal. Being at sea had helped, of course, as did being in India. Writing to Springy at dawn from the veranda of Government House, where he was staying with his old friend Sir George Clarke, Chirol gazed out over the Indian Ocean to see the flashing wings of the great vultures circling round the Towers of Silence, [with] all around great umbrageous trees and the heavy scent of many coloured flowers. On the one hand the pomp and luxury of a great Anglo-Indian household in high places. [… ] And just two hundred yards away, in front of a small Hindu temple on a sun scorched rock, I can see the dark figure of a Hindu mendicant who sits and has sat for fifteen years, gazing across the boundless waters into the nothingness of all that seems! Truly a weird country of harsh contrasts and strange mysteries to be put into parliamentarian bottles with Western labels!39

During the weeks that Chirol spent making his slow way toward Japan, Morrison was preparing for the encounter. Left to his own devices he would have made as little as possible of the visit, but having no bone to 369

Courtesy of Times Newspapers Ltd., Archives, London. Chirol seated left, Morrison right, Brinkley standing.

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pick with Bell and no plausible excuse for not going to Japan, he had to make the best of it. It might have eased his way somewhat had he seen the letter Chirol sent to Bland from Hong Kong. In it Chirol made it very clear that as much as he was looking forward to his coming days in Tokyo he had no intention of taking everything his hosts did or said ‘lying down’. While admitting that it might be necessary to go along with some of their actions, ‘they must understand that we do so of our own accord and for valid reasons and not because they can simply fool us’.40 Morrison arrived in Tokyo on 24 May. It was Chirol’s 57th birthday and the two men were invited to lunch at the British Embassy. This was the start of a series of lunches, dinners and meetings with every man of importance in Japan from the Prime Minister downwards – and upwards, as there was an unprecedented audience with the God-Emperor himself. In the midst of all the eating and greeting and talking the ill-assorted Times trio, Chirol, Brinkley and Morrison, found time – one has to wonder at the reason – to have a photographic portrait taken. Chirol and Morrison sit before a background of columns and foliage. Chirol, in a rumpled three-piece suit, legs crossed, hat in hand and watch chain catching the light, looks steadily at the camera, as does a black-clad and sombre Captain Brinkley, standing close behind. Morrison, square-jawed and serious in heavy tweeds, one hand balled up and his legs thrust out in front of him, stares grimly past it. He does not look happy, but then he was not enjoying either his companions or his entertainments. Chirol, by contrast, was extremely pleased with the way things were going, most particularly with the fact that the Japanese treated him as the equivalent of a diplomatic envoy. As he arrived in Tokyo, Sir Claud MacDonald, the current ambassador, was on the point of leaving for London in order to bring Whitehall up to date on Japanese attitudes. It was, Chirol wrote to Northcliffe, ‘for precisely the same reasons’ that the Japanese government welcomed having him there, even though Sir Horace Rumbold, a distinguished diplomat and former ambassador to Austria-Hungary, was on hand to deputise for MacDonald. Chirol and Morrison’s visit benefited him as well, as through them Rumbold got to know the principal men in Japan in record time. The temporary ambassador also made it clear to London that these officials knew that Chirol was their friend and they hoped to win Morrison over, but the latter is a tough nut to crack and isn’t so easily won. He was a bit staggered, however, when he was told that he was to be received by the Emperor. This is almost the highest honour that the Japanese can pay anybody and so they proclaimed to the world the importance they attached to

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Chirol’s and Morrison’s visit. The former told them some plain truths about the desirability of honesty in commercial and financial dealings. These remarks were quite well received.41

Lest Northcliffe underestimate the glory reflected on The Times as a result of this reception, Chirol made a point of explaining to him that the ‘absolutely spontaneous’ audience with the Emperor was not only a personal compliment but was surely intended to show genuine appreciation for all that the paper had done for Anglo-Japanese relations. Back on the personal level he was also glad to report that the ‘long sea’ method of travel had done its work. Not only was he completely restored by the time he got to Japan, he had borne up brilliantly through ten very strenuous days, much better than Morrison, ‘who though ten years my junior, complains that I am killing him!’.42 In early June the two men returned to the mainland to spend another fortnight touring Korea and Southern Manchuria. Morrison confessed to Bell that never in his life had he been as tired as he had been in Tokyo.43 Nor, according to him, was Chirol faring all that well. The travelling in Korea and Manchuria was hard going, the trains horribly slow and connections poor. Even though he was looking well he had had ‘some trouble with his inside which interfered with his enjoyment’. Something seemed to be affecting his temper as well, as according to Morrison it was ‘vile’.44 Chirol saw that his travelling companion was tired, but was blind to Morrison’s growing irritability. Back in Peking, the latter’s diary entries about Chirol went from worrying that he would talk to the wrong people and therefore ‘crab’ China, to finding him an ‘infernal, illnatured, disagreeable, discourteous brute’, both ‘mean and selfish’ but ‘stricken sorely’ and probably suicidal.45 Chirol, by contrast, was full of praise for Morrison. The two of them, he assured Bell, had had a very pleasant time together and for that reason alone he counted his trip a great success. Though we may not always … see altogether eye to eye on every question, we know exactly how and where we stand, and we are in complete agreement on all main lines of policy. He has bossed the show for me splendidly … often to my great amusement and always to my great material comfort. He has magnificent ideas as to how the Foreign Editor – and as he constantly reminds me, ‘a Director’ of The Times should be treated! He himself has unquestionably a remarkable position everywhere out here. I doubt whether there is anybody more en vue in this part of the world. Even in Japan we only began to ‘boom’ after he had joined me. His

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ways are not perhaps in this respect quite my ways, but he is certainly a wonderful man.46

One week later this wonderful man wrote in his diary of Chirol that he was ‘an extremely uncongenial companion’ and that he had a ‘rooted’ dislike of him. In the next sentence he confessed that although Chirol had a ‘marvellous’ ability, not to mention a greater experience of the world than any man living, that knowledge could not be said to extend to China.47 What Chirol did know, or thought he did after meeting with as many Chinese officials as possible and talking at length with Sir John Jordan, the British minister, and W.W. Rockhill, Jordan’s American equivalent, was that the outlook was grim. Grim for the political future of the country and grim for the British position in it, whatever that future brought. As he travelled Chirol took hurried notes of his impressions and conversations, raw material for a series of articles which he planned to write up during his trip home. Before leaving London he had arranged for that homeward journey to be by ‘long train’ and had booked and paid for a berth on the Trans-Siberian Railroad. When he got to Peking he discovered, much to his delight, that Bland was set to travel with him. His delight was short-lived. Although Bland did take the ‘long train’, Chirol was told by his friends at Printing House Square that spending two midsummer weeks in a train crossing the Asian steppes might well undo what weeks in salt air had accomplished, especially at the end of what had clearly been a strenuous trip. Insisting that he come back by sea, either the reverse of his outbound trip or through North America, Northcliffe, Buckle, Bell – and Mrs Bell as well – wrote to dissuade and persuade. At first he would hear nothing of it not only did he already have a paid ticket, the time their plan would take made it most impracticable. By America I should still have a long railway journey across the continent, and by long sea at this season with typhoons in the China seas and the South West Monsoon across the Indian Ocean, the heat in a battened down ship would, I am sure, be even more trying than the Siberian Railway.48

In the end Printing House Square marshalled Dr Greenbaum to ‘enforce their veto’ and so had their way. Morrison’s final task was to see him off on a steamer to Japan, from where he would take another across the Pacific. Returning to Peking, free at last from his bondage, Morrison once again unburdened himself to Bell. From all that he, Morrison, could see, Chirol’s health had not been improved by his travels, particularly in China. The weather in Peking had been sultry and oppressive, making 373

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for fitful sleep, chronic tiredness and a terrible temper. As for the results of their time in Japan, Morrison was firmly back up on his favourite hobby horse. It was no secret – not at Printing House Square, Whitehall, Peking or Tokyo either – that the Peking correspondent was stridently opposed to what he took to be Japan’s pretensions, let alone behaviour, in Southern Manchuria. Everyone knew as well that he and Chirol were not in agreement on this issue. At the end of their stay in Tokyo the latter sent the office a telegraphed summary of what he had learned during his busy visit. It appeared in the 2 June issue under the title ‘Japanese Policy in Manchuria: The Fa-ku-men Railway’. Both the article, and a leader written in support of it, made it seem as if Morrison supported, or at least did not significantly oppose, Chirol’s essentially pro-Japanese position.49 Morrison, promptly told by his Chinese friends that his being linked with Chirol had done him ‘a good deal of injury’, wrote angrily to Bell. ‘To introduce me into the message and so word it, that The Times could subsequently say [in the leader] that I was associated with Chirol in sending it’, not only misrepresented his opinion, but was ‘one of the most unkind things ever done [to] me’. He had never been given the opportunity to read the offensive dispatch for himself, Chirol having merely read it out loud to him. What he heard, said Morrison, led him to tell Chirol then and there that, as he disagreed with much that it said, he would not like to be associated with the sentiments it offered. Chirol, ‘in a mood that would not brook argument or contradiction’, said only that he would have to think about his request. In the end he never showed the piece to Morrison again and it wasn’t until 13 July, when the relevant issue of The Times reached Peking, that he saw the full text.50 When these complaints reached the manager’s office, Bell was away, and it fell to an obviously surprised Chirol to answer it. ‘You talk,’ he wrote to Morrison, ‘of “The Times telegram from Tokio with which I am supposed to have been associated.” From this one might infer that you took exception to it which I do not think can be the case as I read over to you the original draft, and modified in deference to your opinion the only two points to which you objected.’51 The question of which man had the better memory, or which of them was more devoted to his particular cause and therefore casual with the truth, will never be known. On his homeward journey Chirol had little more than a day to spend at Tokyo before catching his steamer for Vancouver. As usual he spent what hours he had talking – or, in this case, mostly listening – to those in the know. The gist of what he heard from Komura, the Foreign Minister 374

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– with repeated interjections from the Prime Minister – he then summarised in a lengthy letter to Morrison as the SS Shinano Maru took him off over a cool and remarkably peaceful North Pacific. What the Japanese believed, he wrote, was that they had inherited Russia’s now forfeited position in Southern Manchuria, an inheritance vouchsafed by the Treaty of Portsmouth and agreed to by China. This inheritance, together with being granted a free hand in Korea and a portion of Sakhalin Island, was their sole compensation for immense sacrifices made during the recent war. Given that, it should be selfevident that they must not only protect this windfall but make the most of it economically, strategically and politically, subject of course to the maintenance of the ‘open door’ in matters of international trade and commerce. This obligation meant, in turn, that Japan could not afford to permit China to undermine her position in Manchuria, ‘more especially as China is quite incapable of maintaining the status quo in the Far East, if it should again be threatened by a third Power. That is a point of view of which the Japanese are confident that Englishmen will see the reasonableness.’52 Chirol himself considered it reasonable, especially as he was very much aware that Tokyo expected British support on this point in exchange for their helping to maintain the health of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance. Komura had made it quite clear that, if Japan chose to resort to a forward policy, i.e. anti-Chinese, on the Asian mainland, it would not be difficult for her to find allies with whom she could share the spoils of conquest. For Chirol, given the present state of world politics, the idea of doing without the Anglo-Japanese Alliance was not just unwise but unthinkable. It was crucial that the paper take a position on the mounting crisis in Asia, and to help formulate it he wanted Morrison’s views on these latest Japanese statements, the sooner the better. Chirol was not only anxious to discuss the affairs of the Far East with Buckle, but also with the Foreign Office. In 1909 it was still unclear if His Majesty’s government had a coherent Far Eastern policy. While Chirol was willing to admit, privately, that Britain’s ‘little allies’ had not always played their cards well, he also found fault with London’s relying on the virtues of ‘muddling through’. When his American friend W.W. Rockhill admitted that his country’s policy in China was unabashedly anti-Japanese, Chirol could only counter with the observation that it was therefore anti-British as well. Nothing daunted, Rockhill pointed out that during all his years in China ‘he had never been able to make out what our policy was or whether we had one!’. If he were joking, said Chirol, 375

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the jest hit perilously close to home. He pitied the British minister at Peking, the badly overworked Jordan, condemned to try loyally ‘to make bricks without straw’.53 The Germans, on the other hand, had plenty of straw. Nothing, Chirol warned the Foreign Office, could be more opposite than the way the two countries went about promoting their interests. The British were ‘always at loggerheads amongst themselves whereas the Germans all pull in one direction at the word of command. But is that not also due to the fact that they have a policy whilst we have none?’ The Chinese must surely see, as he himself did, that in Asia, as in Europe, Germany was now ‘top-dog … and that no other dog can wag his tail unless she consents’.54 Chirol also had words of warning for his Japanese friends about their activities in Southern Manchuria and Korea. Before leaving Peking he wrote very frankly and at considerable length to Katsura, sending copies of his observations to both Morrison and Whitehall. In essence what Chirol told the Prime Minister was that Japanese tactics in Southern Manchuria and Korea pointed to a future ‘full of unpleasant possibilities both for you and for us …’. While admitting that the material advantages that Japanese involvement had brought to Korea were plentiful, visible and encouraging, they were also, sad to say, neutralised by the widespread animosity caused by their methods. Using examples drawn from Britain’s experiences in Egypt and India he reminded Katsura ‘that a conquered race very soon forgets the greater evils from which foreign control may have freed it, and begins speedily to chafe under the restraints imposed upon it, often for its own good, by a more civilised regime’. All that he had seen with his own eyes suggested that it would be to Japan’s ultimate advantage to give the Koreans as much of a share in running things as possible. The same was true in Manchuria, but there the stakes were even higher as the Chinese, to his way of thinking, were much more effective economic opponents than the Koreans. He urged Tokyo to make comprehensive concessions, assuring Katsura that he had said the same thing in Peking and elsewhere in China. Nor should the Prime Minister overlook the fact that it was not just the enmity and competition of the Chinese and the Koreans that should concern him. It cannot, I am afraid, be disputed that neither of the Powers which have the most influence at Peking just now is friendly to Japan, and both, for different reasons, would dearly like to break up or to impair the AngloJapanese alliance – the United States in view of a possible conflict with Japan, and Germany in view of a possible conflict with England … The

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international situation here seems therefore to require extreme caution and prudence on the part of Japan.55

Chirol closed this report with a strong warning to Tokyo against giving in to those who wanted to take a hard line against China. That policy, carried to logical conclusions, would mean the use of force, ‘which none of the questions at present at issue could justify and which would be economically disastrous, and politically perilous’. Instead he made a plea for practicing the ‘utmost forbearance’ and for keeping the Anglo-Japanese Alliance in good repair. Grey was much impressed with Chirol’s analysis of the situation facing Japan. What did not seem to make an equal impression at Whitehall were his repeated warnings about German designs in China. For the last few years Chirol had been trying, from London and not very successfully, to unravel the ‘tangled skein of intrigues and lies’ that obscured the financing and building of railroads in China. That ‘ghastly muddle’ became clearer, if not prettier, once he was on the spot, and, hardly to his surprise, he found the Germans in the thick of it. The Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, once an institution that promoted British interests in China, seemed to him to have fallen into the hands of German financiers looking for a way to recoup losses incurred through a string of bad investments.56 Through the agency of the bank they had managed to cajole British and French interests into joining them in what, to his mind, were very dubious financing schemes. When American interests tried to join as well, the Hong Kong and Shanghai brushed them off with the excuse of having made prior commitments. Chirol was long since convinced that the Germans were interested in stirring up trouble between the United States and Britain and between Britain and Japan. The fact that the people at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank did not see the advantage of having American participation, if only to serve as a counterweight to the Germans, made him all the more certain that they were nestled deep in the latter’s pockets. Equally pertinent was the fact that being rebuffed had done nothing to drive American interests out of the railroad game. What it had done was invest their ongoing demand for participation ‘with a flavour of hostility towards us which may yet have very unpleasant consequences’.57 From China Chirol wrote to Tyrrell to find out if the bank, which he knew was in constant contact with the Foreign Office, had said anything there about turning the Americans away. As he pointed out, the Germans surely realised that it would be to their advantage to tell the Americans that it was ‘John Bull’ who had shut the door in their face. The result 377

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could well be that ‘the first fruits of Anglo-German financial cooperation may not improbably be German–American diplomatic cooperation against us and Japan’.58 At first his warning words fell on deaf ears; even his friend Charles Hardinge suggested taking his alarums with a large grain of salt. But when he got back to London Chirol found that the Foreign Office was now ‘much alarmed’ by anti-English sentiment in Washington.59 With that in mind he produced chapter and verse to show his diplomatist friends just how the bank had been leading them ‘by the nose’. Among other things they had withheld the little fact that they had brushed off what they later referred to as ‘a little “nibbling” by unimportant people!’.60 Nor had the Germans been slow to fan anti-British flames in Washington by offering ‘profuse assurances that they would have welcomed the Americans but it was those beastly Britishers! [who said no]’.61 Chirol did not just try to open eyes at the Foreign Office. His articles on the ‘Far East Revisited’ began to appear in the paper in early August and continued at shortly spaced intervals until early September. Hoping to enlighten those people who took the time to read them as to the ‘inwardness’ of the Chinese railroad competition and the danger it posed to the British position in Asia, he also looked forward to getting a reaction – ‘in the chemical sense!’62 – from the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. He was not disappointed, and by mid-August was telling Morrison that there was a ‘regular underground campaign being carried … against The Times …’.63 Ten days later he warned him to be careful about talking too freely with the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank people lest they distort what he said so as to bolster the ‘campaign of intrigue and lies’ being directed against the two of them for having had the temerity to criticise their policy. He had already heard that a rumour was making the rounds in China to the effect that Morrison was suffering from mental problems. It was instructive, said Chirol, to see just how far some people would go ‘when [one] gets under their fur’.64 During the last months of 1909 Chirol’s preoccupation with Far Eastern matters was increasingly forced to yield to other problems much closer to home. But when his attention did swing back to the East he soon enough saw that his relationship with Morrison had not improved, no matter his very pleasant memories of their travels together. His long series of Far Eastern articles were a case in point. It was the sort of work he had been doing for many years and, as always, he hoped – although he hardly ever believed – that the end product would stir up some genuine interest in the problem at hand. At the same time he felt stale and the 378

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writing came anything but easily. Having finally wrestled the material into publishable shape, he was less than happy to discover on getting back to London that recent developments meant not only that he would have to do considerable rewriting, but that he could not begin publication, as planned, with the pieces that were least critical of China. With Morrison’s sensitivities in mind he wrote immediately to Peking to explain what had happened lest the latter jump to the wrong conclusions. What he did not then fully realise was that there was precious little that he could write about China, or Japan, that would commend itself to the Peking correspondent. Nor did it improve Morrison’s mood to have Chirol question the wisdom of a ‘look-see’ tour of some remote areas of China he was planning to take toward the end of the summer. Thinking that he was doing the correspondent something of a favour, Chirol explained that the new proprietors, excellent qualities aside, did not ‘quite appreciate anyone’s thirst for knowledge for knowledge’s sake’. While he himself did appreciate it, his hesitation about the tour had to do with having Morrison in the ‘back of beyond’ given all that was going on at Peking. For that reason he asked him to delay his trip until October, when Bland would be free to cover for him. Chirol apologised generously for holding him up and, trying to sweeten the wait, pointed out that to his way of thinking – something that did not in general appeal to Morrison – October and November were really the best months for travelling in China. A month later, in a letter that Morrison would not read until back from what Chirol now was calling his ‘well-earned tramp’, Chirol again warned that ‘the new regime’ at Printing House Square was unlikely to be as generous with travelling time as he had always tried to be. This Morrison might have swallowed, even if glumly. What Chirol then added made him positively choke with rage. Unfortunately, as you must admit, your journeys – though, no doubt, extremely useful for increasing your general knowledge and experience – have seldom borne any immediate results in the Paper, partly through your own regrettable reluctance to write letters for publication. I had occasion, since I came back … , to look through our cuttings books for several years past, and I was struck with the enormous disproportion between the number of excellent articles which [Bland] had contributed and the small number of equally excellent articles from yourself. I do not say this by way of reproach, though I cannot help regretting that you have not made more use of your opportunities in this respect. I know you will plead, as you have often done before, your inability to write, but I am afraid this is a

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plea which will not pass muster, for some of the things that you have written … are amongst the best things that have appeared in the Paper. Even the weekly or fortnightly mailed message, which I thought we were agreed you would try and write regularly in future, have been less than intermittent! Do not let this homily disturb you … just think it over. It is not intended in a censorious spirit.65

As is obvious from this letter, it was not the first time that Chirol had brought up the need for more letters, as opposed to telegrams. At first he put the request in Bell’s mouth, telling Morrison that the manager had come to him complaining of the dearth of mailed matter from Peking.66 The paper, as Morrison surely knew, was economising, and telegrams from the Far East were expensive. In addition the layout, including the foreign pages, was undergoing changes. As it happened the foreign department had been allotted more space, and both Chirol and Bell wanted to devote it to special articles and letters sent in at regular intervals and used to supply the ‘light and shade’ necessarily missing in telegraphed material. In Morrison’s diary, where he customarily gave free rein to all his negative feelings, there was no adverse reaction to this mild prodding, in fact it seemed to stimulate a brief flurry of letter-writing. But that was before his ‘tramp’ and before he read Chirol’s ‘little homily’. After the latter his diary fairly exploded. I wrote to the detestable Chirol who stands in the way of my ambition and because I can send the best telegrams sent in the world … and because it is by telegrams that I have made my reputation and because I hate writing letters and do not write good letters he refuses to allow me to wire but insists upon my writing! I hate the man yet I must pretend to like him and I praise and flatter him because it is expedient to do so.67

Although he had been warned by Bland that Morrison was not a true friend, Chirol was initially inclined to be philosophic – and pragmatic. ‘One must take people as they are,’ he remarked, ‘and [we must remember that] he has certainly done much excellent work for the Paper. Perhaps, also, we are to some extent ourselves to blame for the development of his ego, for he has always been rather a spoilt child with us and has accordingly became a rather wilful one.’68 Chirol’s ability to rise above Morrison’s all too evident wilfulness was tested by the latter’s announcement, just as he was about to leave on his delayed tour of outer China, that within a month of his return he would be leaving China entirely and for a much longer stretch of time. As of early January he planned to be off on a trek across the breadth of central Asia, 380

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then across Europe and on to London, where he would stay until early 1911. Although Chirol knew that Morrison had been thinking of such an expedition, the timing took him by surprise. He therefore made no secret of his wish that the whole thing be postponed for eight or nine months so that Printing House Square could have time to arrange for a sufficient cover. But, as Morrison was evidently determined to stick to his plan, Chirol none too graciously wrote to say that he ‘supposed you must have your way’.67 That was blunt; six weeks later he was equally so and at much greater length. Whilst we all recognise the excellent work you have done for us, I may perhaps venture to remark that no other member of our staff has enjoyed such complete freedom with regard to his movements as you have. I am quite aware that your numerous journeys have always been indirectly of use to the Paper by helping to enlarge your knowledge and experience, but from a narrower point of view, they have not, as a rule, yielded any considerable results that could make a show in the Paper. Under the new regime, as I think I have told you before, it may be more difficult to give you the same latitude unless you make it easier for me to justify it.70

If these remarks were not enough to set Morrison off, there was always their clash of opinions as to conditions in China. One of Morrison’s pet peeves was that the claims put forth by both Japan and Russia in Manchuria were not in accord with their existing treaties with China. That fact Chirol did not contest. But, with British, not Chinese, interests uppermost in his mind, he pointed out that the realities of the situation were unreconcilable with those treaties. As a result it was, to his mind, contrary to any British interests in that part of the world to ‘maintain a pedantic adhesion to treaties in the face of hard facts’. What could, and should, be done to promote those interests was to make every effort to persuade both Russia and Japan not to make unreasonable demands of China, to work on the Americans to moderate their anti-Japanese attitude and to tell the Japanese that they must make their demands plain. ‘If they are as moderate as they have hitherto maintained it should not be impossible to arrive at a definite agreement, which would remove the obscurities and therefore relieve the dangers of the present situation.’71 On the fraught question of China’s ability to achieve a meaningful degree of political stability so as to begin the slow process of modernisation – political, financial, military – the two men were even more at odds. Chirol could not deny that the convening of elected provincial assemblies that autumn meant that a first step had been taken. But the road ahead was long and neither Bland, covering for Morrison at that point, nor 381

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Chirol himself had high hopes for positive results. As a result of both his own observations and reliable information from others, Chirol deemed it impossible that ‘within any measurable distance of time China [could] possibly count, except negatively, amongst the world-forces. No doubt a nation with the staying power of the Chinese race is bound to have a great future, but not within the time with which one must reckon in practical politics.’72 Needless to say Morrison liked nothing of this and made that clear. Early in the new year Chirol made a special effort to reach his problematic correspondent as he did not want him to go off beyond reach on your wanderings without trying to smooth you down on some points which seem to have ruffled you … [and to] remove the … sense of grievance which again runs through your last letters to me, so that you may start with an easy mind. I hope you will enjoy your journey thoroughly and turn it to good account; and if we grudge having you away so long from Peking, you can only take that as a tribute to the importance which we attach to your services.73

Nice words aside, Chirol had confessed to Bland only two days earlier that he was finding Morrison ‘most unreasonable’.

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As exasperating as Morrison was proving to be, he was soon off into the wilds of central Asia and, to some extent, out of sight meant out of mind. The respite was only temporary, but welcome given the attention that must be paid to a variety of other problems – professional, political and diplomatic. On his return from the Far East Chirol was rested, reasonably fit, and keen to turn his attention to The Times Publishing Company, Ltd. This is not to say that his concerns with China, Japan, Manchuria, Korea, the Congo, the German navy, the British navy, the offended Americans and the offending Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank faded from view. But what he realised, almost at once, was that all those, and others to boot, would have to share time with Lord Northcliffe. The latter, about to leave for an extended stay in Canada, had ‘pounced’ upon him at once to help work out an internal reorganisation as well as a budget for the foreign room both at home and abroad. Crises abroad were Chirol’s customary fare. Years of monitoring, explaining and taking a position on wars both real and threatened, on the making and breaking of alliances, treaties and agreements, the disruptions brought by coups, revolutions and counter-revolutions, and the arcane workings of other governments had more than once made him ill. The crisis at Printing House Square, resolved at the last minute by Bell’s apparent success, had almost finished him off. Now, a year and a half later, Bell’s scheme was beginning to unravel, and again there were thunder clouds, this time gathered on Northcliffe’s bristling brow. 383

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Northcliffe was a restless, impulsive, ardently ambitious man, resolutely focused on having the latest and the best, the latest news, the best men to get it and edit it, the most modern means to print and distribute it. By the summer of 1909 he had owned The Times for more than a year. During the initial months he had been, given the lethargic pace of reform at Printing House Square, remarkably patient and reasonably quiescent. But by the first anniversary of his purchase his zeal had begun to overtake his patience. Bell was hounded to the point where he baldly said that ‘less criticism and more encouragement would have a better effect upon the staff, and produce a better paper’.1 At about the same time, Chirol, travelling with the Northcliffes in Bordeaux, wrote to the over-pressured Bell that ‘X’ was in the best of spirits. He had been particularly pleased to see the letter Chirol had just had from Bell, and ‘though he of course refuses to be convinced by your figures! … nothing can be nicer than his way of talking about you and his one anxiety is to get you to use other people instead of using yourself up’.2 The following month Chirol was off to the East. It was not until August that he and Northcliffe had an opportunity to talk again of the fortunes – financial and other – of the paper. During the months of Chirol’s absence, Northcliffe had decided that those fortunes, in constant decline, meant that he could no longer remain a shadowy ‘X’, unseen, unheard, in fact unknown to almost all the staff at his new property and the majority of The Times’ readers. Northcliffe had tried at first, and with some success, to reassure those at Printing House Square, and others, who did know his identity and to whom The Times – its essence, practices, principles – was sacrosanct that he was content merely to have rescued the historic property. While making it clear that he wanted to modernise production and streamline the organisation, his overriding goal, he said more than once, was to make the paper what it had been in its glory days. There was no worrying sign of his wanting to meddle with its editorial ‘heart’, or tinker with its journalistic principles. ‘My position,’ he wrote to Lord Esher3 in July 1908 – repeating a statement that had appeared in the Westminster Gazette the previous evening – is merely that of one who wishes to see this country represented to the world by an absolutely independent newspaper, always, I trust, in my lifetime, worthy of its high tradition; the organ of neither parties, sects nor financiers; its columns open to every shade of politics; a newspaper run not as a profit-making machine at all. The Times is, in fact, in my life what a yacht or a racing stable is to others – it is merely my hobby.4

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A man of considerable charm, ‘X’ also set about making friends at Printing House Square. As little as he actually saw Chirol during that first year, he was quite successful at reassuring him that the ‘general tone and traditions’ of The Times would not be altered. ‘Questions of policy are questions of opinion’, said Chirol to his friend Sir George Clarke. ‘Far more important are the questions of journalistic principle, and on this I think the new regime will commend itself to you as well as to me. Of course things will take time …’5 One of the things that would take far too much time as far as Northcliffe was concerned was putting the paper’s finances in proper order. But, even on this favourite subject, he did not push hard at the start. When warned by one of his own accountants that the bookkeeping at Printing House Square tended to be ‘exceedingly vague’, he said only that he hoped the man had gone about his investigations carefully as ‘no one likes the intrusion of newcomers. You would not yourself if you had been established in business for 120 years. We want the Printing House Square people to get to like us.’6 To help them do this he opened his pockets wide. He half asked, half insisted that the top men take more frequent or longer holidays, he invited them to luncheons at his house at St James’s Place and for weekends at his country house, Sutton Place. Wives too, where there were any, were shown courtesies unknown under the Walters. The largesse and the invitations made for pleasant times after months, if not years, filled with scrimping and anxiety. Even the deeply sceptical Buckle came around, writing to Northcliffe that ‘the new arrangements and your vigorous personality have infused hopefulness and buoyancy into us all. It has been, if I may say so, a matter of very special satisfaction to me to find that the things which I care most about in the Paper are highly valued by you …’7 But by the summer of 1909 that buoyancy had gone rather flat.8 Coming back after his travels, Chirol sensed a chill at the office. People seemed short-tempered and generally cross for reasons either unclear or, as far as he could see, unjustified. One thing was clear, however; Northcliffe was much more in evidence. It was as if his ‘soul’, finally having what it had long desired, found that – promises to the contrary – it ‘could not rest content with a policy of tinkering from a distance, but [must have] a real and effective sense of the close control of [the paper] as a whole’.9 It was Bell who engineered Northcliffe’s purchase and it was he, more than any of the other old hands, who dealt with ‘X’ during that first ‘honeymoon’ year. Thus it was Bell who was first to suffer when the gap 385

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between proprietorial expectations and financial performance could no longer be ignored. By mid-1909 ‘X’ had become the ‘Chief’, and, as such, was driven to distraction by Bell’s mulishness. He turned to Buckle to vent his frustration, blaming his recent outbursts on the discovery that during his first year as chief proprietor The Times had actually lost money. That was bad, what made it worse was that he could not seem, no matter what tactics he used, to get Bell to make the necessary changes. I am sure that you realize as well as I do that the old man is one of the most difficult characters with which to deal. He is perfectly straight, and yet most elusive; most amiable and gentle, and, on the other had, inordinately vain and obstinate; most industrious, yet doing little real work; and, above all things, tactless … Owing to the battle of the accounts, the result is that it is only now that we know the financial state of The Times and the Book Club …10

Northcliffe was genuinely impressed by the history and prestige of the old Thunderer, but not in the least impressed by losing money. As soon as he realised that neither largesse nor laissez-faire had worked to his benefit, that good impressions and pleasant weekends had nothing to do with keeping numbers in the black, he at once forgot all about tact and having people like him. Nor, as he made clear to Buckle, could he, or would he, continue to work so exclusively through the impossible Bell. Chirol arrived back at Queen Anne’s Mansions on the evening of 6 August. He had been away for almost exactly four months. Whether it was Northcliffe who at once ‘pounced’ on him, as he told Springy and Morrison, or he who quickly presented himself to Northcliffe, as other letters imply, it was clear that both men were anxious to discuss the state of the paper. At that point neither man predicted, nor necessarily expected, that they would find it difficult to work together. For Northcliffe, who like Bell took a keen interest in foreign affairs, Chirol’s by now almost legendary expertise, not to mention the sheer range of his experience in the world, ensured a certain amount of respect, perhaps even a jot of deference. Chirol had few, if any, illusions about Northcliffe’s character and no liking at all for his brand of journalism. But he was not immune to his charm and in the early days was inclined to minimise his less savoury traits, encouraged to do so in part by believing that Bell had arranged the transfer of power so that those could not be put into play at Printing House Square. It was also the case that a part of Chirol’s own character encouraged him to cooperate with the new regime. While more than capable of taking a stand and defending his point of view, he was also 386

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– ever since his long-ago days at the Foreign Office – sensitive about making mistakes that might somehow tarnish his reputation with certain men whom he classified as ‘big’ in some vaguely defined way. He had long since been more than dismissive about the ‘new’ journalism of a Northcliffe or Pearson. But once the former was the owner of The Times, for reasons never specified and perhaps not consciously known, Chirol was concerned – at first – to be worthy of whatever it was that made the man ‘big’. From the start Chirol knew that he was a man who would want, above all, to be first with the story. That, along with his publicly pronounced desire to restore not just the finances but the stature and prestige of The Times, suited Chirol perfectly. Nor was there any disagreement between them that want of organisation led to waste and extravagance. Chirol himself had a desire to be up to date and modern. Ironically enough his wrangles with Bourchier, Steed and Morrison, quarrels that Northcliffe would later use against him, were in part motivated by his determination to prove to the new owner that, absences notwithstanding, he was perfectly capable of orchestrating the best foreign news coverage in the business. When Chirol finally sat down with Northcliffe in August 1909, he noted at once that his own recent concerns – financial doings in the Far East, and the myriad complications attending them – interesting, threatening and newsworthy as they might be, did not worry Northcliffe nearly as much as the financial situation at Printing House Square. With great drama the ‘Chief’ predicted bankruptcy around the next corner, lesser proprietors up in arms at the lack of dividends, a staff hobbled by outmoded methods and all the while Bell clinging not only to his ‘infernal’ Book Club project but also to his own inefficient routines. ‘Qua journal,’ he fairly wailed, ‘you would have thought The Times excellent had you been here; but as an organization it is heartbreaking …’11 By way of response Chirol produced a memo detailing his recommendations, another product of those useful days at sea. The key points in this sensible-sounding and rather optimistic document were ‘economy and system’. If circulation and advertisements were healthy, and he thought they were, the future need not look so black. It was clear that the ‘reckless’ spending of the past year must be abandoned and the ‘chaotic conditions of organization’ that had prevailed for far too long – according to him ever since his earliest days at Printing House Square, a surprising remark given that he had done little if any complaining about them previously – decisively altered.12 Although the lavish spending – which he rather fearlessly pointed out had been largely Northcliffe’s doing – had 387

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been a mistake, it was not an irreparable one. Reasonable corner cutting, certainly in his own department and surely in others as well, would bring things into line. But, before new departmental coats could be cut, Northcliffe must make it clear how much cloth was available. Only then could the owner and the directors decide what sort of coats were needed. What we have to settle [is] the mean size of the paper … Then … the mean amount of space to be allotted in our news columns to the different subjects with which we have to deal, and the proportion of expenditure which can be allowed for each subject. And finally to let the members of the staff presiding over each subject or group of subjects be responsible for using to the best purpose whatever amount of money can be allowed to him. [Thus would waste be reduced and] at the same time it would enormously simplify the daily process of ‘making up’ the paper … There must of course be a certain amount of room left for elasticity both as regards space and expenditure, but until some attempt is made to standardize the former, it will, I am convinced, be impossible to standardize the latter. I see no reason why both should not be done without lowering the quality of the paper … We may not be able to produce the ideal Times of our dreams, but we should be able to produce a very credible Times that would meet its fixed charges.13

Northcliffe’s answer was brief and blunt; Chirol had told him nothing he did not already know. It was true that he himself had encouraged spending money, but defended doing so by pointing out that it had made a good impression both in and outside the office and actually generated some extra revenue. At the same time he admitted that had he known then what he knew now he might well have been less generous. In closing, the ‘Chief’ noted tartly that not once in his long memorandum had Chirol so much as mentioned the one thing that he, Northcliffe, thought stood for everything that was wrong with the present management at Printing House Square. He had never brought up the wretched Book Club.14 Chirol had no quarrel with Northcliffe’s desire to repair the finances and improve the overall organisation at the paper, what bothered him was the aggressive way he was going about it. Much of the tension and discontent so palpable on his return from the East could surely be traced to the ‘Chief’s’ incessant blustering. But bit by bit the mistaken notion that Bell had somehow put Northcliffe into leading strings, arranging for the money without the man, was being revealed for the fiction that it was. What remained encouraging was that Northcliffe had not yet tried to tell Buckle – or Chirol – what the paper should say. 388

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On that score Chirol remained as optimistic about the future as his nature allowed. As brutally critical as Northcliffe was of Bell he did intermittently try, in his rough way, to explain why and to persuade him that it was the better part of wisdom to try new ways of doing business. These efforts only made Bell cling more tightly to the tried and true. Both men were worn down by the strain, but the toll was heaviest on the much older and long since overworked Bell. It was in part to restore the latter’s health, but also to have a go at repairing their disintegrating relationship, that Northcliffe came up with the idea of taking him along on a coming tour through Canada and the United States. This proposal, more demand than invitation, Bell turned down. He never was, he pointed out, one to take long vacations, but kept to himself the thought that any trip taken in tandem with Northcliffe might not qualify as either a rest or a vacation. In the end Northcliffe prevailed. On 27 August Chirol went along to Euston Station to see them off on the first leg of the trip, one that Chirol himself could see that Bell needed as he looked ‘utterly ill’.15 With Bell absent Chirol was busy with organisational matters well beyond those in his own department. He met frequently with Northcliffe’s right-hand man, Kennedy Jones, got to know and like Reginald Nicolson, the new assistant manager, and noted with approval, or at least without visible dismay, the changes that were mooted, if not yet made, in the home news pages. At meetings of the board of directors he was often called upon to take the place of the disaffected and distanced Arthur Walter. He wrote occasionally to Bell – then suffering, as he himself had predicted, from the unending, and unavoidable, attentions of the ‘Chief’16 – to keep him up to date. ‘Nothing much happened at our meeting yesterday,’ was Chirol’s message on 17 September. ‘So many people are away on their holidays that [not much progress is made] in the actual organisation of the day department, but [Pryor] is plodding along and getting everything into shape. At any rate he seems quite satisfied that he is making headway.’17 Given that Bell was then getting a daily dose of Northcliffe’s volcanic impatience, ‘plodding along’ surely did not sound quite the right note. Even before the sale to Lord Northcliffe Chirol knew that there was a need for change in the foreign room. For one thing the sheer volume of foreign news, available from every corner of a shrinking world, not to mention an empire still expanding, was far too much for one man, even one healthy man, to prioritise and effectively edit, let alone comment upon even a part of it. 389

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In earlier years, when Chirol spent weeks or months abroad, a deputy was found for the foreign room, either a promising face at Printing House Square or a correspondent brought home for the purpose and released when he returned. This was a version of the way things had worked under Wallace, but in those years Chirol had been a more or less permanent assistant, available to do most of the ‘sitting in’. For some time now Chirol had been thinking about a return to this system. Between the Boer War and the Russo-Japanese War he had been worked very hard, and by the summer of 1905 was so ‘fagged’ that it seemed quite reasonable to assume that within the next two to three years he should be only too ready to give up his present post for one ‘less onerous’. Better, he told Bell, to share his load so that he ‘might still be able to do some useful work under less trying conditions’. Chirol even had candidates in mind. ‘If Blakiston’ – who was then being tried out – ‘were not to prove altogether suitable, Morrison would possibly have better qualifications than anybody else, barring Amery … , for taking over the foreign department when my time comes to an end.’18 Three years later Blakiston was dead, Amery determined to pursue a life in politics, Morrison and Chirol fallen out and Chirol himself in a secluded nursing home. At that point the choice fell on Saunders, but he was hardly back in London before leaving again for Paris. Braham took his place, but there was little talk of a new foreign editor. Nevertheless there were changes and adjustments. By 1909 Bell described the foreign department as directed by ‘four men, more or less interchangeable, and of whom one or two are generally abroad, but when all are here [are] divided as follows: Foreign, Chirol and Braham – Indian, Lovat Fraser – imperial, Grigg… One or other of these four is continually in direct relations with the Foreign Office, India Office and Colonial Office.’19 Of these four ‘interchangeable’ men, Chirol continued to hold the title of, and think of himself as, foreign editor. Thus the foreign room was indeed different from how it had been in 1905, but the changes were more in the style of pre-Northcliffe – more ad hoc than planned. Personnel and organisational changes were one thing. There was also a need to change the way that money was spent. In September 1909 Ralph Walter20 was put in charge of organising the belt tightening in the foreign department. He was successful enough to earn the thanks of Kennedy Jones, if not much appreciation from Chirol, and, from Saunders, only objections. The Paris correspondent had been in London that September, Chirol wrote to the travelling Bell, ‘and Ralph Walter and 390

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I took the opportunity to discourse with him about [economies in] the Paris service, but he bristled with objections to every suggestion that we made – in quite a friendly way, but still – ’.21 Steed, on the other hand, and for reasons that had nothing to do with saving money, was pleased to have Walter in the department. On the one hand he was a way for Steed to avoid having to deal with Chirol, on the other a means of keeping his ambitious, and only intermittently benevolent, eye on the foreign editor. ‘Chirol writes me that you are now assisting him. I am glad of it, for it will enable you to keep track of things and also to see that he does not relapse into his old habit of overworking himself. Let me know, when you can, how he is and whether there have been any essential developments since I left London.’ A week later he began what continued to be a practice of sending Walter, for his ‘private eye’, copies of his, Steed’s, letter to Chirol. His excuse for this absolutely secret and somewhat unsavoury scheme was that as he could never be sure as to the state of Chirol’s health – or, more to the point, temper – ‘I wish you to know as nearly as possible what actually passes between us …’.22 The other change in Chirol’s professional life, also mooted long before Northcliffe was anywhere in sight, had to do with night work. For years he had been saying that he must give it up. In the end, as with much else, it took his total collapse to finally and irrevocably force him to do so. Even so it was not until he was back in London in August 1909 that the prohibition finally took effect, and, hardly surprisingly, there were mistakes. ‘I am afraid,’ he told Springy, [that] that is just the sort of thing which … will from time to time happen now that I do not go down at night. I generally try and leave some notes for the guidance of leader writers on foreign subjects when I do not write the leaders myself at home. But occasionally of course the Editor is at a loose end for a subject in the evening and turns a leader writer on to some foreign subject which he considers of minor importance, and I have no opportunity of seeing it until it appears in the following morning’s paper.23

All the same, by making sure that the subjects he cared about most were dealt with by him, Chirol felt that little harm would be done and ‘by and by’ he would also get things better organised. Over his years at the paper Chirol had had little inclination, and less time, to bother with the home news department. That is not to say that he was not interested in politics nor deeply concerned about the way the country was governed. One look at his private correspondence shows that he not only had views about domestic politics and the men in charge of them, but that he could get as worked up about both as he could about 391

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choices made or mistakes committed in the realm of foreign policy. It was not a lack of interest but the sheer volume and growing complexity of his own work which dictated his distance from home news. One thing he did do, and not infrequently, was complain about editorial ‘wobbling’ on domestic issues that he felt were crucial to the health and well-being of the country and the empire. While he likewise complained that he was unable to do anything to stiffen the editorial back, it was clear that his views and opinions, often as strongly put as they were held, were not routinely ignored. If, in the autumn of 1909, the currents of change were running high and increasingly roughly through Printing House Square, the same was true in the country at large. Chirol returned from his Asian travels to find the politically interested and the politicians who represented them in the last stages of a bitter wrangle over that most domestic of issues, the national budget. This inflammatory Finance Bill – the handiwork of Lloyd George, then the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and dubbed ‘the people’s’ budget – had been introduced in the Commons at the end of April. The bill was designed, as all budgets were and are, to provide funds not only for long-standing needs, but for brand new desiderata. Among the latter were a number of innovative domestic programmes dear to the hearts of the Radicals in the government and the Lower House. These included old age pensions, a modest tax abatement for every child under the age of 16, the setting up of a National Road Board, a system of Labour Exchanges, and a Development Commission to deal with experimental farming, forestry, rural transport and land reclamation. Not among them were the eight new Dreadnoughts for the Royal Navy. Nevertheless, as they had been agreed to by the government, a way must be found to pay for them. The Chancellor positively bubbled over with money-making ideas, many of which were bound to raise Unionist hackles. But it was not the small increase in income tax or the death duties, much as they disliked those impositions to begin with, nor was it the super-tax, another irritating innovation, or the increase on tobacco, alcohol and liquor licencing fees that enraged them. What did was his utterly new, and to them utterly offensive, idea of imposing a modest tax on land value, on any money made by transferring land, and on the capital value of undeveloped land and minerals. These proposals, in and of themselves, gave the landed classes, and the House that represented them, a terrific jolt. What then turned shock into action was the discovery that it would be 392

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necessary, in order to determine the amount due, to value all the land in Great Britain. To say that valuation, followed by taxation, of their land – used or unused, sold or held – was anathema to the majority of the peers, who, in turn, owned the majority of this land, hardly does justice to their outrage. By midsummer, talk on this extraordinarily sensitive topic centred on whether or not their enraged Lordships would squash the Finance Bill as they had so many other measures sent up to them by what they saw as a dangerously radicalised Lower House. But should the peers reject the budget, thereby forcing a dissolution and new elections – a path which, by early September, Chirol deemed certain that they would take – another critical issue, that of their veto power itself, stood waiting for its turn on the political stage. It did not have long to wait. On 1 October Chirol wrote to the absent Bell that, should it come to a dissolution and a new election, the Radicals appeared ready to fight the peers on a ‘Lords vs. Commons’ basis rather than over the budget itself.24 In the weeks after the budget was introduced, The Times had little to say on the subject, chiefly because no agreement could be reached in the office as to what it should say. The Lords, too, fumed and fussed over their response. Meanwhile the spritely Chancellor did his best to make it a violent one by travelling about the country giving wonderfully or deplorably – depending on where one’s political loyalties and sensitivities lay – caustic speeches, lampooning the enraged peers as avatars of privilege unwilling to bear their fair share of the costs of running the nation that so patently favoured them, deserving or not. Chirol, who had decided promptly, if not especially happily, to oppose rejection, worked to put a stop to the editorial ‘wobble’. Although Chirol was certainly concerned about what the budget – or the battle over it – would do to domestic politics, he also dreaded what international repercussions it might also bring. On 10 September he sent a circular letter to his far-flung team of correspondents, warning them most solemnly that ‘every indication points to the rejection of the Budget by the Lords and dissolution either in the middle of November or in January. [This] will be the signal of a great political campaign more violent and more momentous probably than any campaign in this country since the great Reform Bill.’ That, however, was not the worst of it. For the elections will be fought, it must be feared, not so much on party lines as on class lines … Should the issue prove favourable to the radical party it will be then the extreme section of the party that will come out on top … The consequences at home would be in character if not in form

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revolutionary, and they would also affect very seriously the foreign policy of this country and our position in the world. For the extreme section of the radicals are admittedly opposed to every sound scheme of national defence and convinced that peace can be best assured by graceful concessions especially to Germany.

It was crucial for them to follow the fight closely. It would be most interesting – and valuable – to know the reactions of foreign political parties, and the inspired press, to Britain’s internal struggles. Keeping his eye on costs, Chirol asked that they send the information by post and in the form of succinct special articles or notes. Only in the case of ‘important utterances’ should they resort to the telegraph. Writing to Springy that same day he admitted to rather more dramatic fears. The country stood on the brink of a ‘raging and tearing campaign’, never had he been more anxious about its future. The extreme Radicals, under the Lloyd George banner, were itching for a fight at the polls. For the Unionists, now about to provide the occasion for one, it was ‘a tremendous gamble on a badly chosen fighting ground and without any real generalship. The enemy, on the other hand, knows exactly what he wants and how he is going to fight the battle.’ Lloyd George … is not a very discreet person and it may be that he is talking through his hat, but I know that he has already given out to his friends the outline of his future programme of which the three chief points are nationalisation of land, of railways, and of public houses, the right to work and the minimum wage. Hand in hand with that goes disarmament by agreement with foreign powers. On what lines such an agreement would have to be purchased one can readily conceive.25

To the ‘Chief’, then making his hyperactive way across the United States, it was more of the same. ‘I should not myself feel much anxiety about the future [of the Empire or The Times],’ Chirol wrote to Northcliffe, ‘if it were not for the general outlook at home, which strikes me as peculiarly gloomy. K.J. [Kennedy Jones] is … almost the only optimist.’ If worst came to worst, as Chirol feared that it might, he pictured the country pitched headlong into a ‘prolonged and acute internal struggle, which will not only be exceedingly bad for business but also full of dangers for our big Imperial interests’. He personally was sorry that The Times had not taken a stronger line against rejection as the budget was much more objectionable as to the way in which it does things than as to the things themselves that it proposes to do. Moreover, if [it] is as bad

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as we [the Unionists] profess to believe …, should we not have everything to gain by allowing the Government time to stew in their Budget juice?26

As The Times struggled to become a modern, money-making news property and the battle lines formed at Westminster, foreign politics were as full as ever with overlapping crises and complications. As the Powers most interested and most able27 jostled one another to grab railroad concessions in China, the European Powers were in the process of digesting the changes wrought by the Balkan and Turkish eruptions of 1908 and by Germany’s curt – and effective – dictation at St Petersburg the following March. Chirol feared for the future of the Triple Entente.28 Whether or not Russia would prove a reliable partner was one worry, the Anglo-French connection was not all that he could wish for either. Without the support of France and Russia to counterbalance that of Germany and Austria-Hungary, Britain might well feel isolated indeed and not at all splendidly so. The reaction in Paris was rather different. Instead of a renewed commitment to their entente partners, French politicians of all persuasions tended to favour any policy designed to limit FrancoGerman friction. An incident at Casablanca that brought howls from the German press gave further impetus to a budding desire in Paris to put Algeciras behind them and come to a reasonable understanding over Morocco. The more Paris and Berlin seemed to coquette, the cooler the atmosphere between London and Paris. But London also made some conciliatory gestures in the direction of Berlin. On 10 February the King and Queen paid a state visit to the German capital, returning the Kaiser’s visit to them of the previous autumn. As it happened that day also saw the signing of the latest Franco-German pact concerning Morocco. The coincidence, said The Times, was a ‘happy’ one, and went on to hope that it pointed toward a return, on Germany’s part, to a policy of moderation. It was ‘known’ in London, the paper continued, ‘that Grey had been kept informed of the negotiations and England had helped and not hindered the removal of obstacles to Franco-German unity’.29 Still, it did not escape Chirol’s notice, nor fail to bother him, that the Anglo-French arrangement was looking increasingly less than cordial. No sooner had the Gallic sun, shining most strongly in the form of French bankers, begun to rise in Berlin than Clemenceau complained sourly to George Saunders that as British financiers seemed to want everything for themselves at Constantinople there was a growing ‘cleft’ in their entente. London, he went on, should take special care lest it widen. Chirol was 395

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surprised at the ‘curious disposition’ in Paris to pay attention to ‘those whose interest it is to place an evil construction upon everything we do or leave undone’.30 This little Anglo-French squall blew up early in 1909 and was soon subsumed into the growing storm in the Balkans, itself then muted by the thunderclap of Berlin’s dictation at St Petersburg. Chirol himself was then caught up in matters Far Eastern, and it is hardly surprising that, whatever friction or bad feelings remained, the subject all but disappeared from his correspondence for many months altogether. But by mid-November he was long since back from Asia, and bad moods in Paris were back on his agenda. He wrote to Steed on the 13th that he was off to Paris to do some plain talking as attitudes there were now ‘quite out of harmony with their [moral] obligations towards us under the Entente’. The chief question is the importation of arms [now] pouring into Afghanistan and [the] North-West Frontier, and India itself … Other questions … are the Ethiopian Railway, the attitude … towards the Congo question, and the regular alliance formed between French and German financiers against us, not only in Constantinople but even in Russia… I will let you know later on whether I shall have been able to do anything. The French do not seem to realize that there is amongst a large section of public opinion here … a growing feeling that the Entente is not worth the risks in which it involves us, owing to the delicate situation in Morocco …31

It is not easy to say that his straight talking changed hearts and minds in Paris. Nor did he have much time to devote to the ailing entente, worried about it as he was. Other problems, particularly those in the Far East, were constantly evolving, reasserting themselves and clamouring for his attention. He heard through his network that the Germans were trying to get their hands on the controls at both the Siberian and the Russian-Chinese Bank so that they might meld the two into another powerful financial tool for their – in his eyes ultimately nefarious – use. ‘St Petersburg either does not understand the situation or feels that it is wiser to acquiesce. Of course, there are French shareholders in the latter bank, but they may quite possibly be consciously playing the German game.’ With all that was at stake, not to say at risk, in China, he worried constantly lest people at home, especially those in a position to do something, would be diverted by the ongoing domestic drama and not pay attention.32 And well he might worry. Returning from delivering straight talk in Paris, he found everyone consumed by the battle between the recalcitrant peers and the provocative budget. Having said more than once that the 396

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Lords were perfectly likely to reject that bill, the vote on 30 November proved him right, and not just by a whisker. In normal circumstances the upper chamber was an empty place; it was only in crises such as this that it was filled with a horde of hereditary nobodies … It was these good folk who, after listening speechless to a debate of almost academic purity, withheld not the legislative hand. By a vote of 300 to 75, the Budget was rejected, constitutional precedent defied, the die cast.33

By throwing out the money bill, Chirol wrote to Bland, the defiant Lords had worked themselves out onto a constitutionally and tactically dubious limb. Short of a ‘sudden [and] quite inconceivable stroke of luck’, the cost of their gamble might well finish off the Unionist side.34 Meanwhile, politics at Printing House Square were nearly as hot as in the House of Lords. The trip to America had done nothing to reconcile Bell and Northcliffe, just the contrary.35 On the homeward voyage the ‘Chief’ wrote to Reginald Nicholson that once Bell was back in the office he should be reminded on a daily basis that ‘I regard him as a stirrer up of trouble with those members of Staff & Board who show any disaffection towards those who are doing their best to put things right’. Should Nicholson not take proper notice of this command, Northcliffe told him again, even more bluntly, that he must not go easy on Bell as he ‘only understands the coke-hammer’.36 Buckle, too, got a brief but unsettling taste of Northcliffe’s now burgeoning displeasure. His simple sin was telling Kennedy Jones that he still felt, in spite of current turmoil, that the future at Printing House Square showed signs of promise. Northcliffe wrote at once to disabuse him of such ideas. I am very loath to trouble you, but whoever endeavours to lull you into a false sense of security by telling you that The Times outlook, without drastic reform, is hopeful, is a false friend of the Paper. [… ] It is a thousand pities that the efforts of such men as Jones, Nicholson and Pryor should be nullified by the optimism that brought The Times on the rocks, and I feel strongly that the staff should be made acquainted with the real facts.37

Buckle’s response was unhurried, firm and comprehensive. He set out the view of the overall situation from where he, Bell and Chirol sat. Now was the time, he told the ‘Chief’, to clarify the relationship of ‘the three directors who actually carry on the work of the Paper’. One thing was already, and unfortunately, very clear. Northcliffe’s ‘entire disbelief’ in Bell. This was 397

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in itself a serious matter for the Board, and especially for Chirol and me, his friends, who realize all that he has done for the Paper. He is working very hard, … to reduce the cost of the Imperial and Foreign Department, and his reward is to be blamed because the reduction does not proceed more rapidly. As it is, that reduction is likely to cost The Times [George] Saunders … It will do The Times serious harm to lose its best Foreign Correspondent … because he disapproves of economies that are pressed on him. It would hurt its reputation still more if its Foreign Director resigned for similar reasons.38

Up to that point there was no mention in Chirol’s private letters, nor in his communications with his correspondents, that he was contemplating an imminent retirement, nor that he was having any problem getting along with Northcliffe. He had been talking for years of retiring, or of slowing down, of preparing someone to take his place, of giving up night work. By the end of 1909 he had done the latter. As for slowing down and having a replacement in sight, that too was in the works. As 1910 dawned, Bell continued to bear the brunt of Northcliffe’s mercurial temper and increasingly aggressive meddling. Signs of strain and conflict between the two men deepened an already anxious mood at Printing House Square. Replying in an almost offhand manner to Buckle’s letter, Northcliffe said little more than that the editor must continue to ‘apply the spur’ to Bell. He continued to hound Nicholson as well to make it plain to Bell that ‘there was to be one master in P.H.S.’ and it was not he.39 Bell withstood the constant badgering and floods of criticism remarkably well, although now well on his way to realising that Northcliffe had never intended the board of directors to be anything more than a convenient fiction, designed on one hand to smooth ruffled feelings and quell lingering doubts among the ‘old guard’ at Printing House Square, and, on the other, quieten potentially powerful critics outside the office. Midway through January Chirol’s eyes were rather abruptly opened to that fact when, without a word of warning, he learned that a new editor for The Times’ weekly edition had been appointed. He complained strongly about the fact that he was an outsider when the tradition was to have a member of the paper’s staff do that work, preferably of the foreign and imperial staff as the vast majority of the weekly edition’s subscribers lived abroad and in the colonies. Worse yet was the fact that the outsider was one Mr Mackenzie, late of the Daily Mail, who was believed in the Far East to have been closely connected with a violent anti-Japanese propaganda … [Thus] his appointment … would inevitably

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create an unpleasant impression in Japan which would be undesirable from the point of view of the general policy of The Times and especially so at a moment when we proposed to make a special appeal to the Japanese public by means of a Japanese issue.40

But worst of all was the way Northcliffe had flaunted principle by announcing an appointment that affected the editorial side of the paper without previous consultation with the board. By doing so he had, as far as Chirol was concerned, gravely breached ‘the covenant under which the proprietors had agreed not to interfere with the editorial side of the paper’. To simply hand over the board’s authority to the whim or demand of Northcliffe was a course that would be ‘fatal to the best interests’ of the paper. Speaking as a director, he was not prepared to agree to it. And as the head of the foreign department he ‘most emphatically’ resented Northcliffe’s refusal ‘even to consider the objections I had raised to the appointment in question, and the proposals I had made for carrying out in another form the wishes expressed by the Proprietors for the improvement of the Weekly Edition’.41 In fact he resented it to the point of wondering whether, given the circumstances, he might not hand in his resignation. Neither Buckle nor Bell took the matter so seriously and did their best to calm him down. The editing of the weekly edition, they pointed out, was merely sub-editing work and gave no leeway for introducing features at variance with the policy of the paper. In deference to his friends’ appeals, and in view of the fact that he could not contact Northcliffe personally as he was off on one of his frequent rest cures, Chirol backed down. He did, however, reserve the right ‘to place on record my conviction that Lord Northcliffe’s action in this matter was incompatible not only with the consideration to which the director of the Imperial and Foreign Department is entitled … but with the maintenance of the proper authority of the Board’. As a final thought he ‘ventured to submit’ that the board should present Northcliffe with a ‘reasoned protest … accompanied by a clear intimation that the directors cannot assent to the appointment by the Proprietors of any new member of the staff on the editorial side of the paper without previous consultation and without due consideration to the objections they may have to raise’.42 That far Bell would not go, nor let Chirol go either, reminding him that life with Northcliffe never promised to be a bed of roses. He had turned to Northcliffe, he said, not because he was prejudiced in his favour, ‘but his promises convinced me at least that it was a better alternative than [Pearson]. What was your attitude? You said, “I should take it [the money] 399

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if it was from the Devil himself!.”’43 Although Bell could hardly pretend that Northcliffe had not interfered, he thought, all in all, that he had not really violated the letter or the spirit of his original agreement. Bell’s own main objective, he reminded his old friend, was to keep the paper independent [of Northcliffe’s political] opinions and provided that was secured I did not care what happened to the reporting or even the subediting … The time may come when we shall have to make a united stand against an attack on the independent political attitude of the paper, but I do not think it has come yet nor do I see personally any signs of it. Let us be very careful to choose our ground before we risk what must mean the loss of what we fought for.44

It was for these reasons that he, Bell, declined to present Chirol’s formal protest to Northcliffe, nor did he propose to make his memo available to anyone beyond the members of the board. Chirol agreed, if reluctantly, and for the moment the idea of protesting against ‘interference’ was dropped. While the foreign editor was working himself up over the appointment of Mr Mackenzie, British voters went to the polls. Parliament had been dissolved on 10 January and voting scheduled for the 14th. The results left the Liberals with a majority of two over the Unionist opposition and therefore dependent, for the purpose of passing their controversial legislation, on the Labour and the Irish Nationalist vote. It would be, thought Chirol, a hard hand for Asquith to play, given the combination of the latter’s weak political position and lack of ‘moral fibre’. The sole bright spot in the midst of the general gloom was that the results showed that the extremists on both sides had suffered a distinct rebuff, ‘and to that extent the result is more satisfactory than I had ventured to hope for’.45 Whether or not the extreme fringes had taken a blow, sharp political battles lay ahead. As they gathered force, Chirol was busy investigating unrest far – physically but not politically – from London. On 15 February the newly elected Parliament met at Westminster; the following day he left for India. For once his flight from a wintry London had nothing to do with his physical health as he seemed to have been inoculated successfully against ‘chills and colds and flues’. Instead the decision turned on his own despair at the worsening situation at the paper in combination with a frightening escalation of disaffection and violence within India. In his memoirs Chirol traced the overt beginnings of the violent phase of Indian rejection of British rule to Lord Curzon’s decision to divide, in order to better administer, the large, populous and politically unruly Bengal province. As the Viceroy’s most unpopular measure was quite 400

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quickly followed by his abrupt disappearance, a period of deceptive calm settled over a transition period that saw Lord Minto into power and brought the Prince and Princess of Wales to traipse splendidly through the ‘jewel in their crown’. No sooner had the royals arrived back in Britain and Lord Morley made it clear that Whitehall was not going to negotiate with anyone for any reason concerning the partition, than ‘a formidable epidemic of political crime … spread from Bengal over many parts of India …’.46 Given that this unhappy development had not significantly abated during Minto’s rule – which was about to end – and in view of Chirol’s recent outburst against Northcliffe’s actions, the foreign editor, ‘in deference very largely to the wishes of old colleagues, … avoided a rupture by spending more and more … time on special missions abroad, for preference in India’.47 Although he doubted, before he had even left the Mediterranean, that he would have a ‘very cheerful’ time of it in India, he was already enjoying getting there as the SS Himalaya was carrying a good many pleasant and interesting people, including Lord Milner, with whom he could talk to his heart’s content. Chirol disembarked at Bombay in early March and went on directly to Calcutta, where he was ‘commanded’, as he put it, to stay with the Mintos – if only from ‘Friday morning till Sat. afternoon’. What brief time he spent with them appeared to be taken up with their efforts to paint a positive picture. Lady Minto, he told Mrs Bell, draws for my benefit a masterly picture of the strong, stout hearted V.R. who quietly and silently declined to bend to the ‘autocrat of Whitehall’ [Morley] while patiently humouring his morbid anxiety to pass into history as an autocrat. She is really too clever by half: she is not conscious, I suppose that she fails to convince, and at the same time she carefully stops up every opening which might lead to a straightforward discussion of the realities of the situation. He says nothing or merely affable platitudes. Yet they must both know that I know far too much to have this sort of dust … thrown into my eyes. We talk about ‘administrative anarchy’ in Petersburg, or in Peking. I don’t think Calcutta could concede many points to either.48

As dismissive as he was of the Mintos personally, he was even more critical of the government that Lord Minto had headed. ‘Never,’ he told Florence with quite remarkable assurance before he had even arrived in India, had it been ‘so deplorably weak’.49 Deplorably weak or not, Chirol was soon enough enjoying his investigations. By mid-March, in blistering heat, he was busy morning, noon and night, seeing, interviewing, dining 401

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and talking with as many people, both British and Indian, as possible. Gertrude thanked him for his ‘delightful letters’ and twitted him gently about his ‘extraordinary’ position within the Muslim community. ‘I expect you will presently become a holy man in Islam, won’t you? No, but seriously, it is very remarkable; and you know Islam is one and indivisible so that your fame will spread all over the Mohammedan world. This is sober truth, not joking.’50 Chirol himself had long since been wondering, not about his future as Muslim holy man, but how and when he would find the time to ‘digest and give out all I am absorbing’. Given his heavy schedule and the temperature ‘boiling up’ it was a wonder that his health stood the strain. But it did, perhaps because his pores were ‘open and work[ing] freely – literally and metaphorically’.51 A month later and on the other side of India the fearful heat had finally taken its toll. After travelling for 48 hours on a stifling train from the dry furnace of the Deccan to the wet, enervating heat of Bombay he had gone ‘rather to pieces’, telling Tyrrell in some despair that he could not ‘stand the heat as well as I used to …’. In fact it was more than the horrible heat that was taking ‘the heart’ out of his work. The political news from home made it seem pointless to stir up interest in India from India and ‘so I am only collecting materials which I can use when I get back – about middle June’.52 When the time came for him to turn his hot face toward home his mood had not appreciably improved. Still worried, as he had been when he left London more than two months earlier, as to Minto’s successor – would it be Kitchener or Charles Hardinge, ‘the only two candidates who seemed to be in the running’? – he read the available signs and signals and heartily hoped for Hardinge. Although Morley had told him on his departure that the Indian Office ‘compass’ was pointing that way, Chirol was then in one of his doubting phases and inclined ‘to take “honest John’s” assurances very much cum grano’.53 Meanwhile, the more he poked and probed at the problems faced by the Raj, the more complex the picture became and the bigger his pile of data. ‘How I am to tackle it when I once begin to write?’ he fretted to Tyrrell. ‘Heaven knows! I don’t.’ As overwhelming as that task looked on its own merits, the continuing – and mounting – crisis at Westminster made it seem almost beside the point to try. At home people’s attention was closely focused on the latest round between Lords and Commons, not on the mounting struggle over the future of India. To tell the truth he himself was fuming as much over the mistakes being made at home as he was over the wrong choices being made in India. 402

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On 14 April the Liberal government introduced a Parliament Bill in the House of Commons that, by putting an end to the Lords’ power to veto money bills, would put a stop to whatever control the Upper House had, or thought it had, over the nation’s finances. It was also designed to limit the power the Lords had to veto other legislation sent up to them by allowing any measure that passed three successive sessions of the Commons – provided that two years had passed since its first introduction – to become law. What distressed Chirol about the Parliament Bill, and he was very distressed, was not so much the threat to the retrograde power of the hereditary house as it was the bargain that the Liberals had been forced to make with the Irish in order to guarantee the success of the measure. The price extracted from Asquith and his government – for the budget and for the humbling of the Lords – was the promise of resurrecting the long-buried idea of Home Rule. This sorry state of affairs he traced back to the indeterminate results of the January elections, which, by stripping the Liberals of their once vast majority, had left them dependent on the Irish vote. It was from that point on that ‘Mr Asquith and his colleagues were never to be separated from their Irish allies, for whom in their hearts they had no use at all’.54 Nor did Chirol, aghast at the damage already done, and fearing the prospect that lay ahead. And where, he wondered, was the voice of the one man in the present administration for whom he had real respect? Had, he asked Tyrrell, any Govt ever drunk so deep of the cup of humiliation as the present one? Lloyd George and Winston Churchill no doubt glory in their shame for they represent the spirit of sheer destruction. But the others? I confess I cannot understand your Chief’s [Grey’s] attitude. Nothing has distressed me more for a long time in public affairs than his silent complicity in this disastrous game of bargains and surrenders.

He worried about the effect that the new balance of political power at Westminster and Whitehall would have in India. Therefore it came as no surprise whatsoever that an Indian semi-extremist felt free to tell him that it was a relief for people such as himself not to have to be ashamed to admit that ‘without a dash of Anarchism no political agitation ever succeeds nowadays. Are not your own ministers at the beck and call of Redmond and his friends who are themselves “kept” by Patrick Ford and other dynamiters?’ The man had it right, Chirol pointed out to Tyrrell. By putting themselves in the hands of such men, Asquith et al., ‘“blackened our face” the world over’.55 403

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The trip home, although it brought more bearable temperatures, did not set Chirol up as the outward voyage had done. Given how he had left things vis-à-vis Northcliffe and the obviously daunting prospect of having to write up his voluminous findings in a fashion capable of wresting at least some people’s attention away from the sorry spectacle at Westminster, he could not have been cheered by the prospects of returning. Worried and ‘seedy’, he arrived in mid-June, thought briefly of retirement, considered his financial position and thought again.56 Chirol stayed in London only long enough to see a few people and deal with the special Japanese supplement that was about to appear. After ploughing through 144 columns of proof and writing an introductory article, he headed for Yorkshire to ‘be delivered, quietly if laboriously, of my Indian litter’.57 What the climate, and the conditions, in India had done to wear him down and spoil his mood, their very opposite in northern England did to put him to rights again. The conditions for work could not, by his own admission, have been better. For all intents and purposes, he told Florence, [t]here is nothing between my windows and the North Pole but the links (where I foozle my round or half round every day) and the grey sea. There has not been a ray of sunshine since I came down, … [s]o one is not severely tempted to idle. …I hope I shall turn out a good piece of work, but it is quite the most complex and difficult task I have ever undertaken. It is rather like golf. (Only I hope I play it better!) Sometimes I make quite a good drive and a succession of good strokes, then I suddenly get badly bunkered or lose my ball, and have to spend an hour hunting up some reference or looking for some note amongst the masses of materials – two portmanteau-fulls I brought down with me. I have done 11 holes so far, but I am not yet round half my course, for I expect the series will run to 25 articles at least. Anyhow I am enjoying it so far.58

Chirol had taken the rooms with their view toward the North Pole until the end of July, by which time he hoped to have ‘quite broken the back’ of his work. Having done that he hoped to be able to spend another week or two in the same vicinity, visiting with Frank Lascelles or with the Hugh Bells and returning to London in mid-August. Peering still further into the future he told Florence that, to the degree that he could see anything, it looked as if he would be in England until well into the following year. There was nary a word nor even a whisper about retirement. By the second week in August Chirol was back in London and also back at Printing House Square, having been away, in effect, for the better part 404

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of four months. His mood was much better, mainly because he now knew that Morley’s ‘compass’ had been pointing in the right direction after all. Deciding for Hardinge had put the Secretary of State back in Chirol’s good books as it was he and he alone, at least according to Chirol, who had averted a sure disaster by deciding against Kitchener. And as Bell had kept Chirol’s complaints away from Northcliffe there was no reason to think that his relationship with the ‘Chief’ had deteriorated to the extent that Bell’s now had and that Buckle’s was in the process of doing. All the same there were problems coming his way and coming soon, the chief of whom was called George Morrison. At first Chirol thought that things had become somewhat better in the foreign room, or at least that was the picture he was intent on projecting for Northcliffe’s benefit. In connection with his own recent work, he had already had some ‘appreciative letters from people whose opinion I value’, and was reasonably confident that the time and effort he had lavished on his Indian articles would not only give them some weight in the wider world but bring some prestige to the paper as well. He continued to try and reduce departmental spending, a rather thankless task given the constant increase in the amount of foreign and imperial news coming in, not to mention the work involved in preparing special supplements such as recent ones on the empire and on Japan. To spend less while coping with more was challenging, and made worse by constantly having to shift personnel from one slot to another. By the autumn the office was snowed under by an ‘avalanche’ of work. With not enough back-up help Chirol was clearly tiring and correspondingly rather short-tempered.59 In response to repeated queries and criticisms on the part of Northcliffe about lack of coverage of a revolution in Portugal, Chirol finally admitted that he had not placed a regular correspondent at Lisbon because he had not expected events to develop so rapidly. While not wishing, or intending, to minimise the shortcomings of his department, he believed himself justified in reminding the impatient Northcliffe ‘of the very severe handicap put upon it, when the man in charge of it at night [Grigg] is at the same time commandeered to act as a regular leader writer in addition to the heavy work imposed upon him for a big supplement …’ and then must be sent out to Portugal as well.60 Northcliffe, who hated having to read even moderately long letters, was not above writing one upon the rare occasion. In his response to Chirol’s defence of Grigg, he strayed almost at once from mistakes made in Portugal into more general observations about the future of the foreign department. While his tone was cordial by comparison with his exchanges 405

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with Bell, and he heaped praise on Chirol’s Indian work,61 it was clear that he had very definite ideas – and more than just ideas, plans – for the future and for Chirol’s place in it. What he wanted was for the latter to ‘bring the great weight of your experience and genius to bear in direction the Foreign Affairs of The Times’, not to tire himself trying to cope with the difficulties of a semi-bankrupt business. He envisaged Chirol travelling, ‘at his leisure’, to trouble spots, areas anywhere in the world that demanded observation. In London there could be both a day and a night staff, able to make suggestions to the paper’s various foreign correspondents and to get their messages into the paper both speedily and accurately. In crucial places such as Paris, Berlin or the United States there could be two or even three men posted, the head one serving as a sort of political agent, the others getting local news. After presenting this version of a brave new foreign department, Northcliffe turned to more personal matters, namely health and temperament. A cynic might find a good deal to amuse him in the spectacle of one invalid writing strenuously to another invalid about mere temporal affairs, but I may point out that this particular invalid who is writing has something in hand in regard to Anno Domini. Like another invalid he is nervous and if not Latin, at any rate Celtic, by temperament … Might I suggest that you throw more upon your young people and look more after your own health, which I can assure you, is very much valued by your friends at Printing-house-square and elsewhere, and very important to the Empire.62

Less than a week later the ‘Chief’ wrote again to say that Chirol’s vitality was ‘too valuable’ to be thrown away on composing inter-office memos. ‘I very much like the Foreign Page when it begins, as yesterday, with that Chinese article, or one of [a] great series which, for my part, I would much prefer seeing you initiate, rather than trouble yourself about the perpetual pin-pricks of newspaper life.’63 In the same vein, he told Bell that allowing Chirol to do ‘the damnable drudgery of The Times office is as though you put a thoroughbred to the plough’.64 As Northcliffe wrote thus it was not just the pinpricks of newspaper life that were bothering Chirol, it was a very large thorn in his side called George Morrison. The Peking correspondent arrived in London at the end of July, having been headed in that direction since the middle of January. He had covered immense distances and seen and heard many interesting things. Not least among these, and recently enough that they were fresh in his mind, were Bourchier’s and Steed’s tales of woe and mistreatment at the hands of the impossible Chirol. 406

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Steed was long since concerned at what he took to be deteriorating conditions in the foreign department. As proud and ambitious as, if less dissembling than, Morrison, Steed saw at once that his grievances, as well as Bourchier’s, dovetailed neatly with those of their forceful, famous – and obviously disaffected – colleague. It occurred to Steed that the latter might be useful in his own campaign to repair the damaged prestige of the foreign department by, if necessary, forcing Chirol’s retirement. Thus he filled Morrison’s ears with tales of rudeness, of unpublished, delayed and doctored messages, capricious reassignments, long periods of confused or insufficient leadership, and the like. In the end he also suggested that Morrison, after seeing for himself what was what in London, might take his grievances directly to Northcliffe should he get no satisfaction from Chirol. Morrison, perpetually angry, needed no such encouragement. Primed for confrontation, he understood at once when Steed pointed out that the ongoing struggle he was having with the foreign editor was just the sort of in-house conflict which, by preventing the smooth production of the news, Northcliffe hated. Writing to the latter, then vacationing in France, Morrison claimed that his instructions from London – implicating Chirol in his typically disingenuous way, with nary a mention of his name – were to send letters instead of cables as that was the best service I can render The Times. [… ] But of the letters thus sent, exigencies of space and policy prevent a considerable proportion from being published while those that do see the light are frequently published so long after they have been received that they have lost much of their value … Please do not think that I am making any complaint or that I have a grievance. I am simply speaking of a question of policy. It is the policy of the paper to prefer belated reports by mail to prompt despatches by cable. I think the policy is a wrong one. The Times had a unique position as regards its China service. Naturally I am personally interested in the retention of that position. The surrender of that position by the wrecking of my service I regard as a misguided policy.65

Chirol, like Northcliffe, was out of town when Morrison finally arrived. When he did return to face the irritating, and irritable, Morrison, the two men actually seemed to get along quite well, if for a short period. Although Morrison, very typically, described Chirol as ‘mentally weakening’, he also – more the surprise given his endless diatribes about Chirol’s suppression of unwelcome points of view, as in ‘nobody but Chirol has ever done this’66 – complained bitterly about the same thing 407

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happening to Chirol on an occasion when he was ‘absolutely in the right’. As seldom as Morrison thought Chirol ‘absolutely in the right’ in recent years, what came next boded ill for Steed’s campaign, if campaign it was. ‘I am an asset of the Times [and] so is Chirol. N. would be sorry to lose either of us.’ On 1 September his diary reveals that a ‘very friendly and sympathetic’ Chirol had come to see him. So nice was he that ‘one would never realise that he has been my most bitter opponent for years and had done me harm in the Far East that has been almost irreparable’.67 With lightning speed those unusual sentiments vanished. Chirol was once again ‘a disagreeable brute’ and from September on Morrison worked diligently to persuade Northcliffe that it would be very much in his, and the paper’s, interest to see the last of him. Chirol, although preoccupied with his Indian book – while simultaneously attempting to refashion his office along more efficient lines – was well aware of Morrison’s sour mood, if not of his underhanded designs. On 2 September Bland recorded in his diary that he had dined with ‘dear old Chirol’. During the meal they had talked much, and much of that had concerned the troublesome Morrison. Chirol, Bland recalled, actually called him ‘a mauvais coucheur, which is strong for V.C.’.68 Over the next month or two Bland’s diary was full of Morrison. By mid-October the latter was ‘evidently intriguing with Northcliffe … [and while deprecating] any idea of animosity towards Chirol is clearly doing his best to prejudice N. against him on account of the harm that Chirol’s pro-Japanese policy is doing to the paper’. As it turned out, that was far from Morrison’s only complaint about conditions in the foreign department. Again according to Bland, he had decided that those who dealt with the foreign side of the news, and not only those, were either disaffected or useless, citing the appointment of the ‘quite incompetent’ Ralph Walter at £1000 per year as a case in point. Both the US and Australian services were rotten, Moberly Bell could not be trusted to stick to his verbal agreements, and it was common knowledge that Tokyo had paid the paper handsomely for the recent special supplement on Japan.69 When Morrison – finally taking up Steed’s earlier suggestion – told Chirol that he was going to Paris to ‘lay the facts’ before Northcliffe, the foreign editor – in Morrison’s version of the story70 – threatened to resign then and there. This step, so it seems, was not unanticipated. In early September Steed told Ralph Walter that he had heard that Chirol had agreed to resign and that Morrison had been appointed to his post. Six weeks later Bland noted in his diary that ‘there is fear of Northcliffe putting Morrison in as foreign editor – but V.C. doesn’t know this’.71 At 408

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the end of October Morrison finally acted on his threat and went to France. What he and Northcliffe said during the visit was later, but only partially, relayed by Morrison. What really happened between them is still a matter for speculation. Chirol, in the meanwhile, neither did, nor said, anything about retiring. On his return from Paris Morrison told Bland that his talks with the ‘Chief’ had been profitable, and that the two of them saw eye to eye on the question of what line to take in the Far East. But, according to the official history of the paper, Northcliffe had done little more than ‘duly note’ Morrison’s views, looking on his vindictive visitor more as a weapon to use against the obstructionist ‘Old Gang’ at Printing House Square than as the champion of a misunderstood and misused China. It was getting total control of the paper, rather than anxiety about future developments in the Far East, that motivated Northcliffe. In the long run the ‘Chief’ did little to remedy Morrison’s grievances, even telling him outright that Chirol was not responsible for the policy of wanting more written, as opposed to telegraphed, material.72 But, with an eye toward using the combative correspondent, he continued to play to his vanity and self-importance. Driven by anger, pride, bitterness and self-justification, Morrison would help to remove yet another barrier, frail as it was, to Northcliffe’s ambition. Hard-pressed on all fronts, Chirol quite naturally fell ill. But a visiting Bland found his friend’s body in better condition than his mood. Although Bell was still bearing the main brunt of Northcliffe’s displeasure, the latter’s erratic, demanding ways were also clearly taking their toll on Chirol. When talk of the office came up, he could only shake his head over the ‘the want of business methods in the old crowd … and the want of dignity in the new gang’. He could no longer see how it all might end, but he was certainly well aware that things were developing in a way that neither he, nor Bell, had properly foreseen. By early December, his mood still darker, Chirol confessed that all he wanted was to be able to hang on to the foreign department for a year or two until he could properly afford to retire.73 A week or so later Bell received a long letter from Morrison. Filled as it was with practical suggestions for the improvement of the Far Eastern service, it did not seem to unduly disturb either Bell or Chirol. Unfortunately, that was not the only letter Morrison was planning to send to Bell just then.

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Morrison Loses His Temper, Chirol Loses Heart, The Times Loses Chirol

‘What despicable intrigues!’ Morrison roared into his diary in the last days of December. ‘What a mean spirited cur, Jesuitical, treacherous, and jealous is Chirol! How he cringes to the man who stands up against him!’1 The new year brought more in the same vein. He wrote in a fury to Steed that there would never be any reform in the foreign department because ‘our editor’, suiting only himself, gagged any correspondent who came up with facts counter to the ones he believed important. No better illustration of [his] egotism can be given than his refusal to allow you a space of 6,000 words for an opportune topical article, while he allowed himself 120,000 words for a series of thirty-seven articles [on the unrest in India] that could have been better expressed in twelve.2

Nor was Morrison’s general bad temper improved by discovering, as he was preparing to return to China, that, contrary to what Northcliffe had insinuated, the telegraphic budget for the entire Far East was to be reduced. Perhaps that unwelcome news was the final straw. Or perhaps it was the way that Chirol continued to undervalue China’s future. Whatever it was, Morrison made up his mind that before leaving he would speak out about the manifold failings of the foreign department. As one last snub, Morrison unburdened himself not to Chirol, but to Bell, with a copy to the foreign editor. He, Chirol, might not like what he was about to read, Morrison said in an accompanying note, but he would surely prefer to have him ‘write frankly’.3 410

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A large part of Morrison’s letter had to do with ways that the paper might work to improve Anglo-Chinese relations. First and foremost there must be a general change of policy so that the Chinese no longer believed that The Times – and through it, the British government – was against them. Next there must be a fundamental reconsideration of ‘the system of suppressing facts which has been so marked a feature of our recent foreign “policy” in regard to Japan and China, a system of which I am not, I understand, alone in complaining …’.4 Before closing, Morrison dealt with some personal grievances by making some quite categorical demands. He wanted his telegrams ‘published without expurgation or mutilation, unless in extreme cases when explanation of the reason shall be sent me’. As for the letters, they ‘should be acknowledged on receipt, and … by return, “via Siberia” [the fast route], I shall be informed whether [they] are likely to be published or not, and if not, for what reason they are suppressed’. Neither his suggestions nor requests, Morrison assured Bell, were the result of his being ‘fretful’. On the contrary, he had written as he had because he was so proud to be a part of The Times and therefore anxious to see it ‘maintain that position in the world which the most serious paper in the world ought to occupy’.5 Bell was more than simply fretful, he was ‘utterly upset’ by what Morrison had to say. ‘What possible good can be done by your letter of yesterday …?’ he wrote back the following day. If Morrison meant what he said about suppressing facts it was a mystery how he could go on to claim that he was ‘proud’ to be part of such an organisation. There were indeed differences of opinion on the advocacy of Japanese interests – and he, Bell, did not always agree with those of the foreign editor – but from that to a systematic suppression of facts is a long step and it is a charge which naturally reflects on the honour of those in charge of the Foreign Department. Such a charge ought not to be lightly made and ought to be supported by overwhelming proof. [… ] After three months working to get things straight for you I find everything worse than ever by a letter which Braham begged you not to write.6

Chirol’s prudent reaction was to ‘sleep over’, or rather ‘lay awake over’, the offensive letter, wanting to avoid being accused of having answered it in ‘hasty resentment’. Nor was there any ‘cringing’ when he did respond, writing to Bell, with a copy to Morrison. The Peking correspondent, he said, had no justifiable reason to make ‘so grave a charge of bad faith’. Nor could he, Chirol, agree that there was ‘unbalanced praise’ of Japan in the 411

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paper.7 As for the blunt demand that his messages be printed exactly as written, editing done only ‘in extreme cases’ and then promptly explained, Chirol noted that the paper had always tried to hold to that standard, although ‘both on questions of policy and of expedience a certain amount of discretion must be reserved for the Foreign Department at home’. Nor did Morrison have any grounds to imply that ‘such discretion has ever been exercised unfairly towards him’. What surprised Chirol in particular was the ‘sense of personal grievance’ that seemed to animate Morrison. While the latter was in London he, Chirol, had made sure that there were ‘abundant opportunities’ for the two of them to discuss Far Eastern affairs. Morrison, for unknown reasons, never bothered to make use of them until ten days earlier, at which point the two men talked over the general situation in the Far East for two hours. During that talk, as Chirol told Bell, the Peking correspondent ‘gave me no reason whatever to believe that he would write such a letter as he has …’.8 As controlled as Chirol’s response was, Morrison was convinced, and was not mistaken, that his letter had ‘scratched him on the raw’. That was clearly Morrison’s intention. Only a few weeks after telling Bell that his letter was not intended to ‘upset anyone’, he told his diplomatist friend Clementi-Smith that Chirol had no business in continuing to be our foreign editor … He has treated the foreign correspondents in such a manner that we say in The Times there will soon be no foreign correspondents. All of us recognise his ability, but all of us think that he is the most hopelessly unjust and jesuitical foreign editor that can be found in Great Britain. [… ] The home service of the paper has been reorganised but the foreign service cannot be reorganised until Chirol retires from the office, and he will not retire. Fancy our foreign department being subject to the caprice of a man who only goes to the office between the hours (and then not every day) of three and seven in the afternoon, and who has made enemies of nearly every man in the foreign department.9

As unhappy as Chirol was about what he did know about Morrison’s accusations, he had scant time to spend fretting about them. As usual, or perhaps even more than usual, he was beset by a range of other worries and problems. The weather that winter had been exceptionally grim in London and, as he told Springy toward the end of January, ‘at home and abroad the outlook is equally drear’.10 Although Parliament was in recess throughout January, the political scene was alive with anticipation of battles to come. The government had 412

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squeaked through another election in December but were still dependent on the Irish nationalists. Chirol, as ever, found the Unionists without adequate leadership, a failing only partially compensated for by the Liberals lacking the numbers needed to stampede their worrisome measures through Parliament. How a compromise, which was, in his eyes, the only thing that could save the House of Lords, could be reached was hard to see. By February, with Parliament due to open, it was even harder. The government seemed determined to pass an unamended Parliament Bill; the opposition, to Chirol’s utter dismay, were equally determined to try one more throw of the dice. A suicidal toss, Chirol was not alone in saying, as it was all too likely to push the government into creating hundreds of new peers who would be willing to vote away their veto power. If they were sensible, the present Lords would drop their absurd resistance and pass the bill under protest, intimating that legislation of that kind, forced through by such measures, cannot be regarded as final. We could then wait for the Government to draft its Home Rule Bill and even if it succeeded in drafting one which would be acceptable to the Nationalists … and to the Radicals … , there would still be the two years’ grace allowed under the Veto Bill for an organised campaign in the country.11

But even that prospect left a lot to be desired, especially for one so sensitive to the way domestic discord undermined London’s influence abroad. The Germans had not been slow to take advantage of London’s political woes. In mid-December, Bethmann-Hollweg, Chancellor since Bülow’s retirement in 1909, intimated that the Reich would no longer hesitate to take her ‘place in the sun’. To Chirol that could only mean that Kaiser and Tsar, who had met briefly at Potsdam the previous month, had exchanged more than ‘royal urbanities’. That, in fact, was so. Their Majesties were only together a day or two, but long enough to reach a tentative agreement as to future plans and policies in the Near East, including the financing, building and controlling of railroads. To work out details, Russo-German talks continued on into the new year. Although Chirol kept a worried ear to the ground, he was aware that these discussions also had a positive side from London’s point of view. Prior to them the German government had insisted that the railroad project was the business of the Deutsche Bank, not the Deutsches Reich. Having exposed the hollowness of that claim by negotiating with Russia through regular diplomatic channels, Berlin was bound to do the same 413

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by Britain and France. This was, as Chirol said in the paper, a welcome development. Germany’s recognition ‘of the fact that so far-reaching an undertaking as the Baghdad Railway must directly affect the interests of other Powers, and that sooner or later those interests must be taken into account, is the first step towards a satisfactory international agreement on the subject’. In private he pointed out that some such agreement would be especially welcome given that the Turks were making unpleasant noises about their rights and interests along the Persian Gulf. There had even been talk of possible military action in Kuwait.12 If the Turks actually did something soldierly there, Britain’s credit with the chiefs in the Gulf region, decades in the building, would be gone in a flash and British influence with it. While Chirol had never agreed with a policy advocating the policing of southern Persia, he was more than ready ‘to advocate and to defend very strong measures indeed for the protection of our position in the Gulf’.13 Chirol had been worrying for years about maintaining British predominance in waters that lapped the shores of India as well as Persia. Increasingly preoccupied with the situation in India, he knew full well that, recent calm notwithstanding, her potent problems were growing, not waning. Thus he feared the contagious effects of political or military instability on her peripheries, the influence of outsiders, religious or political, or any disruption of the reasonably speedy and dependable British connection via the Gulf. The 1907 entente with Russia had relieved some of the most serious problems along the North-Western frontier, but the Gulf was left out of the agreement. Where the as yet unfinished railroad would end, and it seemed likely that it would push on past Baghdad, mattered a great deal; wherever the last stop was, Britain must be there.14 Given how he felt it was hardly surprising that by early February Chirol should be talking of going out to the Gulf to see things for himself. To Bland he said that he wanted to go out before the weather got too hot, to Northcliffe he suggested that things other than the weather seemed to be dangerously overheated, to Hardinge he confessed that things at Printing House Square had already become very hot indeed. He also suggested to Northcliffe that it would be a good idea for him to spend some time with Hardinge in India as well. As well as getting a feel for the current mood, he could send back some pieces to stir up interest in the coming Coronation Durbar, scheduled to be held at Delhi in December.15 Personally close to Hardinge, an acknowledged expert on India and its problems, well known to the royal couple and thoroughly familiar 414

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with their sorts of entertainment in that part of the world, Chirol was the obvious choice to report on the intricate planning necessary to ensure the success of the event. And given the problems that Northcliffe was dealing with at Printing House Square, it might well have appealed to him to have one of those problems profitably occupied elsewhere. Things had reached a point by the beginning of 1911 where both men realised that a separation would help rather than hurt, especially one that would still serve the interests of the paper. By then it was evident to the old guard that the ‘Chief’ was determined to be rid of their methods, if not of their persons. Writing to a friend who had complained at not hearing from him in recent months, Northcliffe excused his silence by explaining that at his doctors’ suggestion he had taken up golf. He was also in the process of reorganising The Times ‘from cavern to cupola … [Thus] I am lost for the time being to my friends. The quacks insist on the golf, and after three long years of Times muddlers, it is essential that I smite them as vigorously as I try to the golf balls.’16 Chirol made it plain to Northcliffe that he would retire if that was what was wanted. What he did not say, outright, was that he wished he might remain at his post until the following year, when he would reach his 60th birthday. Unfortunately, Northcliffe’s desire, indeed intent, to have a much more ‘hands on’ role, including in the foreign department, made that wish problematic from the start. In a letter to Bell of 12 January, Chirol suggested that it was time for the two of them, plus Buckle, to make a collective stand against the constant encroachments of the Proprietors…upon the authority of the Board and especially of its members who are also the heads of the staff. [… ] We are still, I believe, indispensable for Lord N. [and] … ought in my opinion to meet his appeal to us [for spending cuts] with a written statement of our views – assuring him of our desire, now as always to cooperate…but pointing out that such cooperation to be effective requires a greater sense of stability than is afforded by the present situation, the constant invasions of our authority, the subversion of discipline, the threats which he himself has from time to time uttered with reference to almost every important member of the staff, etc.17

Three weeks later he wrote to Hardinge that he was hoping to start for India in a week, but worried that getting away might be ‘touch and go’. It had been a particularly bad week at Printing House Square and he had more than once thought he must ‘make his bow’. Although things had been patched back together, the outlook still seemed ‘very disheartening’. In the end he did not leave for nearly a month, and by then his departure was more in the way of an escape. 415

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On 6 February George V presided over the opening of his first Parliament. As the politicians and the peers gathered at Westminster they were prepared to do battle over two particularly contentious issues. One was the recalcitrant House of Lords, the other a protocol known as the Declaration of London,18 part of a Naval Prize Bill introduced in the Commons two years earlier. Although the declaration itself did not require parliamentary sanction, the Prize Bill did. Thus any fight over it was also a battle over the ratification of the declaration. The government, primed to finish off the veto power of the Upper House, if not the House itself, was just as intent on seeing the Prize Bill safely through parliamentary shoals. In the already tense precincts of Printing House Square the fight over whether the paper should support the government and ratification or side with people passionate to be done with the Prize Bill and its damnable declaration – which would lead, in their view, to the weakening of Britain’s ability to wage war – led directly to another crisis of control. The struggle this time had, finally, to do with who it was who would have the last say as to the editorial position The Times would take on matters of national or of international importance. Chirol, trusting Grey above all other politicians, followed him in supporting ratification. Thursfield, the paper’s naval writer, backed that portion of the Admiralty who favoured ratification. Bell and Buckle went along with their colleagues. Facing them was Northcliffe, an ardent opponent of any measure that could or would weaken Britain ‘by robbing it of the power to deprive an enemy of materials essential to his prosecution of the war’. Early on he set the Daily Mail to attack ratification and commanded his other papers19 to fall into line. That they did so without demur made the action taken by The Times all the more galling. Northcliffe convinced himself that his opponents there had not bothered to judge the matter on its merits, preferring instead to kowtow to the official line.20 By doing so they were not only endangering Britain and her empire. Should The Times help gain victory for ratification, it would likewise help defeat the anti-ratification campaign being waged so vigorously in his other papers. Critics would note a division in the ranks; circulation and advertising might suffer. His mind filled with frightening speculations, Northcliffe complained vigorously to the ailing, overburdened Bell. The paper, the latter answered, was only being consistent. It had not altered its position on the contraband question since the matter had first come up in early 1909. The decision to give editorial support to the 416

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government and ratification was not taken lightly but only after long discussion and for reasons of both national and international policy. Nor had the paper ignored the other side of the argument, its correspondence columns had long since welcomed and printed contrary views. It was, he suggested, surely a question upon which it was possible to differ. Buckle too spoke up in defence of the paper’s position. [T]he Proprietors of The Times have rightly laid great stress on the immense importance of the absolute independence of the Paper in matters of opinion. Here is a test case. My confidence in the justice and right feeling of the Proprietors on the one hand, and in the inherited traditions of The Times on the other, is such that I believe the test will be successfully undergone. Deeply as I regret that the opinion held in the office should differ on this important question from yours, I feel no doubt that it is impossible for The Times, if it wishes to maintain its reputation, to go back on the line it has taken up.21

His eloquence was lost on Northcliffe. To both Bell and Buckle the ‘Chief’ made it very plain that not so much as a ‘farthing’ of his money would he allow to be spent to support such a fatally misguided policy. ‘I trust these words to the wise will be sufficient.’22 Bell, long familiar with Northcliffe’s temper, was better prepared to weather this particular storm, embedded in which was not just a threat to the editorial independence of The Times, but to his, Chirol’s and Buckle’s guardianship of that independence. Chirol, ‘more or less defenceless and open to direct attack’, according to Lovat Fraser, bore its brunt.23 Outraged, as only he could be over anything he judged to be a violation of principle, he offered to resign immediately. Ill, disappointed and pressed well beyond even his remarkable capacity, Bell rose to the occasion and argued ardently against his doing so. Yes, he told his old friend, Northcliffe’s action had gone directly against their agreement with him, and they were free to take action as he had broken his word. Bell also agreed with the indignant foreign editor that, at bottom, the matter had to do with an abstract principle and not with the pros and cons of the declaration. At the same time he could not go along with Chirol’s contention that, since Northcliffe’s breaking his word was a matter of principle, the question over which he did it need not be considered. There was instead a middle way between knuckling under to Northcliffe, thereby abandoning one’s ‘honour’, or choosing to stand, or fall, on principle, thereby abandoning the paper over a question, which, according to all that he had heard, was already a foregone conclusion. 417

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We entered into the agreement with N. in order to save the independence of The Times. [… ] I believe it to be our duty both to those who if we resisted would follow us into retirement at very grave personal inconvenience, and to those who … have invested in the belief that we would keep the paper in its old independent lines, that we should not, out of regard to our personal dignity, give up our trust or adopt a policy which we all admit would result in our having no influence whatever over the future of the paper. Imagine a shareholder asking us the reason. ‘Because the independence of The Times was threatened.’ – ‘But have you secured the independence?’ – ‘No, but the principle was infringed.’ – ‘Did you thereby obtain the ratification of the Declaration of London?’ – ‘No, because it was certain beforehand.’ – ‘What have you saved?’ – ‘Our dignity!’24

Bell’s case won out, and Chirol reluctantly agreed that the paper might simply remain quiet on the ratification question. When he heard that Northcliffe would accept this solution he packed and left town with the unhappy feeling that he was running away like a dog ‘with its tail between its legs!’.25 By the beginning of April Chirol was in Bombay, where, with a touch of his old luck, he ran into just the man he needed, Admiral Sir Edmund Slade. The admiral was on the point of leaving for a tour of the Persian Gulf and more than happy to have Chirol join him. Nothing could have suited Chirol better; it was a trip he wanted to take in any case, plus he considered Slade one of the ‘best sort’. Life aboard a man-of-war would be icing on the cake.26 In his copious correspondence with Hardinge over the next month Chirol was understandably preoccupied with the combination of Persian Gulf and Baghdad Railroad policy in all its tangled political tangents – Turkish, Persian, German. He also noted, for the first time, the vast oil resources of the region. From that point on it was not only the protection of the route to India but of an area ‘which promises to develop into one of the great oil-fields of the world’ that would underline the importance of maintaining British predominance in the Gulf. He said little about his recent misadventures at the paper. For the following five weeks, as Slade’s flagship, HMS Highflyer, carried him up the Persian Gulf and back again, there were any number of things requiring him to focus on the scene at hand rather than revisit the one at home. Halfway through the tour, the Highflyer stood off the coast at Fao, at the mouth of the Shatt-al-Arab, the short, broad waterway connecting the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates, south of Baghdad, with the Gulf. He had not intended to do any writing until back in India, but, as 418

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he explained to Hardinge in the long letter that he sent off – with copies to the Foreign Office and to Lord Morley – what he had seen thus far had convinced him that there were some points important enough to be brought up sooner rather than later. It seemed that the Turks, who for the best part of a century had not bothered whatsoever with controlling navigation on the Shatt, allowing, indeed depending on, the British navy to do work that they should have done, had now remembered that it was their job. This sudden discovery posed a clear challenge to British claims, and plans, in the region. For one thing there had been talk of making the city of Basrah, lying in Ottoman territory on the west bank of the Shatt, the last stop on the Baghdad Railroad. If the Turks really meant to take the navigation on the Shatt seriously in hand, it seemed that Basrah might also be made into a better and more convenient harbour than Kuwait and at much less cost. The combination of having Basrah as chief port and railroad terminus and handing control over the Shatt to any one power, most especially the Turks, would put an end then and there to the advantage that sea power had given Britain over the past century. Both he and Slade felt that London must insist, and soon, that an international river commission be set up with membership confined, if possible, to Turkey, Persia and Britain. Persian participation was a critical feature; every effort must be made to have Persian and British policy work hand in hand. Given the prospects of the fledgling Anglo-Persian Oil Company, free access to the Shatt, at least as far as the point at which both banks became Turkish, was a ‘vital necessity’.27 The Turks must also be told that if they wanted financial help they would have to agree to meet certain conditions. Should they baulk, British policy-makers might point out that it was completely justifiable to claim such conditions ‘from a power that has for a whole century left us to fulfil all the duties which it has itself neglected to perform as a sovereign power in the Gulf’. Finally, should problems persist, it would be time to show some real muscle. It seems to me that, when we strike, we ought to strike a blow of which the effect would … be indubitable and instantaneous, and we are in a position to deal it whenever we like, and never, perhaps, more convincingly than in existing circumstances. Tell the Turks that we intend to cut off all communication by sea between Constantinople and the Yemen, and they have no option possible but to yield. Two or three British men-of-war before Hedeida [Al Hudaydah], that is all that is needed. What could Turkey do? Go to war with us? [… ] Call Germany to her aid? We know that,

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whatever may be the case a few years hence, Germany is not ready for a naval war now.28

Speaking of Germany – and the Germans were often in his thoughts when it came to dealings with the Ottomans – he could not but think, as he told the Foreign Office, that the Turks would have hesitated to be so aggressive over the Shatt unless the Germans were doing some spine stiffening. So much then for all the recent professions of friendship coming out of Berlin. ‘German trade and shipping have had the full benefit of all that we have done in the way of surveying, buoying and lighting the Gulf, and if they had any complaints to make, the most ordinary good feeling should have prompted them to appeal in the first place to us instead of inciting the Turks to take the job out of our hands.’29 As he was leaving for India, Chirol had told Bell that, although he had yielded to his argument so as not to force a showdown with Northcliffe, he was not giving up, but only ‘delaying’, his retirement. Never again would Bell try to talk him out of that frame of mind, having died, utterly suddenly and at his usual place – his desk – on 5 April. It is unclear where Chirol was when he got the dreadful news, but he did say later that his first thought was ‘Northcliffe killed him!’. Next he felt a great sense of relief that he had not insisted on having his own way before he left London. Had he gone ahead, and precipitated a crisis, he would have carried to his own grave the feeling that he, too, had helped kill his dear friend. And now was the time, he thought, to turn from divining the future of the Persian Gulf to divining his own. With Bell gone and Buckle, as he knew, under increasing pressure to step aside, with the fight that the three of them had led to preserve the editorial independence of the paper clearly lost, he decided that as soon as he was home again and his affairs in order he would ‘make his bow’.30 That return, as scheduled, was still months away. Back in India at the beginning of May, he found letters from Mrs Bell, from Lovat Fraser, and from Buckle, whose uncharacteristic emotionality touched Chirol deeply. He felt dreadfully far from home and friends and tormented himself with the thought that not only had he not been able to say a proper goodbye to Bell, he could not be on hand to join in the tributes being paid to him. He toyed briefly with the idea of cutting out the rest of the trip and returning at once. On second thoughts he could not see what good he could do back at Printing House Square, indeed hated more than ever the idea of going back to it at all.31 There was, of course, his self-assumed assignment to keep him in India, but he laboured away on it with scant pleasure. It was troubling enough 420

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to be hampered by the need for circumspection and the tiring search for new ways to put old messages, but the loss of all interest in his work was worst of all. Bell had surely died of a ‘broken heart, for none saw more clearly than he did – though wild horses wouldn’t make him say so – the shipwreck of all the hopes he had built, and had induced others to build, on the new regime’. It depressed Chirol to get his packets of papers from home, to see the steady ‘Daily Mailification’ of the old Thunderer. At times he could barely recognise his own foreign page. That was hardly news to Bland, who had written a month earlier – unsure where Chirol was just then but wishing him well and happy – and to say that he was much missed in P.H.S., and the other places which you are wont to frequent. The Times leaders on foreign affairs reveal the absence of your hand and head, and I am not the only one to be aware of that fact. There is a tentative uncertain note about them which is not calculated to impress any reader who happens to know the subject matter thereof.32

Once released from the drudgery of writing his articles on the Gulf, and free, for the time being, of the demands of journalism, Chirol travelled to the south, going from Mahableshwar to Begaum via Kolhapur and then on toward Goa and the famed monuments of Muslim architecture of Hampi and Bijapur, before ‘making tracks’ for Simla. As always he was half mesmerised by the beauties and mysteries all about him, forgetting his woes on drives ‘over open, undulating plains with distant vistas of purple-blue ghats, and [then, suddenly,] through very fine jungle with splashes of orchids and of the pale yellow sprays of the Indian laburnum’.33 He went as artist and historian, and, as he loved to do, ‘rather off the beaten track, amidst some of the lesser-known graveyards of bygone dynasties and forgotten civilisations which have strewn India with their splendid wreckage’. The rains came early, producing both miracles and small miseries; sunburnt fields turned a tender green, and ‘everything burst into riotous life – including, I admit, a number of creepy-crawly things I could very well do without’.34 Little, unfortunately, seemed to come of Chirol’s warnings and suggestions concerning the situation in the Persian Gulf. Hardinge agreed with the points he had raised, but, caught up as he was in the complicated preparations for the coming durbar, could do little to actually address them. At the Foreign Office Grey minuted his long report ‘very useful’, noting that he would have to discuss it with Nicolson and Mallet, both of whom had marked it ‘interesting’. Toward the end of June Chirol wrote 421

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rather despondently to Tyrrell that he would have ‘rather liked’ more assurance that the F.O. realized how much more vital are the issues in the Gulf itself – e.g. the control of navigation in the Shatt, the maintenance of the position of the Muhammerah and Koweyt Sheikhs, the suppression of gun-running and, to that end, an agreement with France for the surrender of her treaty rights in Muscat – than the mere question of the Baghdad Railway and our participation or non-participation.35

As usual when he was off on one of his ‘missions’, with his eye on things close to hand, usually rather worrying things, he was convinced that his ‘poor little [warning] voice’ would be ‘drowned in the hurly burly which is going on at home’. He was scathing about London’s latest ‘season of flaphoodle in excelsis’ – starting with the Kaiser’s most recent visit – ‘and all the Anglo-German gush which it let loose’.36 Once again there were grumbles about ‘dry rot’ infecting the governing classes, about people being distracted by frivolous entertainment and endless gossip. ‘To the onlooker from afar,’ he intoned in his best Cassandra mode, there seems to be something almost sinister in the contrast between all this Coronation gush and the complete indifference to the tremendous constitutional changes which – whether for better of worse – are being rushed through both in the Parliament Bill and in the Imperial Conference [then sitting in London]. The latter…alarms me even more than the former. We seem to have committed ourselves impulsively to a new agreement of partnership under which the liability of Great Britain is to be unlimited and that of the Dominions limited according to each one’s sweet will.

That the dominions should enjoy freedom of action in matters that foreign nations were surely bound to think London’s responsibility, that even in times of severe crisis they could decide whether or not to participate, struck him as incredible. What on earth might happen, he wondered, if ever it came to a clash of interests between colonial sentiment and imperial interests? ‘Can you rely permanently on the discretion of politicians in lighthearted and lightheaded communities without experience and without traditions? … I cannot myself believe that we are cementing the bonds of Empire by abdicating the position which from every point of view belongs to us as the dominant partner.’37 Feeling powerless to do much more than rail privately, and from a great distance, Chirol was looking forward to his private talks with the Viceroy. There were many, and many pressing, things to talk about, 422

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including the coming celebration. He had heard distressing hints that London might proclaim a political amnesty in honour of the King’s visit, a gesture Chirol described as little more than ‘stark, staring madness’. It was true that, on the surface, India had been rather quiet in recent months, but, as he put it to Springy, ‘ugly bubbles come up and burst from time to time which show that the caldron is still a-boil’.38 Nor was the amnesty business the only mistaken idea coming from London. The King had decided against visiting Madras, and, in order to compensate for any bad feelings there, decided to downplay his visit to Bombay as well. Two wrongs did not make a right, said Chirol, and instead meant that Calcutta, ‘the most seditious city in India’, was to be singled out for the King’s gracious entertainment. ‘Three native chiefs have already given me a piece of their mind on the subject. The prohibition of elephants has also caused much heart burning …’39 Indeed the ban on elephants seemed to Chirol to epitomise all the other mistakes being made by politicians who should have known better or were too preoccupied to pay proper attention. But he also knew, being on the spot, that the outlook was threatened by more than meddling and muddling in London. The lovely weather of May and early June had swiftly turned hot and deadly dry, casting the shadow of famine over the proposed festivities. He himself stuck to his busy schedule until he too began to wither. By the time he reached Simla he had developed a persistent diarrhoea that kept him in his room for days on end, existing on rice water and milk and little else. But, as he could not fail to note, if one must be room-bound in India, it helped to be so under the roof of the Viceroy. Understandably preoccupied, given where he was, with the festival preparations, his enforced leisure gave Chirol extra time to criticise domestic politics and to cast a typically jaundiced eye over the European picture as well. At Westminster it was a case of a ‘pox on both parties’ as the government resolutely pushed their embattled Parliament Bill through an hysterical House of Lords. He felt no sympathy for diehard Unionists, seemingly bent on self-destruction and willing to take their party along with them. Nor did he have any kind words for a government so rigidly uncompromising that they were willing to destroy the House of Lords rather than try to achieve a meaningful or workable reform. Where was there any statesmanship, he fretted, when ‘everything is sacrificed to some immediate party gain’? ‘It is very sickening.’40 International politics were little better. Disorder and discord stretching from Morocco to China had European chancellories on edge and diplo423

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matists busy. Morocco, by now a chronic sore spot in Franco-German relations, was once again inflamed. In the years since the Algeciras settlement and the Franco-German Agreement of early 1909, Berlin kept a wary eye on French movements in the essentially lawless sultanate. When Berber tribes attacked Fez in April 1911, French troops were sent in to protect resident foreigners. This was more movement than the Germans were prepared to tolerate, and they warned Paris that a French occupation of the Moroccan capital would be in violation of all existing agreements. Paying scant attention, the French went about their business, part of which appeared, especially to the Germans, to be consolidating rather than dismantling their control over the interior of the disintegrating country. When a second warning received no appreciable response, the Germans made their displeasure more visible by sending off a warship to the Atlantic port city of Agadir, claiming the necessity of protecting their fellow nationals and their national interests. What was clear, if left unstated, was that they were not going to sit on their hands as the French simply consolidated their control. For a price, however, Berlin let it be known that she was willing to give up her rights and interests in Morocco. The bill was not long in coming and the price asked was the whole of the French Congo. It appeared that Paris cared far less about having the Panther sitting in the harbour at Agadir than she did about the price, which was immediately rejected. London, on the other hand, long fearful of German designs on the Atlantic coast of north Africa, cared quite a bit. No soon had the Panther’s anchor dropped than Grey had a talk with the German ambassador. He made it plain that the appearance of the German ship had created a new situation in Morocco and, should the consequences affect British interests in new ways, London could not be expected to go along with decisions made without her participation. Partly because of a number of misunderstandings and missteps in both London and Berlin, His Majesty’s government was not made privy to the talks then under way between Paris and Berlin. And even when Whitehall first learned of them not much notice was taken. That changed abruptly when the extent of the German demand became known. Alarmed, Grey went back for another talk at the German Embassy. Speaking, he said, as a loyal friend to France, he could not but think that Berlin’s price was designed to be rejected so as to lead to more serious steps. The longer the Germans lingered at Agadir, the greater the risk that something might happen that would make it hard for them to withdraw and for Britain not to be drawn in, if only to protect her rights. ‘The situation would 424

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become less acute,’ he continued, ‘if an exchange of views took place between us before fresh events occurred …’ With that the two men parted amiably, believing that, by clearing the air in private, Anglo-German relations would remain correct until this latest menace was resolved. That evening Lloyd George, speaking at a banquet at the Mansion House, saw to it that they turned very sour instead. ‘If a situation were to be forced on us,’ he huffed, in which peace could only be preserved by the surrender of the great and beneficent position Britain has won by centuries of heroism and achievements by allowing Britain to be treated, where her interests were vitally affected, as if she were of no account in the Cabinet of Nations, then I say emphatically that peace at that price would be a humiliation intolerable for a great country like ours to endure.41

He had not mentioned the word ‘Germany’, but as far as Berlin was concerned he might have had it in every sentence. In far-off Simla the room-bound Chirol, never a believer in Lloyd George, was full of scorn. For months he had been squirming as the foolish diehards made a laughing stock of the Unionist Party. But it was that much more painful for him, as one so attuned to international opinion and so sensitive to questions of prestige, to think of Lloyd George doing the same with Britain’s standing abroad. To turn him loose, in public, on the impossible Germans was an appalling travesty of statesmanship. ‘Why on earth,’ he wrote to Springy, ‘was a vulgar little lawyer put up to make a pronouncement on Weltpolitik, which, if it was to carry any weight, ought to have come from the Foreign Minister or the Premier?’42 Although the initial uproar over Lloyd George’s speech subsided and France and Germany continued to negotiate – intermittently – throughout the summer, the atmosphere remained tense. In mid-August the discussions hit a snag, then broke off entirely. Chirol could not quite bring himself to believe that Germany would actually decide on war. But given her nature, and habits, she was likely ‘to bluff right up to the edge’. Kiderlen-Wächter, now the Foreign Secretary, was, according to Chirol, who had known him quite well at one point, the sort of man who ‘would throw everything into the melting pot rather than withdraw from an untenable position at the expense of his own credit’.43 As Europe tensed over what had turned into a three-cornered stand-off, Chirol turned back to the questions closer to hand. Talks between London and Constantinople were moving along in a desultory fashion and he feared that they could be swamped by the fracas in Morocco, thus 425

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allowing the British programme for the Gulf to slip quietly, and inevitably, into oblivion. Although distressed by the Foreign Office’s refusal to include Persia in any scheme for controlling the Shatt, it had at least, and at last, decided what was wanted from Turkey, which was to recognize the absolute autonomy of Koweyt and to bind themselves to bring the railway there and nowhere else if ever it is brought down to the Gulf at all, and to acknowledge specifically our right to police, buoy, and light the Gulf beyond the limits reserved for the Anglo-Turkish Commission of the Shatt …44

But could they? And, if not, what then? By the beginning of September the doctors had stopped shaking their heads over Chirol’s condition and were decidedly more optimistic about his ability to withstand a rather rigorous excursion to Kashmir and the headwaters of the holy Ganges. He himself, 17 pounds lighter – as if, he said, he had done a rather drastic Karlsbad cure – and feeling fit, was positively jaunty about his journey ‘to the edge of the snows’.45 But before taking off on it Chirol shared some of his fears about the coming durbar with Morley – one man who might actually be able to do something about them. The rains had come and come abundantly so fear of famine could be laid to rest. The subject of elephants, or of the royal itinerary, never even came up. What most worried him now was the possibility that the King might just cancel the whole business, given the distance and the length of time involved when things at home and in Europe seemed so seriously unsettled. He had never, as if Morley didn’t know, been ‘enamoured’ with the idea of the King’s visit and nothing seen or heard during his recent months in India had changed his mind. All the same, it would be most unfortunate, after all the money, all the publicity, all the detailed planning, if it didn’t come off. From the Indian point of view it could only mean that there were grave problems at home. That, in turn, would reflect on the standing of the government of India, and the disaffected press would not allow the opportunity to pass, however effectively they were muzzled. It was true, he told Morley, that for the moment extremism seemed to be out of fashion, and even the more advanced politicians … are at least holding their hands until they see what effect the King’s visit actually produces and what are the boons he will bring with him. There lies the crux, and I cannot imagine that the meagre boons to be announced at Delhi will suffice to avert disappointment. But I would rather take that risk than have it said that the King was afraid to leave England … 46

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He turned then to specific and, to his mind, significant items on the Indian political landscape. The ‘biggest rock’ on it was the hydra-headed financial problem – how to raise money, how to save money, how and on what to spend what was raised or saved. He blasted away at Edwin Montagu, then the Parliamentary Under-secretary at the India Office. It made his, Chirol’s, blood run cold to hear the latter ‘talk of enforcing our own views of financial and economic policy upon India, as if the keynote of reforms was not the obligation on the part of the Imperial government to allow the people of India to have a much larger share than they have hitherto had in the control of everything except the supreme executive power’.47 Before closing his letter, Chirol gave Hardinge a loyal plug – ‘If he is given a fair chance, I believe he will make a big mark before he leaves India. He takes large views, and to his credit be it said, they are not personal views’ – and scratched away at the old Kitchener sore, scolding the former Secretary of State in the process. While Hardinge was intent on economy and could be trusted ‘to insist upon it uncompromisingly and fearlessly wherever it is possible’, it was unfortunately the case that there was not much that could be done outside reducing military costs. He had already shown his mettle in stepping up to that particular challenge, but Chirol feared the strong opposition that was bound to come, especially as the legend has been allowed to grow up that Lord K.’s administration spelt the last word in economy combined with efficiency. I need not tell you how little that legend corresponds with the facts, and I confess it seems to me that you and your colleagues, if I may be allowed to say so, have incurred a very grave responsibility by your at least silent acquiescence in the growth of that legend …48

A month earlier Chirol had written at equal length to Buckle. During the months that he had been away, he had been thinking, ‘as carefully and dispassionately’ as possible, about his position with The Times and about the future. He would, of course, take no action until he was home again. But having been laid up for the past few weeks with a condition that threatened constantly to send him home at once he felt it time to share these accumulated thoughts with his old friend and colleague. He spoke first about the board of directors of The Times Publishing Company, Ltd. He and Buckle, along with Bell and Monypenny, had served on that body since its inception in the spring of 1908. At that point the functions allotted to them as directors were, they believed, in accordance with what were then Lord Northcliffe’s professed intentions. 427

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They were ‘to control unreservedly the conduct of the paper, to exercise full authority over the staff, and to safeguard its editorial independence and with it the traditions and prestige of the paper’. So it was to be, but so, and soon, it turned out not to be. As Buckle well knew Northcliffe had undermined those functions, directly and indirectly, so that at present the board was little more than ‘a mere instrument for registering the financial position of the paper and carrying Lord N.’s behests into execution’. Such blatant interference was entirely unwarranted under its articles of association. Regular shareholders might remove a director at a general meeting, but that privilege did not affect the rights of the board itself so long as it continued to exist. And rights were only one part of the picture, the board also had responsibilities.49 One was to the old proprietors, whose consent was required for the reorganisation scheme to succeed; the other was to the readers of the paper and the general public as well, so that they might see that the change of proprietors involved no change in the editorial control and general conduct of the paper. [… ] But as things are to-day can the Board claim to be discharging those responsibilities if it goes on lending countenence to a condition of things wholly at variance with that which its existence was intended to guarantee?

If it proved impossible for it to make Northcliffe live up to his earlier assurances, and Chirol assumed that it would, then he – speaking solely for himself – no longer felt bound to acquiesce in a ‘condition of things which we cannot alter, especially if our acquiescence involves something like a suppression of the real condition of things, or at least the shelving of responsibilities which outwardly we still continue to bear’. Chirol took responsibilities, as he always had, very seriously. And in this case, as he took care to remind Buckle, his position was ‘a peculiar one’. Second only to Bell, he had been directly responsible for the adoption of the reorganisation scheme in that he persuaded Tennant, ‘and with him a not inconsiderable group of old proprietors originally adverse to the scheme’, to become active supporters on the strength of the special assurances which Lord N., without revealing his identity, caused to be then conveyed to me through Bell – assurances which he himself renewed to me later on in the most emphatic terms. The gradual supersession of the Board’s authority by Lord N.’s constitutes such a flagrant violation of those assurances that I do not see how I can continue the virtual acquiescence in their violation which my presence on the Board must in effect imply. What I propose … to do is to ask for a regular meeting

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of the Board of Directors to be convoked at the earliest opportunity after my return, in order that I may place my views fully and frankly before my colleagues and tender my resignation of my Directorship.50

With that he turned to the other hat he wore at Printing House Square, that of the foreign editor. Technically he might still stay on in that capacity without being a director of the company. All the same he was ‘alive to the possibility, nay probability, that after the statement I shall be bound to put in of my reasons for retiring from the board, Lord N. will wish my connection with the paper to cease’. The only way out of that corner would be to keep his reasons for retirement private so that Northcliffe could, if he chose, ‘ignore them and let The Times retain my services, at any rate for a time’. But certain conditions must also be met. He must keep his title and Braham and Grigg must stay on as assistants. Routine office work would no longer be his responsibility, nor would the financial arrangements of the department. His job would be to advise the editor in regard to the foreign policy of the paper, to write an occasional leader on particularly important foreign policy issues, to keep in touch – through private letters – with agents and agencies abroad, and to go off, if needed, on special missions. Most important of all, he should be ‘secured against any interference with the control to be exercised by me and through my Department – subject only to your Editorial authority – over the foreign policy and the foreign correspondents of the paper’.51 Although it worried Chirol that Buckle might feel that his own difficulties were being given short shrift, he felt he must stick to his decision as there was, finally, ‘a limit to all things’. He had little hope that Northcliffe would care to keep him on at the paper. Nor could he stay unless protected against ‘the constant worry of his often mischievous interference’. He was proud of ‘having achieved for myself a certain reputation as Director of the Foreign Department … I am loath to fritter it away under a regime of which the journalistic ideals are, to put it mildly, not the same as mine’. Buckle must not, he wrote in closing, fight any hopeless battles on his account, nor allow anyone else to do so. The only thing left to wish was that, should their long and friendly official association come to an end, the same would not be true of their personal friendship. ‘I would be deeply grieved,’ Chirol assured him, ‘were I not to remain, Yours as always.’52 Chirol’s soul now somewhat unburdened, he turned to getting his newly slender body ready to go off to the headwaters of the Ganges at Bandrinath and Kedarnath. These sacred sites, high up against the inhospitable flanks of the Himalayas, were the goal of thousands upon 429

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thousands of pious Hindus as well as Chirol’s pleasant ‘party of four’. It was a long and perilous trek, disease carried off scores, wild animals did their bit, as did the bitter cold and lack of food along the way. But unlike the masses of simple pilgrims, most of whom travelled in ignorance of the difficulties of climate and terrain and the distances to be covered, Chirol’s little group went in considerable comfort, well stocked and looked after by a host of coolies. Still the going was sometimes extraordinarily difficult, hair-raising even, and especially so for Chirol thanks to a brief return of his ‘persistent ailment’. For the best part of two days he had to be carried along in a makeshift chair slung from two poles. In it he had some less than pleasant experiences, among them being rushed ‘along a tiny ledge trimmed out of the bare cliff so as to reduce the risks of a shower of stones from above, [and crossing] a flimsy rope bridge on a couple of narrow planks supported only by a network of ropes swaying precariously over the roaring torrents perhaps two or three hundred feet below’. He was not solaced by the thought – as were the pious Hindus travelling the same direction – that, should the worst happen, the fact that he was making the trip at all granted him the certainty of being reborn into a higher level of existence. Instead he made do with the wry thought that ‘without all these thrills, there might have been some monotony in these long marches …’.53 As luck, plus courage, skill and determination, would have it, there were no accidents, and he was back in Delhi by mid-October, full of enthusiasm for the splendours he had seen. On the 28th he left Bombay and by 15 November was making his unperturbed way through a villainous sea in the ‘Bay of Biscay – oh!’ While less seaworthy types might have taken to their beds he was writing to Florence and Springy that ‘epistolary contributions’ would be most gratefully received at his old address. If he had fears about what awaited him in London, his friends would have been hard put to know it. His mood was decidedly good in spite of the uncertainties facing both him and the wider world. At the end of September, as he was making his slow way up the gorges of the upper Ganges, the Italians, long covetous of a bit of empire, declared war on Turkey and invaded Tripoli. By the time he was back in Delhi in mid-October, China, long teetering on the brink of revolution, finally slipped over it. When he got back to London a month later the Russians were poised to send troops into a Persia dissolved in anarchy and civil war. The lone positive note among all the discord came from Morocco, where, in return for two sizeable chunks of the French Congo, the Germans finally accepted a French protectorate. 430

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At that juncture the Italians worried him more than the Germans. He was scathing about their north African caper, ‘as wanton and mischievous a bit of buccaneering as one can well imagine in these days of Peace Congresses and Hague tribunals’, and not at all sorry to hear that they were being treated to a ‘roughish time’. Nor was he at all happy about London’s ‘light-hearted’ acquiescence of the Italian action. Throughout the Islamic world there was a very real, and mounting, resentment of Western policies and practices, and it was not at all impossible that ‘the struggle between Italy and Turkey will come to be seen as a struggle between Moslems and Christians …’.54 Britain, he said yet again, could not afford to turn a blind eye as other European Powers took advantage of the Muslim world without, sooner or later, having to pay a price. ‘We are already suffering for [our silence on Tripoli] in Egypt as the French are in Tunis, and it must react also on Mahomedan feeling in India, which we cannot afford to alienate at the present juncture.’55 He reminded Hardinge how Bal Gangdahar Tilik, the Hindu agitator – soon to be Chirol’s personal problem and long since one of the Raj’s most redoubtable adversaries – had, years earlier, ‘tried to make capital…out of our agreement with France in regard to Morocco and Egypt in order to alienate Mohommedan feeling from us in India’. Without wanting to be overly alarmist, but still alarming enough, he wanted Hardinge to consider what a ‘bad day’ it would be if the Muslim world succumbed to the idea that Britain was part and parcel of a Christian league against Islam.56 Then there was China, where little was clear beyond the fact that the threat was immediate and deadly serious. ‘The old order of things must pass away’, that he knew. But he also wondered how ‘any stable new order can be evolved without protracted convolutions in so rotten a body politic’. He thought back to what Prince Ito had told him years before, that Britain’s worst blunder in the Far East was to help put down the Taiping rebellion, ‘thereby arresting the normal process of nature in China, where from times immemorial revolutions have been the unfailing remedy for cancerous dynasties’.57 Yet again he despaired over the ‘attitude of lofty indifference which we appear to maintain in regard to [Chinese affairs] as if nothing that happened in China could affect our interests’.58 But, as much as he did not want people at home to be indifferent to the very real dangers posed by revolution in China, the situation in Persia – which he had been studying at first hand in recent months – was, if anything, even more dangerous. He never had thought much of the Persians and thought even less of them now. He wished that they could 431

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be left alone to fight among themselves but, as with so many problems, the Persian troubles could not be contained within the borders of Persia. One of those borders was with Russia, and Russians were already well established in northern Persia. As long as they stayed there, what sort of authority can be established in Central Persia to keep things even decently quiet there and avoid the necessity for further interference. If there should be further interference, who should interfere? We can hardly let the Russians come down south, and we certainly don’t want to go into Persia ourselves beyond the range of our ship’s guns.59

Another of Persia’s borders was with India and an imploding Persia spelled more trouble for the British there. The only way, as he saw it, that London would be able to physically protect British interests in southern Persia and the Gulf would be to increase the burdens on the Indian army. That, put simply, would be disastrous. Meanwhile no one at home seemed to care much more for Indian affairs than they did about what was happening in China. The arrival of the King-Emperor at Bombay was given a mere half column in the Daily Mail, ‘a fairly good barometer of the market place’, while the revolt of the domestic servants against the new National Insurance Act filled up two. ‘So imperially have we learnt to think in this country!’ he wrote to Hardinge on the eve of the durbar itself. Still, he was pleased to see, as he crossed the Bay of Biscay, the ship carrying the royals bound for India. Whatever else it may do or fail to do, [the durbar] will give the Viceroy an opportunity of taking a very big fence which even Curzon shirked and which Hardinge could hardly have taken except on the back of a KingEmperor. However that is still a secret, and I mustn’t say anything more until after the 12th prox. So please, silence et mystère.60

Chirol was privy to the secret thanks to his enforced stay with Hardinge at Simla. At that point the Viceroy was busy drawing up plans for an adjustment of the hated partition of Bengal and for the relocation of the capital of British India from Calcutta to Delhi. These two measures made up the ‘big fence’ that Hardinge would take, riding on the back of the King-Emperor, who would use his durbar proclamation to make the changes known to the world. George V’s proclamation caused a sensation in London.61 Chirol wrote to warn Hardinge that the Cabinet, as a whole, was not really in favour of the changes and Morley ‘quite between ourselves … shook his head over it from the beginning, and shakes it more than ever. [… ] His line is that, thanks to his Reforms, things were just beginning to quiet down, and 432

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now all the fat is once more in the fire.’ Nor would it be easy to set things right with Curzon, who was, it seemed, ‘past arguing with’. Some critics carped at the secrecy, claiming it violated Parliament’s right to have the final say when it came to major policy decisions in India. While Chirol understood Hardinge’s reasons for keeping the proclamation secret – that it had to do with the exercise of the King’s supreme authority as Emperor of India and, as such, had an immense effect on the Indians – he did point out that a bit of confidential whispering in the lordly ears of Lansdowne, Curzon and Crewe might have deflected some of the more vituperative criticism. Given that there had not been, it was all to the good that nothing could be formally discussed until the King was back in London. By then, given politics as usual, ‘Home Rule and other things … will come to the front, and the excitement will probably die down …’.62 Tucked in at the close of his next letter to Hardinge, after the political gossip, the fretting over Persia and talk of a coming visit to Russia, came news of his retirement. He was pleased with his pension, he said, and cheered by the friendly feelings all around. Even Northcliffe had been cordial, telling him that not only to the paper, ‘but to the Empire, your going will be a loss difficult to measure’. Chirol had thanked him for his sentiments, but was perhaps even more grateful to also be told that he would continue to be welcome to speak out in the paper. This meant much to him as he had always hoped to be allowed to ‘use the paper as a platform when the spirit moves me … Altogether it is an infinitely more satisfactory solution of my difficulties than I had ventured to look forward to when I came home.’63 Chirol’s letter of resignation from the foreign department was handed to the board of directors on 21 December. Nothing much happened. There was no official announcement and, as the weeks passed, no replacement named. Nor was he actually gone. Although relieved from dealing with the daily routine, he did write a series of articles on British foreign policy and a leader or two per week. But, as he lingered on, the question as to his successor rather rapidly eroded the ‘friendly feelings’ at Printing House Square. On 1 January 1912, Chirol was knighted in the New Year’s Honours. In a congratulatory letter from Steed, Chirol was astonished to read that Northcliffe had recently asked the Vienna correspondent if he would be willing, and ready, to take charge of a ‘European’ division within the foreign department. Steed provisionally agreed to do so, but only, as he told Chirol, if such a step would not place him ‘in an invidious position 433

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in regard to you’. Now that Chirol’s retirement was publicly known, he felt that condition no longer applied, and was ready to make his acceptance final.64 Chirol’s first response to Steed’s surprising letter was to summon a meeting of the other directors to discuss not only the novel idea of having a ‘European’ division, but the wisdom of putting Steed in charge of it. As much as Chirol might, and did, say that any decision made concerning the foreign department was now out of his hands, he felt strongly that the foreign line of The Times should maintain some sort of continuity. Thus he had always made it clear, or so he thought, that he would like to have a useful working relationship with his successor. Whether or not he could with someone as ‘individualistic in judgment’ as Steed was open to question. At this point, Nicholson wrote to Northcliffe, then on holiday in France, enclosing some extracts from Steed’s letter to Chirol and asking the ‘Chief’ to confirm if what was said was true. Northcliffe was not pleased, first to be bothered while on holiday, and, second, by yet another written discussion between people far apart from each other about somebody else’s actions – Mine. […] I wash my hands of any responsibility, except that I will not have Steed sacrificed to any Printing House Square intrigue. So far as I am concerned, you may take it from me that, if there is an attempt to carry on the old feuds about Steed, I will sacrifice Buckle, Chirol, … and the rest of them …

All the same, he continued, Steed had ‘no right to use the word “offer” in regard to my conversation. I am not accustomed to make offers to people, as you know. He told me of his ill-treatment … and I promised to stand by him.’ Nicholson should settle the matter, and do it quickly. If he felt either unwilling or unable to do so then it would have to wait until he himself was back in London when that would be he could not say.65 Days passed as Buckle, Chirol and others debated and discussed the question of whom should be chosen. Nicholson again wrote to Northcliffe asking him to clarify his position on Steed. If the latter ‘had “no right” to use the word “offer”, what had he a right to? How important was it for Northcliffe to flout the combined judgment of Buckle “and the rest of them” in order to pay off some old score against Chirol?’66 The response to his request was one long, and intermittently explicit, tirade. This Steed business … brings me to a point in my relations with ‘The Times’ when I am going to have no more of it. [… ] [I]f I wish to make ‘The Times’ what I mean to I must begin to act, and if you wish to continue to work

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with me, you must. Exactly why you allow Chirol to continue to use you I do not know. [… ] Let Chirol at once know that he has nothing to do with the paper, is my final advice. I have no plans of return. I am more annoyed than I can say that my repeated warnings have been of no avail. [… ] If you do not feel strong enough for the whole task please tell me so. If you are strong enough, get Steed over and settle it yourself, but no correspondence … Steed is a newsgetter and excellent writer. He should be given Berlin, Paris or the position of Grigg in the office as regards Europe. I infinitely prefer the latter and it is my wish. If the others wish to continue Chirol hostility…get rid of them.67

Whether or not Chirol ever saw this letter, or even knew of it, he moved quite promptly to make a very clear exit from Printing House Square. All the same, Buckle saw to it that his formal leave-taking had nothing hasty or forced about it. Instead his illustrious career, and the knighthood that capped it, were appropriately celebrated with a formal dinner at the Athenaeum. Saunders was brought over from Paris to act as toastmaster, and Morrison sent a letter, at Buckle’s request, to be read out to the guests. Morrison also sent a private letter directly to Chirol. Both letters were much in the Morrison mode, close to fulsome while secretly disingenuous. To Chirol he wrote that if ever a knighthood was well deserved his was thanks to work of the best kind and filled with the most ‘lofty patriotism’. You have, I think, the greatest brain of any man I have ever known, and if you will not mind my saying so, the kindest heart and the greatest capacity for friendship. There is nothing I regret more in my past career than that any cloud should ever have come over our friendship. It would be a mockery for me to pretend there was no cloud, but it was my fault, and it has long since passed away, and I hope you will forgive me and forget all about it. I never think of you but with grateful recollection of all you did for me, and I shall always be proud to remember that I was for so many years so closely associated with so great a master.68

During these weeks of somewhat inchoate manoeuvring, Chirol managed to keep a close watch on the ongoing crisis in Persia. If his private correspondence is any guide, the complex of problems thrown up by the political chaos there was more upsetting to him than either Northcliffe or Steed or both together. As always there was an Indian dimension to his worrying. He was well aware that Britain had agreed to limit the size of her Persian sphere ‘because our military authorities here and in India said that was all that our resources would allow us to reckon on being able to hold’. Should Whitehall now feel compelled by 435

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the presence of Russian troops in the north to have British troops occupy the south, ‘the Russians would certainly move forward, and when we became neighbours, we should hold S. Persia merely on their sufferance unless we were prepared to increase enormously our military burdens in India – which Heaven forbid!’.69 To complicate matters, having Russian troops in Persia was also straining the none too stable Anglo-Russian arrangement. What finally decided Chirol to go along on a ‘pilgrimage’ of private, but notably well-connected, people to St Petersburg and Moscow was his desire to counter ‘some of the mischief’ caused by violent anti-Russian outbursts in the Radical press in Britain, aided and abetted, as he saw it, ‘by not a few Unionists’. The ‘little flock’ of visiting notables was treated with almost embarrassing official lavishness during their visits to St Petersburg and Moscow. But what really struck Chirol was the ‘universal cordiality of all those with whom we came, however slightly, in contact, and the friendliness of the crowds which stood in the streets in the bitter cold of the Russian winter to cheer us as we passed to and fro to our different entertainments …’. While not wanting to count too heavily on these demonstrations, he felt reasonably confident that such seemingly spontaneous enthusiasm could not be artificial and, on that count at least, ‘the visit must have done some good’.70 What the Foreign Office wanted, more than cheering people lining cold streets, was for the visit to help in clearing up the potentially debilitating problem of having Russian troops in Persia. The British ambassador had been doing his best to make the Russian government understand that the British public, Russian agreement or no Russian agreement, were deeply suspicious. Given that Chirol had access to some of the leading men in that government, the Foreign Office hoped that he might pass on the same message. Whatever he got across to the Russian Prime Minister and Foreign Minister, they, for their part, tried to convince him that their side was unlikely to make any forward movement anywhere in Asia just then. He found that reassuring, but only up to a point. There remained the troubling question of how able these men were when it came to imposing their views and how long they might stay in power. In Russia, and unfortunately not only in Russia, there were too few good men at the top, and Chirol was very aware that lesser officials were likely to act on their own initiative ‘quite irrespective of the policy of their government. In Persia, especially, there are not a few who believe it pays to disregard 436

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the spirit of the Anglo-Russian Agreement. Nor can we very well throw stones at them, for some of our own people are tarred with the same sort of brush.’71 The other issue that Chirol brought up with Sazonov – one much on his own mind and that he felt should be on the Russian Foreign Minister’s as well – was the escalating anger and frustration within the Muslim population of the Near and Middle East. The Russians were both part of the problem and likely to suffer from its effects, and Chirol spoke frankly of his concern. Sazanov agreed as to the potential danger, but beyond that had little to say on the subject. Chirol, on the other hand, was full of things to say. In January he suggested to Hardinge that, if British troops were not sent into Persia, he should send for some Muslim leaders in order to point out to them that our determination not to occupy Southern Persia should be taken by the Mahomedans as a definite proof of our anxiety not to be represented as parties to any anti-Mahomedan policy or to the absorption of Mahomedan territory. Whatever others may do in Morocco or Tripoli or Northern Persia we wish to keep our own hands clean, etc. etc.72

Two weeks later he warned the Viceroy rather more explicitly that it was ‘extremely important’ for him to stay abreast of what Indian Muslims were saying. He had recently had a number of letters from Muslim friends in India, some of them almost menacing in their tone of resentment at British indifference, ‘if not complicity, in the “spoliation” of Islam which is going on all over the world’. He had also been hearing that Indian Muslims were increasingly driven into the arms of the more extreme members of the Indian Congress Party. Such talk, even if discounted – which he admitted perhaps could be – remained, to his mind, a most ‘disquieting symptom’.73 When not worrying about the Russians in Persia, the Persians in Persia, the collapse of China, the intentions of the Japanese, the coming problem with the Indian Muslims, the very present problem of disaffected Hindus, and the swelling German navy, Chirol found that there was plenty to worry about at home. In the early months of 1912 the country shivered through a massive coal strike. The disruption and disorder were serious enough, he pointed out, to make far-away problems pale into insignificance. Given him, this was saying quite a lot. In his best Cassandra mode, he complained of party politics standing squarely in the path of real solutions. Any patched-together settlement would be no more 437

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substantial or lasting than would a détente with Germany; both could be little more than truces, which would give ministers a reason to postpone any real investigations into ‘larger issues’. By the beginning of June the coal strike was settled. But labour unrest persisted, as did Chirol’s fears for the ‘vital strength’ of the country. ‘For better or for worse,’ he wrote to Hardinge, the prosperity of [Britain] has come to be almost entirely dependent upon its industries, and nothing is more eloquent of the plight to which they are being reduced than the warning uttered a few days ago by an old Radical … [who] declared publicly that, until some definite settlement was reached, it is folly for British capital to launch out into any new industrial developments.74

Chirol’s personal industry had, on the other hand, a choice of new developments. No longer tied to the treadmill of The Times he found himself much in demand. In spite of all the last-minute harumphing from Northcliffe, Buckle – and later Geoffrey Robinson, Buckle’s successor – continued to call on him for articles and leaders on the places and people he knew better than almost anyone else. And on the morrow of his farewell dinner he got a letter from Lionel Curtis, one of the leading spirits of the new Round Table Movement, a group of men dedicated to promoting imperial federation.75 Curtis had spent the best part of 1910 travelling through the selfgoverning dominions to introduce and promote this idea. On his return to England he sketched out a federation plan and the problems that would face it. This he sent to Chirol in mid-March 1912, and with it a copy of an introduction to what was to be a more comprehensive and definitive report. It would be made up of country-by-country accounts covering, in detail, the history, sociology and economy of each, and how its character had been modified by the fact of its having become a part of the empire. The idea was to lead off with India, but, realising that it was the one part of the work with which he and his fellow Round Table initiators were ‘least qualified to deal’, Curtis was keen to enlist Chirol – not only to contribute his Indian expertise to that particular project, but to join in the movement itself.76 Given the dreary prospects so prevalent just then, Chirol was positively delighted to see that there were younger men ‘coming on’ who were willing to devote themselves ‘with so much enthusiasm, and on such practical lines, to the real spade-work of Empire’. After a brief holiday in Italy, where he spent his time ‘not bothering much about the outside 438

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world and … living very comfortably in the Middle Ages’ – a time, he noted, that would have been fascinating to live in, granted one was reliably ‘on top!’77 – he devoted himself to writing up the desirability, and difficulties, of fitting India into a scheme of imperial government. While it was essential to have her included in any representative assembly of empire that might be devised, the form that her representation would take would require a good deal of thought. What observations Chirol had to make, he made with great diffidence as he was, as he put it, ‘just beginning to know enough about India to realise the danger of dogmatising about anything that concerns it’. The modest Sir Valentine by this time knew quite a bit about India, but he was about to learn a great deal more. In mid-July he wrote to Hardinge that Lord Crewe, then Secretary of State for India, had invited him to become a member of a newly constituted Royal Commission set up to look into the condition of the Indian public services. He was sure he had been chosen because being ‘free of all official and political entanglements’ meant that he could serve as a ‘buffer between the various, not to say conflicting, tendencies of my chers collègues. A pleasant prospect! But the work will interest me enormously, and I am very pleased to have a hand in it. [… ] We are not altogether a very strong team, and a great deal will depend upon our Chairman and upon our Secretary – the latter not yet appointed.’ He knew little of Lord Islington, the chairman, but had heard good reports of his abilities.78 The work was scheduled to begin in January 1913, but Chirol, wanting to have some time to himself and to visit the Hardinges before then, left for India in the autumn of 1912. Mid-October found him in the middle of the Red Sea, his attention not on the coming assignment but on the conflict already underway in the Balkans. As his ship left Marseilles, Bulgaria, Serbia and Greece declared war on the Turks. The fighting began at once and from the start went badly for the latter. Anxious for news, Chirol found himself at sea in more ways than one. His steamer, the P&O Arabia, was equipped with wireless, but apparently not ‘for such wasteful purposes as supplying news to passengers’. He was hoping to hear something at Aden, in the meanwhile feared for the worst. Should Turkey be crushed there would be no way, this time, to prevent a division of the spoils. It’s all very well to talk about being determined to maintain the status quo. But that blessed status quo is a sort of Humpty Dumpty and when it has once fallen off the wall, who’s going to set it up again? If on the other hand the Turks prove to be top dog, and the Powers intervene to

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save the Balkan States, not only will our Indian Mohammedans get a lot of wind into their heads, but they will bitterly resent our share in any [new] intervention hostile to Turkey …79

Whitehall’s recent handling of the Italo-Turkish clash was all too typical of its muddling. Had there been any ‘grit or statesmanship’ on tap, London would have ‘forbidden the bans when Italy intimated her intention of raping the dusky Libyan bride’. Had they done so the fighting might have been avoided and Britain’s position in the East tremendously enhanced. Unfortunately, at least as far as he could see, there were few, if any, politicians willing to act in defence of the prestige, let alone maintain the security, of Great Britain. It was curious that, when the state was constantly spreading itself into areas once considered completely outside its sphere, it does not hesitate to throw as far as possible upon individuals the responsibility of discharging what was hitherto considered the primary duty of the State, viz. the organisation of defence – and the individuals upon whose willingness and pocket it draws … belong chiefly to the class which some of our leading Ministers delight in ridiculing and denouncing when they are not robbing its henroosts for the benefit of King Demos. Where would Haldane’s territorial army be but for the old squirearchy who have never received a word of public thanks from him though, with a big cigar in his mouth and a good dinner and a bottle or more of champagne inside him, at Rounton he was ready enough to acknowledge in strict confidence that he couldn’t have done anything without the ‘idle rich’, who in most cases are no more rich than idle.80

Once in India, understandably enough, Chirol’s focus shifted back to where he was. Almost at once he was fretting about the work that lay ahead. He feared that none of his fellow commissioners had a proper understanding of the vital importance of their possible findings, nor how those discoveries might affect the future of India. Instead they seemed intent on rushing everything through ‘at a gallop’. And, where others were in too big a hurry, the chairman’s one desire seemed to be to ‘postpone and cover up awkward questions and preserve as long as possible the outward appearances of harmony’.81 He also found fault with the instructions the commission had been given, in particular that there was no provision for taking evidence in private. The darker he made the picture, the more he believed that the whole undertaking would become one long string of compromises until at last it would prove ‘almost impossible to make any stand worth making at all’ no matter how much ‘sweet reasonableness’ was on hand.82 440

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The commission sat first in Madras, where for nearly three weeks both written and verbal evidence was given. Not only was it ‘frightfully wearisome’, he doubted if they were getting any trustworthy information. His few positive feelings were reserved for some of his fellow commissioners, especially, at that point, for Gokhale, who he felt was simply ‘outstanding … far superior in brevity, alertness and precision to his fellow Indian members, either original or coopted’. Two of the latter, recommended by the government of Madras, were ludicrous to the point of hilarity. ‘The one is as deaf as a post, and the other a lunatic who sends everybody into fits by the way in which he dances about in his seat when addressing questions in a cracked voice of extreme volubility and emphasises their meaning by shooting out at the witness a long lean forefinger like a toasting fork!’83 By the time the session was over, Chirol was more despondent than ever. In over 50 hours of listening he had heard nothing that he felt constituted real evidence on the basic questions of the substitution of Indian for British officials or the separation of the judicial from the executive service. He was equally upset by the noticeable increase in racial tension and hostility in general. Some rather delicate questions were approached closely enough to raise a storm of sentiment, but then not probed deeply enough to get at facts that might inform judgment. The mood of the audience went from bad to worse as the days passed and there was ‘jeering laughter’ from galleries packed with Indians whenever a point was made that told against the Europeans. The commissioners were now to confer among themselves, and he was determined to stress the need for taking private hearings and having witnesses other than the Brahmans, who had so dominated the proceedings in Madras. If the enquiry [in Calcutta] is carried out on the same ineffective lines and with the same ineffective results, I for my part shall be compelled to say at the end of it all that it has failed to elicit any sort of information which would justify me in making any important recommendations one way or the other whilst our proceedings will have been almost as mischievous in arousing racial feeling as they will have been futile in regard to the purpose for which the Commission was appointed.84

His speaking out was not in vain, and he soon was able to tell Hardinge that from then on there would be private hearings. In addition the entire commission agreed that from now on admission to the sessions would be by ticket only so as to have some control over the make-up of the audience. The weather was still temperate in Calcutta at the end of January, and his first impressions were that the evidence of the Bengalis would be more 441

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varied and interesting than that heard at Madras. The city itself, however, was as squalid as ever, and just as full of disagreeable Bengalis. After Calcutta there was ceaseless travel, to Rangoon and to Delhi, and by the end of February Chirol, tired and frustrated, was laid low with colitis and ordered home for treatment. On his return he found the fighting in the Balkans nearing an end, and Turkey all but finished as a Balkan Power. The continuing danger, to his mind, was that the competition between the various Balkan states for key positions and territories now freed from the Turks would lead in the end to war between Russia and Austria. This threat, made more potent by the possibility of German involvement, was causing a war of sorts right under Chirol’s nose between Tyrrell and Nicholson, arguably his two closest friends at the Foreign Office. The former, as Chirol told Hardinge, was feeling quite ‘perky’, convinced for some reason ‘that all is for the best in the best of all possible Europes, and paints our own position as absolutely couleur de rose’. He was also, at that point, very anti-Russian. This alarmed Chirol considerably more than his perkiness, particularly since he was insisting that as soon as the Balkan business was sorted out London could deal more firmly with St Petersburg on the problems still at issue in Asia. From where Chirol stood, and from what he knew at first hand of the situation in India, for Britain to bypass Russia and try any kind of independent action in Asia would be ‘sheer madness’. What made Tyrrell’s anti-Russian stance even worse was that it inclined him to look favourably on the Germans. He viewed ‘everything … Petersburg or even Paris does or says … with the greatest suspicion, and even malevolence, whereas everything that Vienna or Berlin does or says is assumed to be perfectly straightforward and even generous’.85 What worried Chirol about Britain drifting back into the orbit of the Central Powers was that it would be predicated on the assumption that German hostility to Britain was on the wane and that we have nothing more to fear from German naval expansion in the future. I cannot believe that her ultimate aims and ambitions are in any way modified. It is true, of course, that recent events have wiped away the fifteen Turkish army corps which William had hitherto looked upon … as dependable adjuncts to the German army … and therefore the necessity of supplying that deficiency by a large increase of the German army has become a matter of primary urgency …, but once she has done that will she not be free to resume her naval programme, and as determined as ever to do so?86

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At the end of May Chirol was relieved to tell Hardinge that Tyrrell, having finally had a nervous collapse and been sent off for a thorough rest, had returned much calmer and more reasonable. South-eastern Europe, on the other hand, was anything but calm. The former Balkan allies, on the eve of signing a victorious peace, were already squabbling viciously among themselves. Poor Grey, said Chirol, had a tough road ahead. If things went much further in the direction they were headed, Europe might well begin ‘to regret the Turk!’ Three weeks later, although nothing was heard about missing the Turk, the tension had not subsided nor been sidetracked. To the contrary, it led to open warfare, with Serbia and Greece – soon joined by Turkey and Romania – against Bulgaria, eight days later. The press in Britain quickly filled with what Chirol scoffed at as ‘hysterical gush’ over the so-called ‘fratricidal’ war. He was half amused to see the tremendous relief with which some people, when the Turks took a hand in the fighting, rushed to vent ‘their pent-up indignation once more upon the familiar Unspeakable instead of having to sit in painful judgment upon the relative enormity of Christian “brothers” – Serbs, Greeks, and Bulgars – slitting each other’s throats and collecting each other’s noses and ears’.87 As it happened the fighting was over as quickly as it began, with Bulgaria, hardly surprisingly, handily defeated. How Chirol wished, he told Florence, ‘to have half an hour with Ferdy! How he must be cussing everybody, except of course himself – and I would supply that lacuna! How much now his mosaic of himself on a white charger riding up to Saint Sofia with the Crown of Byzantium on his swelled head?’88 As he heaped scorn on the despised Ferdinand, the Balkans continued to simmer, peace treaty or no, prompting Chirol to remark that it would be a long time before the area was really at rest – if it ever would be. ‘Meanwhile the Temple of Peace has been solemnly opened at The Hague and a number of excellent busy bodies have asseverated their earnest conviction that the millennium is already in sight.’89 What was in his sights was a return to India. During the summer the commission met in London to set up the schedule and discuss things in general. On 19 July Chirol invited his Indian colleagues to luncheon at his new flat in Carlyle Square. He did so with some reluctance, but having already arranged to include both Cromer and Morley so that they might meet ‘these Aryan brothers’, could not very well put it off. He only wished, he said with the waspish glee reserved for comments shared with his most trusted friends, that he 443

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could tell those ‘brothers’ that what was going on now in the Balkans might serve as ‘an excellent illustration of what would happen in India if we granted them the self-government they clamour for, only it would be on a far larger and still more savage scale. But I suppose it would not be quite suitable.’90 Chirol was back in the seething subcontinent by the start of November, his mood rather better. For one thing the work should go more smoothly now that he and his colleagues were somewhat seasoned. But it was, if anything, even more crucial that they stick to practical matters, also that they not lose sight of the end goal. As he had the previous year, Chirol wrote frequently and frankly to the Viceroy, not confining either observations or suggestions to his work on the commission. The question of civil unrest and how to address it was, as ever, much on his mind. Shortly before his arrival there had been deadly riots at Cawnpore. These disturbances were a specifically Muslim affair, and worrying to Chirol on that account. But there was another issue then raising the tempers and voices of Indians both Hindu and Muslim. The previous June the government of South Africa had passed an Act of Immigration that not only restricted the entry of Asiatics but prevented those already there from moving about freely. There were serious disturbances and riots throughout South Africa over the following months, closely watched from across the Indian Ocean. These protests culminated in a huge march in early November, led by the Indian activist and lawyer Mohandas Gandhi, who was duly arrested and sentenced to nine months in prison. All this was happening more or less simultaneously with Chirol’s return to India. Almost immediately he began to try and guide Hardinge in his efforts to calm native feelings. The problem was exactly the sort of case where the government of India might ‘shape its action as if it were the government of a self-governing dependency and show that in spite of its autocratic character it can voice the interests and wishes of the people of India as effectively as any form of democratic government’.91 In spite of diversions and outside concerns the commission soon got down to their specific work, and Chirol’s predictions about things going more smoothly seemed to play out. It was still rather strenuous work but things were done on much more businesslike lines. In addition the Indian public, with ‘many other fish to fry’, took much less notice of their proceedings. He himself was somewhat distracted by the preparations for the building of New Delhi. The site was undeniably fine, and he was much impressed with the final architectural plans. His one fear was that given a current financial slump there might be 444

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a tendency to skimp on the construction. That would be a terrible pity as it was certainly a case of a thing being worth doing well if it is to be done at all. Anyhow it is some consolation that the new capital is to be at Delhi…where, though it will not be easy for the new Delhi to stand comparison with the Delhi of the Moghuls, the comparison would have been even more trying at Agra …, one of the few places I have seen which, whenever I revisit it, excels my fondest recollection of it: the Taj especially.92

As much as Chirol enjoyed Delhi and Agra the best that he could say of Calcutta, where he was in mid-January, was that it seemed ‘less sore’, thanks, he presumed, to a recent visit from the Viceroy. Whatever soothing effect the latter had managed to have, it evaporated quickly and the murderers got back to work. Within a week or two he was totally sick of the place and feeling quite out of sorts about the future of India. Perhaps his own demoralised mood was indeed brought on by his aversion to Calcutta. In Madras, the next stop on his rounds, he perked up again, cheerily telling Florence that he had been rather enjoying himself in recent weeks. Not only was the work lighter, he had had some time away from it to do as he liked. It no doubt helped that he found Madras not only the best-governed part of the subcontinent but with an educational system that even he could call superior. Still, lest he seem too optimistic, he did admit that the whole world seemed to be in travail, ‘and India is certainly not at rest – probably never will be’.93 Chirol left India at the beginning of March and arrived in London – treating himself to two weeks in Italy on the way – on 8 April. The country seemed to be in a state of utter chaos, he wrote to Hardinge. He had little more than glanced at the papers, but ‘even those who do read them don’t know what is going on’. Having not much wanted to go back to India the previous autumn, he now seemed almost wistful at being back in London and at such a distance from Hardinge. He hoped that the next mail might bring him a letter and that the two of them might ‘gradually resume the even tenor of our correspondence’.94 He kept up his end of that exchange throughout the next few months with a steady flow of increasingly pessimistic letters. The political situation in London was in a terrible mess, the Foreign Office and the Cabinet also ‘at sixs and sevens’. But compared to reports he was getting of the goings-on at Printing House Square these political dissensions were next to nothing. Once again he judged Northcliffe to be on the verge of insanity and all too capable of doing any amount of mischief. 445

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Financially, the change which has accompanied the reduction to a penny seems likely to be a great success, nor have I any doubt that as a penny paper The Times may gain very largely in popularity and circulation, but it will certainly not be – in fact it is not now – The Times with which I was connected. The Foreign Department has practically ceased to exist, and the greater part of the staff, which I devoted the best years of my life to collect together and train to the work as I understood it, has already been scattered to the four winds.95

Even the faithful Braham had left and Steed was now in charge, if in fact ‘one can talk of a Foreign Editor under present conditions’. Then there was the question of the impression made abroad. While in Rome just a few weeks earlier he ‘had to listen to the expressions of sweet-sour sympathy of the German Councillor of Embassy, Hildenburg, who assured me that, even in Germany, though they had no reason of recent years to love The Times, they recognised how great a loss everybody had suffered in the disappearance of the old Times. He was, of course, chortling the whole time!’96 More, of course, than the sad state of The Times was distressing Chirol as spring turned into summer. The country, nothing new, seemed to be steadily ‘drifting onto the reefs’. He could only shake his head over the new Labour Federation, a triple alliance of some three million workers in mines, transport and on the railroads – services essential for the continued daily existence of the country – under the direction of half-educated and passionate men. This, to his mind, posed a more formidable threat than even the clash of Irish factions organised into two hostile armies. Both cases represent the negation of State authority, which must ultimately spell the end of the State. Meanwhile, as far as one can judge from the world of London, nobody bothers about the imminence of the deluge, and there is more ostentation of wealth and luxury, more self-indulgence and more frivolity than ever on all sides. I have just been dipping into some very interesting reminiscences of French society at the end of the XVIII century, just before the Revolution, in Une Femme de Cinquante Ans. It is terribly like London of the present day.97

Four days later, long before this latest jeremiad had time to reach Hardinge, Franz Ferdinand, heir apparent to the thrones of the Dual Monarchy, lay dead at Sarajevo. The deluge so long expected was finally at hand. When it came, and it did, it was not in the form of irresistible class war, nor irreconcilable civil war, but as a war of nations and nationalisms that obliterated much, if not most, of a political world order that Valentine Chirol had known more intimately, and thoroughly, than many men. 446

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On the evening of 29 July 1914, Chirol, together with ‘Willie’ Tyrrell and Florence and Springy, dined with Florence’s father at his pleasant house in Chester Square. The weather was fine, the square peaceful in London’s lingering, midsummer twilight. The old friends were happy to be together, but news from Europe, what they could make of it, was anything but happy. Above the mellow stillness of the leafy square, Chirol sensed his long-predicted ‘thunder of Armageddon’. He was deeply anxious, not so much fearing the fighting that lay ahead as that Britain might not fight at all. On the Continent the midsummer evening was also long, but not peaceful. Austria had declared war on Serbia the previous day. Shells had fallen on Belgrade earlier that afternoon. Even as the small group in Chester Square sat down to dinner, a part of Russia’s huge army was lumbering into action. Europe was on the way to war; the British government, unable to decide for intervention or neutrality, was keeping Britain from going anywhere. It would be a long and worried week before Chirol learned that he would not have to be ‘ashamed’ for his country.1 On 4 August German troops moved across the border of Belgium. Their violation of her neutrality, long since guaranteed by Britain, meant that his worried wait was over. Since his boyhood Chirol had been watching the Germans more or less closely, and for upwards of two decades had been telling people in Britain – from the man on the street to the men in Whitehall – about 447

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their unhealthy body politic, intemperate militarism and aggressive ambitions. For his pains he was accused, before the guns went off, of scaremongering and slanted reporting. And, when the fighting stopped, the same charges were levelled against him by critics eager to apportion blame for the catastrophe. He also had his defenders. Long after the guns were silent Lord Grey told his countrymen that they might have saved themselves untold hardship and grief had they paid a more timely attention to Chirol’s words. Instead, as Grey himself ruefully admitted, his warnings were also all too frequently discounted at the official level as being overly amplified by Chirol’s well-known prejudices. Only when the war was upon them did enough people realise that the line he took ‘sprang from knowledge’,2 not from a desire to foment war. As late as mid-July even the pessimistic Chirol hoped that the current crisis in south-eastern Europe would somehow resolve itself, much as its many predecessors had. ‘You must be going through an anxious time,’ he wrote privately to the new editor of The Times. ‘God grant it may end in some sort of peace. As a detached onlooker that is more and more my one prayer.’3 That prayer was not answered, nor was he much surprised; he had long believed that Germany not only wanted a war but had been getting ready to fight it for a long time. The opposite, he felt, was true in England. The navy alone had been kept up to par, little else had been done to prepare the country, either psychologically or materially. Neither in France nor at home were enough people aware of the potential magnitude of the coming struggle. But, once the battle was on, even Chirol found some things to be pleased about. For one thing it was a comfort to see that Kitchener’s best qualities – a generous remark, given his appreciation of his worst qualities – were brought out by military emergencies. He was equally pleased to find that, in spite of British officials’ unfortunate tendency to panic, this very fault led them to pledge – as France and Russia had done – that under no circumstances would they pursue a separate peace settlement.4 Nor did the fact that Greece, Romania and Bulgaria could not make up their minds where their loyalties, or best interests, lay – and the Ottomans too were keeping options open – did not significantly upset him. If the entente Powers could continue to hold their own in central Europe, where early fighting had not gone markedly against them, they might not need their help. For his part, Chirol most needed to be needed. He was therefore pleased, as well as amused, when asked to do his bit with what was always 448

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his best weapon, his pen. It seemed that the government had decided to set up an ‘extraordinary committee’ for developing a pro-British propaganda in all neutral countries, with the cooperation of all the big literary guns, from Thomas Hardy down to Hall Caine … But they came to the conclusion that, though they were all very willing to work, not one of them knew the A.B.C. of the business, and so yesterday I was rung up … Whether one will ever be able to make anything of such a crew, I cannot yet say, but it is distinctly humourous, and certainly has great possibilities.5

He said nothing further about any contact with the literary luminaries, but two weeks later proposed to the Foreign Office that they should put his extensive knowledge of international journalism to use to ‘counteract German propaganda and the dissemination of false news by German agencies in neutral countries, especially in connection with the attempts which will assuredly be made to mislead public opinion abroad with regard to British policy and to the internal situation in the U.K. and the British Empire’. While doing so he could also work in the opposite direction, sifting through ‘whatever information can be obtained concerning the state of affairs in Germany and Austria-Hungary, especially such information as can be gathered from the press of the neutral States and from German and Austrian newspapers that reach neutral territory. Such information … should throw some light on the state of public opinion and on internal conditions … possibly even, indirectly, on the military situation …’6 He was also keen ‘to guide or inform patriotic public opinion’ in the dominions and, if possible, India.7 He worried about German efforts to inflame Muslim opinion, and advised the Foreign Office to warn the embassies in Constantinople and Cairo to be alert for signs of German-backed agitations. Hardinge and Crewe should be doing the same vis-à-vis India. Being once again a part, even a small part, of the Foreign Office and having a task at hand suited Chirol perfectly. In early October he wrote to Springy that German propaganda in Europe had ‘overshot its mark’, and even felt confident enough to predict victory for the entente Powers. That is not to say that he was worry-free, far from it. He reacted angrily to rumours circulating in London which said that Russia might ‘charge’ her partners a hefty sum to keep her in the struggle. One must not, he insisted, pay undue, if indeed any, attention to such talk. [The future] must take care of itself [concerning] Russia, for whose assistance we may have to pay heavily … It seems to me all speculation about the

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future is futile when what is now at stake is the question whether we shall have a future at all … I am [not] despondent, but I want to see all our engines of thought and action concentrated upon the gigantic task of the present moment, and not frittered away in doubts and speculations with regard to a hereafter which may never be.8

For Chirol one, if not the, basic problem in Britain was that it was still ‘politics as usual’. He was scandalised to discover that the government, knowing full well how difficult it was going to be ‘to keep our thin red (or khaki) line going for the next three or four months until the Kitchener armies are even remotely fit to take their place at the front’, had fallen prey to ‘old party shibboleths’ about the political effects of mass conscription. Then there was drunkenness. The War Office knew perfectly well that drink was a major problem with the new levies. He himself had heard from a soldier who was in charge of one of the largest of the training camps that stopping the men from drinking would be worth half a million lives. If a ‘mere autocrat’ such as the Tsar had the courage – and wisdom – to go teetotal and to forbid drink to his armies, why had George V and his government not had the wit to do the same. As usual, a touch of outrage perked Chirol up. No one, he maintained, could accuse him of undue pessimism; in fact he felt ‘very confident that in spite of everything we shall pull through. But I hate to see the very little margin of safety we have being compromised by mere want of moral courage on the part of our rulers.’9 By the end of October the Turks had joined forces with the Central Powers. It was not pleasant news. Among other things it put a new premium on the strategic importance of the unaligned Balkan states. And it did so when the situation within and between these troubled countries, never clear or particularly encouraging, was harder to read than ever. How long could Romania, Bulgaria and Greece – bitterly suspicious and jealous of one another – continue to stand out of the conflict now that Turkey was in it? It was a deadly serious question and Chirol could not see why the Foreign Office had ‘waited so long to make a serious effort about an understanding between the Balkan States, so as to make it easy at any rate for Rumania to come in, which I think she is really anxious to do if only she can be quite assured that Bulgaria won’t fall upon her in the rear’.10 As the autumn days turned wintry, his optimism waned along with the light. But he did not give up all hope that people looking back on 1914, ‘when time shall have mitigated the bitterness of the present misery and suffering …, will date from [it] … the beginning of many great and 450

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better things than it would have been impossible to look forward to with any confidence but for the fiery ordeal’. Whether Chirol really believed that a ‘better’ England lay in the future is not clear; that he wished for it is without doubt. Nor did he care if he were not around ‘to see the harvest ripen, [as] it would be something to have lived to see even the first promise of it. I should then feel less keenly the sadness of growing old and useless which I had never really felt until this war began.’ How people who had nothing to occupy them could bear the tension he could barely imagine. Happily his own hands were ‘pretty full, and though what one does may be of very slight value it is a great thing to have it to do’.11 In mid-December there were – and it was not just a case of his determined effort to see things in a positive light – some encouraging victories. The Russians stopped one Austrian army before Cracow, the ‘gallant’ Serbs were successfully pushing back another, the German navy suffered a telling defeat in the battle of the Falkland Islands, and AngloIndian forces were expanding their foothold in Mesopotamia. Writing to Maxse on 10 December, Chirol reported that, ‘from the Southern Atlantic through Western & Eastern Europe to the comforting region of Mesopotamia, it is about the best day we have had since the beginning of the war’. Lulled, if only for a moment, Chirol gave both himself and Maxse a small pat on the back. He realised full well, as he said, that they had had their differences in the past and would no doubt live to differ again. But neither of them should ‘forget that we have fought one big uphill battle [to open Englishmen’s eyes to the German menace] together, and that battle the decisive battle of our age’.12 With the turn of the new year, the tide of war also turned, strongly, and his hopes and his health deteriorated along with the Allies’ positions. Berlin seemed, at least to him, to have alerted their press ‘to be very chary of anything that will give foreign countries an insight into existing conditions’, and therefore he found it hard to fill his reports.13 With time beginning to hang heavily on his hands, Chirol decided that a trip to India might be just the thing he needed. He had other excuses for going besides being ill and depressed, there was some work to be done for the Public Services Commission, and Hardinge, having lost both wife and elder son in recent months, had need of him. As was usually the case, the voyage out did wonders for his health, and Hardinge’s visible gratitude on his arrival did the same for his spirit. Better yet, the bereaved Viceroy was on the point of taking a look-see cruise up the Persian Gulf and the Shatt-al-Arab, one purpose of which was a visit to Basrah, then in the hands of an Anglo-Indian army. When 451

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he proposed taking Chirol along with him he had a very enthusiastic response. It would be very helpful, the latter felt, to revisit some of the places he had been to with Admiral Slade several years earlier to see how things had changed with the advent of war. At that point he was still inclined to project his former policy into the new situation and so had been advising London to move forward cautiously, and not too far or too quickly, as he doubted that her ‘permanent interests’ required more than maintaining the hold they already had on the delta. By mid-February, having seen things at first hand, his perspective was somewhat altered. Although nothing was said about Britain coming to stay, the Viceroy’s visit had built up confidence whilst the discussions of the political & military situation with the people on the spot have been extremely helpful. The future of course bristles with difficult problems – I mean after the war is over. The oilfields, for instance, are an entirely new factor since I was here last, & the oil-works of Abbadan … are a real eye-opener.14

During his cruise with Slade in 1911 Chirol remembered having spent ‘several hours in a steam-launch looking at a Turkish fort at Fao to see from which [angle] it could be most effectively bombarded in case of need’.15 Now that ‘need’ had proved not to have been a need at all. He could not explain the Turks’ ‘faint hearted’ resistance. ‘Here and there some of them made a bit of a stand, but compared with what a resolute enemy might have done … it was almost childish, and I am very much inclined to believe that if we had been able to follow up our advance at once, we might have taken Baghdad as easily as Basrah.’ Diverted by this tour, Chirol felt guilty about enjoying the ‘glorious sunshine & the wondrous starlit nights when I remember the abomination of desolation & destruction on the long drawn battlefields of France & Poland & the more silent hardships & terrors of the North Sea… We talk & speculate, & speculate & talk about the future in these parts,’ he wrote to Gertrude, but don’t think, please, we forget that this is after all very much of a sideshow & that the little history we are making out here will be just so much writing on the sand unless it be confirmed by the big history making which is going on in your part of the world.16

Even though Chirol might describe the Mesopotamian campaign as a ‘side-show’, he was fully aware of the vital importance of India to the British war effort. The longer he stayed in the subcontinent and saw how things were there, the more irritated he was by London’s dealings with Hardinge. When he heard that the home government might go so 452

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far as to recall him, it seemed to him appalling proof that the men at home were entirely oblivious to the amount of ‘skilful steering India requires at this juncture, & how unwise it would be to swap pilots before we have finished crossing this tempestuous stream, still full of dangerous shoals & eddies’.17 He comforted himself with the idea that as long as the English ‘kept up their end’ in Europe and at the Suez Canal, the Raj would be able to carry on. But London must not be even marginally complacent about what was happening in that part of the world as there were too many ‘mischievous forces at work & plenty of explosive material scattered about …’. Pan-Islamic propaganda was only one worry; then there are our Bengali anarchists & an extremely reckless element amongst the Sikhs who have been indoctrinated with revolutionary Anglophobia in California or embittered by the treatment of their fellow countrymen in Vancouver. Add to these various forces of seditious unrest within our own territory, the ever present possibility of trouble in Persia & Afghanistan & all along the North West frontier, & you will understand that we are not exactly on a bed of roses. The Persian Govt is, I think, anxious to keep the peace but the Jehad has been preached at Kirbala as well as Constantinople, & Persia swarms with German agents …18

By the beginning of April, his health much improved, Chirol turned for home. He and Hardinge exchanged affectionate farewell letters, Chirol again deeply moved by his old friend’s gratitude. It meant much, he told Florence, to see ‘that my visit has helped him exactly in the way I had always hoped it might. It is such a comfort too, to me, to know that I have been of use. A lonely old man like myself seems to have so few opportunities of any real usefulness.’19 Back in London his mood darkened. The world, he said, was now especially sad [as] one is too old to look forward to seeing the dawn which in God’s good time is bound to come again, even if the gloom of present threatenings should close for a while into yet greater darkness … I still hope we may be spared even the temporary triumph of the evil one. But I cannot deny that since I came home I have for the first time been driven to look that possibility in the face.20

As bad as the fighting had been, it seemed ‘to grow more awful every day – and no end to it!’ Men were being gassed on the Western front, the much-desired economic collapse in central Europe did not materialise, the German ‘fiends’ fought on, sticking ‘at nothing … their determination … unbroken, indeed unshaken’.21 It was a blessing, for Chirol at least, that 453

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there was more work to be done on the Indian Public Service Commission. No matter how pessimistic he was about the value of any report they might issue, preparing it at least kept him halfway occupied. He was also moderately cheered when Italy declared war on Austria in May, if only because it was a ‘slap in the face’ for the egregious Bülow.22 But as Chirol ‘rushed about the whole time from pillar to post, … busy with many things’, he felt that it was all to ‘little account’, rather like a circus clown ‘who is always tremendously affaire but does absolutely nothing’. Doing nothing, he added, while the country itself was full of rapid and dramatic change. One such change was the institution of a coalition ministry, a so-called National Government. Chirol had nothing against the idea so long as it included ‘men of real administrative capacity’. He would certainly not be sorry to see the backs of ‘old party hacks’ who were so chary of moving from volunteerism to conscription. If ever it was time to get rid of that sort of thinking, it was now, as it was clear, at least to him, that we cannot organise the whole resources of the country (as we must, if we mean to win), except on a basis of compulsion – compulsion in the works as well as, and even more than, in the trenches. … [T]he fact that has emerged from all recent operations in France and in Galicia [is] that the organized industry of Germany has produced during the winter an output of guns and high explosives which beggars all the Allies have been able to do.23

The ongoing tragedy at Gallipoli was also very much on his mind. Knowing the politics, geography and climate of that area as well as, if not better than, anyone in the government, he could picture all too well what was happening. British losses mounted daily, beginning to ‘beggar [those of] Flanders’; if possible the French troops suffered even more. There was no one to blame but his own leaders and, as he was not wary of pointing out, the whole business has been, as Hardinge & I feared from the outset, a stupendous blunder for which Winston is no doubt primarily responsible, but neither Fisher nor K. [Kitchener], nor of course the Government as a whole, can be acquitted of their share. What I still dread is that it may prove a prolonged drain on our resources in ships, men & ammunition which we cannot afford without weakening ourselves in other and even more vital quarters. Yet to suspend operations now might have disastrous consequences all over the East.24

The Eastern front in Europe also gave little comfort. The Germans halted the Russians in Galicia, leaving Chirol to fret that should the Tsar’s 454

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forces be unable to regroup and push on they would have no choice but to withdraw completely in order to round up and equip fresh troops. Any such action, even if temporary, would mean that Germany would be free this summer to hurl her main efforts against France … The question is whether we shall be ready in time to meet that effort … Of course the intervention of Italy helps, but the German calculation is that, if this great thrust against Russia can be driven home, the Austrians will then have enough forces to spare to hold Italy whilst Germany throws herself on France and England. Alle Achtung! One can’t help admiring them. They really are super-men or – super-beasts!25

Frustrated at his inability to do anything meaningful and anxious on almost every score, the benefits of Chirol’s weeks at sea and in India were fast disappearing. Then, in June, came an unexpected call from the Foreign Office. During the early stages of the war he had been notably critical of Whitehall’s apathetic approach to the situation in the Balkans. His concerns on that score were soon enough deflected by his work on propaganda projects, and then by his trip to India. In addition he had come to believe that the Foreign Office had long since realised that more must be done – and were doing it – to manoeuvre Greece, Bulgaria and Romania into the war on the proper side. That was not the case, and it took the combination of the bloody impasse at the Dardenelles and the collapse of the Russian offensive to force it into action. But what sort of action? No one at Whitehall, as it turned out, had a very clear idea of what was going on between – or within – the various Balkan countries. The information coming in from diplomatic sources was either contradictory, inconclusive, or both. Thus it was impossible to formulate or promote any useful British policy, not to mention to coordinate British aims with those of her allies. In mid-June, wanting, and needing, to put an end to this confusion, Lord Crewe suggested sending someone out to coordinate the information of officials already on the spot, as well as to give the hesitant countries ‘a more authorative account of our position and of our intentions’.26 After a certain amount of discussion, the man entrusted with this mission was Chirol. Sad to say it seemed that the men who finally decided that Chirol was the best man for the job had more faith in his abilities than hope for his success. Grey was profoundly doubtful that anything would come of the mission unless the Russians could restart their offensive in Galicia or the British force the Dardenelles. But Nicholson and Crewe, while not expressly hopeful, felt that it was better to do something than nothing and the 455

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latter, touting Chirol’s expertise, his familiarity with conditions in the Balkans and his powers of both expressing and recording views, finally persuaded Grey of the same.27 Chirol himself was guarded, if not outright sceptical, about his chances for success. ‘Definite results’ seemed unlikely, he told Florence, ‘for what hampers us just now quite as much as the inherent difficulty of satisfying the demands of the different Balkan States, which almost everywhere overlap, is the military situation in Galicia and in the Dardanelles. But I will do my best, and anyhow it is not I who asked to go.’ And, if he failed, it would not be for lack of trying, that much he could guarantee. In truth the job was just the boost he had been looking for as it helped ‘to have even the illusion that one is doing something useful’.28 On 21 June he left for Paris to have Bertie fill him in on French and Russian desiderata. It was then to Rome, where he was joined by J.D. Gregory, who would serve as travelling companion and all-purpose aide. Although Greece, Serbia and Romania were on their itinerary, it was Bulgaria that was to be the focal point of the mission. For the Entente Powers the advantages of Bulgarian cooperation were manifold. Not only could Turkey be isolated and Serbia’s flank secured, but communications with Russia maintained and Greece and Romania, generally pro-entente but wavering, given good reason to come to a positive decision. The problems in the way of achieving Bulgaria’s cooperation, not to mention the participation of the other Balkan states, were equally manifold. First and foremost was the question of who got what in Macedonia, but, as Gregory’s later summary made plain, that was not the only question. Considering that (a) Serbia wanted not only Croatia and Slovenia but expansion in or through Albania, (b) Bulgaria wanted Macedonia from Serbia and Kavalla from Greece, (c) Roumania wanted the freedom of the Straits, (d) Russia wanted Constantinople, to say nothing of the rest of Poland, (e) Italy wanted all the things in the Pact of London [which conflicted with the Serbian desires noted above], (f) no one except ourselves, who wanted nothing in Europe, was prepared to lift a finger to enable anyone else to get anything – considering this anti-self-denying attitude all round, the result could manifestly be nothing but complete and general paralysis.29

At the start of the war Chirol had told Leo Maxse how out of the question it would be to bribe Bulgaria at the expense of Serbia. By the time he and Gregory were on their way to south-eastern Europe the strategic picture had changed and so had Chirol’s views. With the Russian steamroller now rolling backwards and Englishmen dying in droves at the 456

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Dardenelles, it seemed right, even to him, that Serbia should be willing to pay some of the expense of having Bulgaria come in on the Allied side. Getting her to do so, however, would be a ‘delicate piece of work’.30 As experienced as Chirol was in the intricacies and sensitivities of Balkan diplomacy, he was not entirely prepared for the additional pressures brought into play by wartime conditions. Athens, his first stop and first experience of a neutral European capital during wartime, was a case in point. He was not surprised to find the city divided into two camps, Allied and German, but dismayed to discover how different the two camps were. The Germans, who had close links with the royal family,31 were certainly far more conspicuous in what passed for the ‘fashionable’ world. This made less of an impression on him than the fact that Athens swarmed with German spies and informers, and both the German and the Austrian Legations were busily producing quantities of expensive propaganda. He saw no sign that the Allied governments were even trying to compete. And, while enemy officials were given abundant news of what was happening on both the Western and Eastern fronts and were not slow to put the information to use to impress the local people and try and sway their government, British authorities hardly bothered to keep even their military attachés au courant. Now that he was on the spot Chirol realised all the more fully just how important Allied victories in the field would be in persuading the Balkan states to join in the fighting. Long before leaving home he knew that things were not going well at the Dardenelles, but now discovered ‘nothing that [he] had heard in London and least of all the tone of [his] instructions from the Foreign Office had prepared [him] for the alarming view taken at Athens in the best informed quarters and by our warmest friends’ as to the disastrous conditions at Gallipoli. What he learned gave his mission a new urgency. Getting some help was more clearly than ever a matter of life and death. He discovered quite promptly that Greece was not the place to find it.32 Leaving Athens empty-handed, Chirol and Gregory pushed on to Sofia, via Salonika and Nish, the temporary capital of Serbia. Their voyage to Salonika was interrupted by a small and, according to Gregory, rather amusing adventure. Chirol was far less amused, and made much of the incident, both then and later, as emblematic of the problems which plagued his mission throughout. When their ship sailed out of the port of Chalcis on a hot July morning, Chirol and Gregory stood out among their fellow travellers. These included, according to Gregory, 457

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three distinct categories of the Greek nation: (a) the Greek General and his staff of the Macedonian Command; (b) a Greek girls’ school with its mistresses; (c) a collection of Greek business men. All these for urgent reasons of their own were bent on arriving in Salonica on the following morning. Towards dusk, … a smallish vessel loomed out of the mist and fired a shot across the bows of the Atromitos. Needless to say, we at once resigned ourselves to the conviction that the German submarine incident, hourly expected…, had happened at last; but it was not long before we were boarded, not by the ruthless desperadoes of the Kaiser, but by a midshipman, a warrant-officer and four bluejackets … belonging to H.M.S. Folkestone, who announced that the ship must be taken into Mudros [to be searched]. Our initial relief was promptly dashed (a) by the impossibility of making the British Navy appreciate that Sir Valentine and I were a British Mission, (b) by the explosion of wrath against us on the part of (i) the Greek General and his staff, (ii) the girls’ school mistresses, (iii) the business men, all of whom in turn jumped to the conclusion that the affair was a plot which we had engineered to their undoing … It was not until … I [could finally] get a hearing from my armed compatriots … that I was transported to interview the Captain of H.M.S. Folkestone and prove our bona fides. Thus was I obliged to leave my Chief to the tender mercies of the Greek staff, schoolmistresses, girls and business men, and, though I felt that his courage was equal to any emergency and that the midshipman, the warrant-officer and the four bluejackets would be more than sufficient to cope with the staff and the business men, I was not so sure about the schoolmistresses. However, before an hour had passed we were both safely on board the Folkestone, but unsafely eating tinned sausages and drinking whiskey in the cabin of the admirable Captain [while] the Atromitos – amid the blasphemies of its occupants – was well under sail for Mudros.33

The two Englishmen had planned to stop at Nish only long enough to see what concessions, if any, the Serbs might be willing to make in order to elicit help from their Bulgarian and Romanian neighbours. The answer, they soon discovered, was none, most particularly none when it came to giving any part of Macedonian territory to the despised Bulgarians. To make matters worse they were deeply suspicious of the terms Italy might have secured from the Allies in return for declaring war, suspicions that were, as it turned out, justified.34 The only thing in Nish more plentiful than suspicion was disease. Before Chirol had had time to discuss anything with his old friend, M. Pashitch, now Serbian Prime Minister, he was laid low with dysentery. In great pain he was carted off from the peasant cottage where he and 458

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Gregory had set themselves up and where, according to the latter, the ‘sanitary arrangements were frankly blood-curdling’, to a Russian hospital further out of town. There he lay in a rather ‘precarious condition’ for two or three days.35 As soon as he was able to travel they left for Sofia, where at least the living conditions were satisfactory, if nothing else was. The city itself had become rather ‘fine’, Chirol wrote to Florence, ‘with … some quite palatial Legations – not least [that of] the Turks – for which the Germans are supposed to have paid!’.36 As Chirol’s health prospered in Sofia, his hopes dwindled. All the troublesome elements that he had noted in Athens – the spies, the pro-German ministers and the unfriendly royals, the ubiquitous and expensive German propaganda – were here as well. From his vantage point in the British Legation, Chirol surveyed in growing dismay the overall picture. With the Russian army in disarray and retreat in Poland, the Romanians were naturally reluctant to face the combined forces of Germany and Austria with little or no chance of support from their big neighbour. In Greece, although Venizelos had just been re-elected, the King had extended the adjournment of the Chamber, thereby postponing, if not erasing, hopes for any rapid change in policy. Chirol worried that mounting resentment among the Serbs over sacrifices already made could rise to the point, if asked to make yet more, where they would actually be willing to reach some sort of tacit understanding with the Austrians. Though it was full summer now, his vivid imagination conjured up the autumn storms of the northern Aegean with all that they implied for the stranded and exposed Allied soldiers at Gallipoli. The more pressing that Aegean timetable, the more Chirol looked on Bulgaria as the only place where ‘at a price’ the Allies might get the immediate help that they so urgently needed. Chirol was in Sofia to negotiate, and, as Gregory wrote later, ‘negotiate he did, with all his might and ability and grasp’.37 Sad to say, those talents were not going to be enough. Everywhere, he complained, the curse of ‘too late’ spoiled his pitch. As … one of our staunchest supporters remarked to me – & I have reported his remark with some gusto to the F.O. – the mistake we have made throughout has been that we were constantly shifting the centre of our diplomatic activities from one Balkan State to another without carrying them in any one to a stage that would at least have shown us whether or not we had any real chance of success, whilst every time we returned after long delays to the charge we found ourselves confronted, not unnaturally, with demands for a higher price.38

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The more Chirol saw and the more he talked, the more critical he became of his own side. It was regrettable enough that no one at the Foreign Office had a proper grasp of the overall situation in the Balkans. But if one added in the ‘incalculable mischief’ done to British–Bulgarian relations by the recently departed minister, Bax-Ironside, any hope of winning Bulgaria for the Entente appeared to be doomed. It made his ‘blood boil’, he wrote to Hardinge, ‘to read the archives with their obstinate suppressio veri & suggestio falsi, due, I suppose to his infatuated conviction that at bottom everybody here is hostile, … & that it was not worth wasting upon them time which could be much more agreeably spent at bridge’.39 To try and squeeze something out of the Serbians, Chirol and Gregory went back to Nish and on to military headquarters at Kragujevacs to hold further talks with the Serbian Prince Regent and with General Pavlovitch. The train journey from Sofia to Nish was long and uncomfortable, but the overnight trip from Nish to Kragujevacs was more than enough to make one forget the difficulties of our task, the comforts of Sofia, the discomforts of Nish, the Contested as well as the Uncontested Zone, even the war itself, in [the] entire and complete absorption in the slaughter of less political foes. The carriage, one of the most primitive types ever placed on railway lines, of which the seats were upholstered in the mouldiest of mouldy red velvet …, appeared to be the happy hunting ground of an almost infinite assortment of rudimentary organisms; and, as it was lit only by a small dip …, placed precariously in the receptacle ordinarily used for cigarette ashes, the game of extermination became intermittent and therefore tiring. Added to this our stomachs which presented somewhat aching voids after three days’ enforced starvation at Nish … did not permit us to work very vigorously at the slaughter, nor did it improve our tempers.40

That was too bad, as Chirol needed every ounce of good temper during his talks. The Prince Regent at least made a pretext of listening to his arguments. But General Pavlovitch, a ‘professional bruiser’ in Chirol’s words, said, simply and bluntly, that the Macedonian question was ‘a military question and can only be settled by military men and on military grounds’.41 As the two men climbed back into the unspeakable train nothing ‘of any sort, kind or description’ had been achieved and Chirol was understandably discouraged.42 But local authorities were not the whole problem. As he made his – mostly uncomfortable – way from city to city he sent message after message to the Foreign Office. The replies were so 460

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indirect that he had to ‘infer’ that he had made some ‘slight impression’. Worse yet were the problems posed by having to consult ‘between four powers … [and] just as one hopes to have steadied them on one definite course, one or other of them may insist on shifting away onto something else. The methods of our F.O. seem to be so dreadfully slipshod. Their telegrams are often almost unintelligible.’43 While retracing his steps to Sofia, the Macedonian question still open, Chirol clung to the slender hope that Pashitch, a veteran of many negotiations, might be able to arrange a Serbian compromise. But chances were poor and he knew it. Not only was their military command obstinate in its opposition, incoming news told of decisive German victories on the Eastern front, and he was all too aware that a winning side would have more to offer the Bulgarians. They would also have more to threaten them with, and it seemed that the Germans were not reluctant to ‘frighten all these Balkan peoples out of their wits by the menace of a great thrust through [their lands] to Const’ple’.44 Chirol was back in Sofia on 3 August, the day on which the Allies made their final offers both there and at Nish. Due in Bucharest, he had no time to discuss things properly with the Bulgarian authorities, and instead he and Gregory set off, ‘travelling through the night hugging our cyphers in the exclusive company of Germans, Turks and Jewish spies’. The following days were, in many ways, the most pleasant on their otherwise dispiriting rounds, Gregory likening the difference between Bulgaria and Romania to that between Scotland and Monte Carlo. The war seemed far away, and in Bucharest ‘everything was as it always had been … gipsy fiddlers in enchanted gardens playing eternally: all, in fact, that the seductiveness of scented semi-Oriental August evenings could do to obliterate the hubbub of negotiations …’.45 The official attitude in Romania, in the summer of 1915, was indeed more pro-Entente than anywhere else in the Balkans. And yet there were hesitations, for reasons that Chirol could appreciate. The first thing he saw as he stepped off the train in Bucharest were headlines saying that Warsaw had fallen to the Germans. This, the latest and best prize in a series of important contests, would do his coming talks no good. As he well knew, the Romanians had based all their plans upon cooperation with the Russian forces, and ‘how could they now be expected to take the fateful plunge into war [with] such striking evidence of Russian military collapse?’ The fall of Warsaw was very bad news, but worse was not long in coming. On his return to Sofia he learned that the Allies had suffered 461

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another sharp setback at Gallipoli. The Bulgarians were still noncommittal as to the future and Chirol less hopeful than ever. Attempts to see the King proved futile; His Majesty was always indisposed or busy or, as Chirol surmised, simply not interested in seeing any Englishman, let alone him. But it was not only Ferdinand who avoided him, so did the rest of the leading politicians. Tired of knocking at closed doors he went back yet again to see what could be done at Nish. There he found attitudes unchanged, nor did M. Pashitch give him much reason to hope. At their final meeting the latter lamented the fact that he had been placed in the position of having to elect between two impossibilities: on the one hand, the impossibility of yielding to the demands of the Allied Powers, and on the other hand, the equal impossibility of refusing to make the sacrifice which they considered themselves justified in imposing upon Serbia in the interests of their common cause.

For reasons best known to himself, Chirol took renewed heart from this remark and ‘begged’ the Prime Minister to ‘reflect how much the greater would be his responsibility if he failed to exert all his influence in favour of a settlement which by bringing Bulgaria in would help, as perhaps nothing else for the moment could, to hasten a successful conclusion of the war’.46 That plea, in the end, went unanswered. No matter what he thought he read in Pashitch’s words, there were no positive results. Athens was Chirol’s last stop on his tour, as it had been his first. While Venizelos – now back in office at least – claimed to have a ‘firm belief that Greece would sooner or later throw in their lot with England’, there was little likelihood of any ‘immediate intervention’.47 Chirol was tired as he packed his bags for home, but worse than the weariness was the feeling that he was returning to London with little more than a few equivocal remarks. His fighting spirit had been roused by the challenges he had faced in the long weeks of negotiations, and it was a spirit that disliked admitting defeat. The old fear of failing in the eyes of the professional diplomats, of men who would have been his peers had he stayed in the Foreign Office, troubled him. Back in London Chirol was frank with his findings and his feelings, and determined to keep the evidence of what he considered to be official mismanagement of matters Balkan from being buried within Whitehall. One of the Foreign Office’s complaints, and one of the reasons why he had been sent on his mission, he told Hardinge, was that information was not being shared between the various British legations in the area, that 462

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each worked in a ‘water-tight compartment’. Having been on the spot he now realised that the fault was that the Foreign Office itself treated them as such.48 Nor was information coming from various sources in London particularly well coordinated. As he told Bertie during his stopover in Paris, when the Allies ‘were urging Servia not to remain on the defensive only, but to attack, contrary advice was being given to the Servian military authorities by Kitchener through his representatives, which demonstrates the folly of direct communication between Kitchener and his emissaries without the cognizance of Grey and his representatives …’.49 On 8 September, Chirol handed Grey and Nicholson two reports, one on the political situation in the Balkans, the other containing ‘suggestions’, among other things, for better coordinating ‘diplomatic and other activities’ – meaning military – in the region. Having worked particularly hard on those reports, he was correspondingly discouraged to see them vanish into some ‘printer’s limbo’ at Whitehall. By the time they resurfaced, weeks later, and were ready for circulation, he had scant faith that they would produce any results. Instead he pictured them rolled up and slumbering through the war in some forgotten official pigeon-hole. ‘Perhaps they don’t like what I have said, & I dare say they don’t,’ he wrote to Florence and Springy, ‘but after all what was the object of sending out some one who would “bring a detached mind” to bear upon these questions if they didn’t want the truth, or at least what I firmly believe is the truth.’50 Nor was he notably mollified to have both Grey and Nicholson admit ‘that the Allies and we ourselves are largely responsible for the unfortunate pass to which things have come’, since they seemed to say it with a ‘shrug of the shoulders, as if it had been unavoidable … They both seemed tired, and the impression I had was that though they felt bound to go through the form of listening to what I had to say, it was merely a form.’51 What haunted Chirol most about his abortive mission was not that he had failed to circumvent or remove the huge stumbling blocks filling the path of Balkan diplomacy, but that he could not find a way to alleviate the disastrous situation at Gallipoli. That, as was his wont, he took personally. At the same time he was furious that no one in the government would admit the truth of what was happening. Some could not because they were kept in the dark, but those ministers who did know, Chirol complained, fed others ‘on the soothing syrup of Ian Hamilton’s despatches, while every man out there talks of Lie-an Hamilton’.52 As nasty as the truth might be, anything, for Chirol, would be better than the present deception. Nor, he insisted, would the country fail to 463

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rise to any emergency as long as it was told frankly what that emergency was. Chirol had badgered the Foreign Office about the lack of accurate information about the Dardanelles while he was still in Athens. Just before leaving for London it appeared that he had finally hit home. Not only was Maurice Hankey, the Secretary of the Imperial Defence Committee, on his way out to see for himself what was happening, Ian Hamilton also seemed to have realised that his ‘syrup’ was no longer effective. A feather shows the way the wind blows. Army headquarters [at the Dardanelles] had hitherto shown the utmost indifference as to what was happening politically in the Balkans, said in fact they didn’t care & didn’t want to know! Last week Sir Ian Hamilton telegraphed to me ‘Urgent’ that he was sending George Lloyd – who is now on his Intelligence staff – to see me, & hoped I would defer my departure until then as he was ‘most anxious to be informed as to [the] political situation in the Balkans’.53

In the end the scenario in south-eastern Europe played out much as Chirol had feared. ‘What funny people … the F.O. are!’ he said, half plaintively, to Florence. ‘They send me out to the Balkans. Whilst I was out there, they acted, though often just not in the right way, upon my recommendations. They profess to be very grateful for all I did [and] you would perhaps think that they would still wish to consult me now I am back. Not a bit of it!’ No sooner had he closed this letter with ‘love to Springy and your dear little self, Your affectionate Domnul’ than he was given further reason for pessimism and squeezed in a hasty PS. ‘The news has just come of Bulgarian mobilisation and of [her] pledge of permanent neutrality to Turkey in return for cession of railway territory in Thrace. So I’m afraid it is all up.’54 Within two months things were indeed all up with the Serbs. On 5 October a joint Austro-German army invaded and within four days Belgrade fell. The Bulgarians joined in the fighting on 14 October. ‘My poor little Serbs!’ said Chirol. ‘They seem to be putting up a fine fight but the odds against them are overwhelming.’55 By the end of November Serbia, as an independent political entity, had ceased to exist. What remained of her army, after a disastrous retreat through Albania, was picked up by Allied ships and taken to the island of Corfu. Long before this sad denouement Chirol was once again at loose ends. Having too little to do and no particular plans to hand meant that there was nothing to divert him from the ever grimmer news coming over the wires. With disaster looming at Gallipoli and the drive to get help in the Balkans a failure, Chirol’s never deeply suppressed fear of Muslim fundamentalism was once again to the fore. Religious hostility, still more 464

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or less latent, would be, once properly aroused, all too capable of undermining the British position throughout the East, most particularly, of course, in India. That was a thought that had troubled him for many years. Now his concern was doubled lest a jihad against the Allies, if pronounced by the Sultan and directed from Constantinople, inflame not only those Indians faithful to Allah – a serious threat in any case – but encourage the increasingly violent Hindus to further extremism.56 The Germans, with Serbia gone and Bulgaria friendly, could now send arms, munitions and men direct to Constantinople without having to fire a shot. And when they got there the whole situation, ‘not only in the Near East but right through the Middle East to India’, could be up for grabs. What would be the political reaction in India, would a visibly ‘wobbly’ Persia fall on the wrong side of the fence, if that happened could Afghanistan stay out of the action, and, if not, what of the situation along the North-West Frontier? Once the fighting at Gallipoli was over, the Turks would no doubt direct fresh offensives at Mesopotamia and the canal. The possibilities were many and horrible, and he rehearsed them all in his mind and to his friends.57 It was time, yet again, to go out and see for himself how the Indians were reacting to the present bad news. He also realised, whatever the final outcome, the war was bound to have a profound effect on AngloIndian relations. He could not yet bring himself to believe that in the foreseeable future Britain would not have an important part to play in the Indian subcontinent. Things were bad, that much was certain, but surely the empire would still be there when the guns stopped. It would no doubt need to be reconstituted, but that Chirol had known for some time. There was another reason, more personal and more pressing, for his trip. Shortly before the war began, Bal Gangadhar Tilak, ‘the father’ of Indian disorder and violence, according to Chirol in Indian Unrest, returned to India from a Mandalay prison, where he had been serving a six-year sentence on charges of fomenting seditious unrest and nationalist violence against British rule. A year later, while Chirol was off on his inconclusive Balkan ‘odyssey’, Tilak filed a libel suit against him on the basis of that book. In order to prepare his defence Chirol learned that it would be necessary for him to collect pertinent documents in India. Although he complained of the nuisance and bother, he also admitted that it would be ‘a relief to get away from the constant obsession of the war’, an obsession that woke him in the middle of the night to endure ‘a couple of hours of blackest forebodings & misery’ and left him exhausted to face the day.58 465

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Although he could not have then known, the ‘tiresome’ Tilak business would keep him in India for greatest part of the next two years. And, while it did divert him somewhat from the ongoing slaughter in Europe, there was always the badly planned and executed Mesopotamian campaign, much nearer at hand and pertinent to his Indian concerns, to worry over and rail against.59 In the face of his discontents, Chirol got what consolation he could from the thought that although he could not have a go at the ‘Blond Beasts’ or the bloody Turks, by battling Tilak he was also fighting his own campaign for the Raj and therefore for the future of Britain and her empire. Chirol watched the middle years of the Great War pass by, as he put it, ‘through a glass darkly’. His mood fluctuated, depending on the news reaching him in Bombay, Delhi, Simla, Srinagar, or wherever else he happened to be. Thus he allowed himself to hope, as he learned of progress in the fighting at the Somme, that the German ‘curve’ was ‘tending to descend’, also to believe, mistakenly, that the first wave of revolution in Russia portended disaster for the Central Powers – and an unknowable future for a ‘poor little Tsar who was not born to ride the whirlwind’.60 Alternatively he despaired to hear of the massive incompetence shown by his own side in Mesopotamia, the brutal treatment meted out to the Romanians and Serbians, and the havoc caused by the Kaiser’s U-boats. There were also, but not very frequently, amusing stories, such as that of a ‘German-cum-Turkish “mission” which arrived in Cabul [Kabul] in a green aeroplane as big as Noah’s ark and are still the honoured but not very happy guests of H.M. the Ameer who keeps them in pretty strict confinement …’.61 As he swung from hope to fear and back again Chirol patiently – and not so patiently – collected the material needed to defend himself against Tilak. It was a task made onerous by a maze of legal complications and the next to impossible task of trying to drive ‘a team of solicitors – some in India – some in London – who seem even on technical points of law to take a malicious pleasure in giving the most contradictory opinions’.62 There were diversions as well, among them visits to the wondrously lovely valleys of Kashmir, and to Delhi to chart the progress of the new capital. But, pleasant and interesting as such things undeniably were, nothing could take his mind off either the war or his own tiresome legal problem for any length of time. Nor could he avoid feeling something of a ‘brute’ whenever he found himself having a good time while ‘out there by land and by sea death goes on reaping his ghastly harvest of younger and therefore far more valuable lives than mine’.63 466

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By the time 1916 drew to its end he was wearying of his long ‘exile’, filled with a sense of futility, and emotionally depleted by the constant oscillation between optimism and pessimism. ‘The days and the weeks and the months move past,’ he wrote to Springy and Florence with his Christmas greetings, ‘and though I suppose there are not more hours in the day or days in the week or weeks and months in the year than there were before the war, hope deferred seems to me to weight the wings of time with lead.’64 Faith in eventual victory might be with him still, but it was impossible not to notice the effects of the ongoing catastrophe, even in far-away India. There, a shortage of miners begat a shortage of coal, and with that a curtailment of train service. That no one, in a country of 300,000,000, seemed capable of organising the ‘relatively microscopic’ amount of labour needed to work the mines he blamed – as he did much else – on the wrong sort of optimists, the ignorant, easygoing sort who refused to believe in the German danger before the war, … to realize the magnitude of the coming struggle when war broke out, … to believe that the little Balkan states mattered, [or] … in Zepps and U-boats and all the rest, until we were right up against them … If we do go down in the struggle, ‘Wait and See’ will surely be our epitaph and even if we ultimately emerge from it ‘Wait and See’ will be the epitaph of all the precious lives and wholesale ruin that it will have cost us.65

To make matters worse disaffection and unrest were again on the rise in India, and, to his mind, no less dangerous because labelled ‘constitutional’ agitation or obscured by ‘specious’ assertions of loyalty to the Crown and to some conveniently indistinct form of British connection. Tilak was dragging out the Indian stages of his case, all the while making great political capital out of them. In the committee meetings at an Indian National Congress convening at Lucknow ‘he carried everything before him and … was the hero of the hour. The Moderates melted away into thin air, and the Muslim League also came humbly to heel … Outwardly appearances were scrupulously preserved, all the fire breathing was confined to the private and unreported meetings.’66 The more Tilak enjoyed the spotlight and acclaim, the more Chirol chafed at being subjected to what seemed a waste of time, energy and money. His only consolation, as ever, was that he felt, and was frequently assured, that he was ‘fighting the battle of the Raj quite as much as my own’.67 Finally, after a winter blighted by illness and worsening news, April brought more than the start of spring, it brought the United States, at long last, into the war. The day that congress declared war on Germany and Austria-Hungary, he wrote to Florence that, although it might be too 467

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soon to speculate on what the effects might be, ‘even the most brazen of Huns must feel that there are greater forces than he imagined behind the long-suffering humanitarianism of the President’. There had been times, he confessed, when he had come close to despair over Washington’s foot-dragging. Now he not only repented of his ‘impatient scepticism’ but ‘would sing Hail Columbia at the top of my voice if I could only remember what the tune is’.68 By June the Americans were in the fighting with, from what he heard, all their might. His work in India, equally happily, seemed at long last to be winding down, and he allowed himself to hope that he might be back in London by the autumn, even finished with the actual trial before Christmas. But fearing the ‘many slips between the legal cup and the lip’, he was wary of making firm predictions and concentrated on convincing himself that he had not wasted two years of his life. His mother had once told him that it might be ‘a good thing to do a bit of one’s purgatory in this world’ – if that were the case, he wrote to Florence, he had, at least, done some of his.69 Whether or not he had ‘pre-atoned’ for anything, Chirol was right to be cautious as to finishing up anytime soon with Tilak. He did manage to get away from India, however, and was safely back in London on 21 September. There the preparations for the trial still dragged on, but, happily for him, there were a number of diversions. One was the editing of material having to do with the East in a series of historical, economic and political memoranda being prepared in the Intelligence Department for use by the Foreign Office should there ever be such a thing as a peace conference. The likelihood of one taking place soon seemed as remote in December 1917 as it had in previous Decembers, a situation which suited Chirol, if only because there was no peace in sight except on terms that would spell eventual doom for Britain and ‘all she stands for’. As he had told Hardinge a year or more before, anything resembling a stalemate would be dreadful to contemplate as it would only allow the Germans time to recover before starting another war. In that case peace would only be a truce and, ‘if peace is to mean nothing more than a truce, and the burden of armaments is to go on indefinitely and on a more crushing scale than ever, it will be an ugly world to live in’.70 As pleased as he was to be back in Britain, London itself he found ‘hateful’, full up with the usual political manoeuvring, petty jealousies and backstairs influence. As much time as he possibly could he spent living with friends in the New Forest, only going up to town to deal with his Tilak matters or other assignments. As he travelled back and 468

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forth the fighting in Europe also see-sawed on in its man-eating fashion. Horrified by the endless orgy of killing, Chirol bemoaned the fact that he should be old in such times, forced to watch and pray from the sidelines. The ‘Hun’ he found more repellent than ever – ‘the Devil incarnate and a Devil of appalling efficiency’.71 Then, with appalling suddenness, one death grieved him as none other, one not on the killing fields though surely hastened on by the strains of war. At the end of January Chirol wrote to Florence of his ‘selfish joy’ at hearing that she and Springy and the children would soon be coming home. Springy’s appointment to Washington, having fallen victim to the politics of war , was over. While regretting the manner in which his retirement had been arranged – and confessing that he knew little if anything of the political details – Chirol was sure that, in the end, it would be a good thing for Springy to have a rest after the long strain of persuading the Americans, with consummate diplomatic skill, to choose the right course. On 12 February he wrote to her again, having heard that Springy was already, or about to be, ‘on the water’. He feared that he himself might be in the country on the latter’s arrival, but had left a note in London to say that he was ready ‘to run up for a day or two as soon as I know he is home’. Three days later his friend was not home, but dead of a heart attack. As with Moberly Bell’s similarly abrupt departure, Springy’s unexpected end was a deeply painful wrench for his devoted, emotional friend. All the same he kept his suffering, as best he could, to himself so as to be able to help his beloved Florence. He wrote to her constantly, letters filled with love, encouragement, advice, support – and with ever-present unease over the tormenting uncertainties of the war, fear that the Germans might somehow manage either to win outright or force a negotiated peace, concern over the disaster enveloping Russia and the nastiness of politics at home. The one bright spot was her asking if he would be willing to write Springy’s Memoirs, a request he accepted instantaneously. Such a task, he wrote back, would ‘brighten my solitary old age, and give it a purpose and a usefulness which it would be almost impossible for me to exaggerate …’.72 By early spring 1918, with the Germans triumphant in the East, the world’s eyes, and Chirol’s, were fixed on the new wave of fighting on the Western front. By the end of May the seemingly indefatigable German armies stood on the banks of the Marne, a scant 37 miles from Paris. On the first of June Chirol, feeling forlorn and aged – having just turned 66 – wondered if he would live to see the war end, and if so, could he bear to 469

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see how. As it happened he could. By early August Allied forces, Americans conspicuous among them, were slowly pushing the Germans back. Toward the end of September Chirol allowed that only four months earlier all that he was hoping was that the ‘Huns’ might be ‘held up’ long enough to keep disaster at bay for the rest of the year. Now, with the tide seemingly turned, and the Americans only just beginning to show what they were capable of, he could not ‘see how the Germans can stand up next year to two or three millions of them in perfect fighting trim and with all the vast superiority of mechanical appliances behind them upon which so much depends in this awful modern warfare’. Although he was also beginning to hear grumbles in London that any peace would now be ‘an American peace’, he himself was loath to join in, particularly since it was America alone who had saved them, after the Russian debacle, from having to face a ‘German peace’.73 Three weeks later he was actually talking of a possible armistice. He had heard that the Germans were ‘still trying to wriggle’ but also that Foch – with Pershing heart and soul with him in the matter – means to keep a very stiff upper lip in regard to terms … Personally I doubt whether the Huns will really be taught their lesson until the war has been carried on to the ‘sacred soil’ of the Fatherland – certainly not until their armies have been smashed – which has yet to be done …74

Chirol was more prescient than he could – or ever did – know. When, at the eleventh hour on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, Big Ben began to sound once again, the ‘familiar voice of a long lost friend’, it rang to say that the guns had stopped. The German armies were not ‘smashed’ and not yet across their own border. A few weeks later Florence had the following from her devoted Domnul, written on that memorable day. One can hardly take in the tremendous happenings of the last few weeks and days, and when one thinks of what the German Emperor and his mighty German Empire were four and a half years ago and what they are now it fills [one] with awe rather than with exultation. It is almost as if one were witnessing Paradise Lost in our own days. Nor … can one rejoice at the chaos into which Germany and a large part … of what was Austria-Hungary are following on the sinister footsteps of the Russian Empire. However, nothing can impair one’s sense of profound gratitude that the war with all that it has meant of appalling suffering and sacrifice is at an end and that it has ended as one has … hoped and prayed for and as so many of our best have died for during these four years of awful vicissitudes. It is difficult too not to grieve for those who, like Cecil, have done their splendid bit and passed away before the

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dawn of victory, but I firmly believe that it must yet be part of their reward to know, and at any rate it must be no [little help] for you and all those who have suffered like yourself to know that their lives were not offered up in vain and that they have left to their children something more even than a great example – namely the integrity of our national inheritance.75

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Valentine Chirol was a man of strong sentiments. In public his prose was measured, and even when he was steamed up, which was not infrequently, the sentences tolled on, comma after comma, clause-heavy, wordy equivalents of the church bells that had marked out the hours and duties of his ancestors. It is in his private letters, lightened by dashes, spiced with discreet blasphemies, exclamation points pointing out excitement or horror or despair, that both passion and wit peek through. Luckily – for recipients and biographer – he wrote masses of them.1 Never robust, Chirol’s assortment of ailments, both physical and psychological, increased with age. When illness was combined with the regrettable demands of Lord Northcliffe, he knew that it was time to retire with honour and pride intact. But stepping down – although never completely away – from The Times did not mean leisure for the former foreign editor. First came the call to help investigate the state of the Indian public services. That work, tiring, time-consuming and ultimately inconsequential, was not yet finished when the war he had long since warned of was loosed upon the world, a catastrophe of ever-expanding dimensions with after-effects still shadowing our world today. It did not touch Sir Valentine intimately – he was, to his distress, too old to fight ‘the Blond Beast’ in person and had no son to send in his place – but he fought hard with his pen and his accumulated understanding of the whys and wherefores of the world. When the guns more or less stopped at the end of 1918, there was a great deal of work to be done to set an upended world to rights. Determined, as ever, to be of some practical use, and, for the moment, uncharacteristically fit, Chirol stood ready to help. His first efforts took him, as part of the British mission, to Paris early in the winter of 1919. Forty-eight years earlier as a very young man he had watched ‘rank on forbidding rank’ of Prussian soldiers march into the sullen, defeated capital of his seconde patrie. Now, full of years and experience, he was on hand 472

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to see what terms and conditions were to be imposed on their vanquished descendants. With characteristic diffidence he made light of his assignment, which was to keep the French press abreast of the policy decisions taken in London.2 This work, set beside the enormity of the overall task facing the victorious Powers, does sound modest enough. But twists and turns in London’s thinking and the potential for misunderstandings that went with them meant that it was not simple. And the specific areas – southeastern Europe and the Near East – with which he was most involved, including in ways that went beyond his command of the French tongue and familiarity with the French press, meant it was not unimportant. Chirol was as familiar with that part of the world as any man in Britain. When barely into his twenties he had fallen permanently under the spell of the ‘mysterious’ East and for many years wandered through it, picking up difficult languages and studying societies very different from those he had grown up with, varied as those had been. Nor did he ignore politics. Sharp-eyed and endlessly resourceful, he got a thoroughly good look at the decadent practices and effete institutions that had long since corrupted once glorious cultures and decimated resources human, financial and natural. He travelled knowing that for many decades British governments, their growing empire much on their minds, had worked to prop up one of the chief engines of this destruction, the sprawling, despotic, and slowly disintegrating Ottoman Empire. That ultimately sorry policy had begun to change, with his approval, well before the war. By the end of it the well-rotted structure was, finally and irrevocably, smashed – thanks in the main, said Chirol, to British effort. But Whitehall’s already overburdened attention had then to see that its untethered fragments were fitted, safely and sanely, into a new world order. This proved to be a deadly serious, difficult business and is a job still not finished. As if casting a shadow on today’s divisive quarrelling between one-time allies over solutions for the geopolitical problems of the Near East, London and Paris were increasingly at odds. Strife and suspicion between the remaining partners of the former Entente, Russia having long since subsided into a murderous chaos, could, he feared, only work against the restoration of any sort of workable order in a world so profoundly disrupted.3 For good and sound reasons the future seemed fraught with danger. A born Cassandra, forever hawking disaster, said Holstein more than once of his one-time friend. It was true that Chirol was prone to bouts of pessimism and quite at home with gloomy predictions. Both were fed, in large part, by his self-chosen study of ‘history in the making’, a history 473

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shaped too often for his taste by ill-considered choices and short-sighted goals. He had certainly predicted the war, and, even as it was being waged, considered it not at all unlikely, given the seemingly tireless need of the Germans to expand and control an ever larger portion of the earth, that there would be a further contest with them in the not too distant future. But that was only one of the problems he saw looming over the still young century. There was clearly menace aplenty in the message of the Bolsheviks, symptomatic as it was of the disappearance, and not just in Russia, of the old authority behind government, the governing classes themselves gone to pieces, traditions tossed aside. He did not try to predict what would come of this spreading upheaval, contenting himself with the thought that he would not live to taste its unappetising fruits. But a menace whose evil fruits were nearer to hand, one close to his heart because central to his most abiding interests, he did try to address. This was the escalating bitterness, mistrust and misunderstanding splitting Occident from Orient, the East–West divide that is so sorely bedevilling our own young century. For most of his working life Chirol’s specific interests in the East had to share time and attention with domestic and European concerns, with keeping abreast of stresses and strains on Britain’s relations with that continent and with the United States, not to mention with the day-today toil required to produce one of the world’s foremost newspapers. But in his last decade, released, in turn, from the daily grind at Printing House Square and the gripping anxieties of the war years, he concentrated on the East versus West issue, convinced that tensions generated by it could only get worse if left untended. It was a threat already present, and growing, in the years before the war but given a new and, in his view, irresistible momentum by choices made, in London as much as anywhere, after most of the fighting was done.4 That the British Empire, flung as it was across the globe, was long since hard-pressed to deal with those tensions he was all too aware. India, and the singular British experiment in it, were, as always, much on his mind. But at the same time he understood that the problems in the subcontinent were part and parcel of a widening schism that posed a danger not just for Britain and her empire but for the world at large. The ‘tremendous drama’5 that was the Great War changed the world that Valentine Chirol had lived in for more than 60 years. And changed it for good he reminded his friends – Humpty Dumpty could not be put on his wall again. It also changed Valentine Chirol. Ardent by nature, occasionally downright pugnacious – no one, he once assured Virginia 474

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Woolf, could ever accuse him of pacifism – he was convinced that, as totally new conditions prevailed in political arenas both domestic and international, tactics used by governments, including his own, must be re-tailored to fit them. Recent and ongoing horrors had exposed the ultimate futility of relying chiefly on the application of superior force to make things move in a desired direction. Such a dependence involved not only great political risks but, for the highly principled Chirol, who cared much throughout his life for honour both personal and national, moral ones as well. What particularly bothered him about the way London was dealing with the splintered and splintering post-war world, most particularly in the East, were the ‘glaring inconsistencies … arising largely … from the conflict which is still going on, and not least inside the Cabinet, between the principle of liberty and the principle of force in our handling of Oriental peoples’.6 Although blessedly far removed, emotionally speaking, from The Times, he was still heard in its pages on subjects where his expertise was unrivalled, Egypt and India chief among them. Both lands were sorely riven by discontent, with voices demanding self-rule ever louder and steadily angrier the less success they had. The situation in Egypt, where the paper sent him in the autumn of 1919, was his first case in point against Whitehall’s mistaken policies, ones that made him, proud and patriotic as he was, thoroughly miserable. Having lived there in the bad old days of the profligate Ismail and been on hand to see the British intervene in 1882, he had watched Egypt fairly flourish under their guidance. Throughout those years care had been taken not to formalise the Anglo-Egyptian relationship. For more than three decades it remained a ‘veiled protectorate’7 with always the idea, if left rather vague as to details, that London would loosen the leading strings and one day let them go completely. The coming of war put an abrupt end to such talk. With the Turks opting for the wrong side, protecting the route to India became a paramount necessity. Nor could the British risk having the Egyptians heed any call coming from Constantinople for a jihad against the infidels in their midst. With these risks on their minds, Whitehall tightened rather than lightened its grip, first imposing martial law, and soon afterwards announcing that Egypt was henceforth to be ruled as a formal British protectorate. While not asked to provide troops to fight against their fellow Muslims, the Egyptians were called on to help with supplies and much-needed labour. The country itself became a vast war camp, filled with troops from all parts of the empire. 475

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In the event London need not have feared pan-Islamic solidarity, but they might have paid closer attention to an increasingly fervid nationalism, waxing not waning under the new repressions. By 1919, having done their part loyally enough – if not very happily – for their occupiers, the Egyptians quite understandably expected to share in the benefits of the peace, most particularly in the rights of national selfdetermination. Denying them this, which Britain did, while seeming to support the principle in other newly untethered parts of the Ottoman Empire, brought on the violent uprising against her that Constantinople had failed to inspire. Cairo was still seething when Chirol arrived and neither the series of articles that he sent back to Printing House Square, nor the book that expanded on them, were what Whitehall, or Lord Northcliffe, might have wished. When similar criticisms were made in another series of articles – again followed up with a book – written from the deeply troubled Raj the following year, Chirol’s connections with The Times were, for all intents and purposes, severed. In the end he was only able to get his opinions into his old paper by sending letters to the editor, and he took pains to protect that limited entrée.8 At the same time he found voice in other papers and periodicals, and, as usual, through private letters to influential friends. In the last days of 1921 he wrote a long, somewhat sour, and definitely heated letter to his former colleague and friend Edward Grigg who was then serving as private secretary to Lloyd George. In essence it was a variation on his now oft-reiterated theme of the mistaken reliance on force to ensure order and control, most particularly when it was imposed on oriental peoples with habits, beliefs and traditions unlike, and often opposed to, those of the people ruling over them. Although he thoroughly rehashed the mistakes being made vis-à-vis the Egyptians, Chirol’s main concern was with the reactions to those mistakes outside Egypt itself. As he reminded Grigg, Whitehall had defended coming to terms with – or giving way, as he would have it – to the post-war demands of the ‘unspeakable Turk’ by stressing the importance of placating Muslim sentiment all over the East. ‘Shall we,’ he fairly snorted, placate it by yielding to the Mahomedan extremists of Angora whilst arousing the bitter hostility of Mahomedan Egypt with its ancient University of El Azar – Nationalist to the backbone – whose influence spreads from Cairo throughout the Mahomedan world? Will not our Egyptian policy bring grist to the extremist mill in India, Hindu as well as Mahomedan, by pointing all their jibes at the true inwardness of the

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British Raj, always ready with liberal promises but with the sword always equally ready in its mailed fist? I need not allude to the effect in Palestine where we are committed to a policy which, to put it mildly, we have not yet made acceptable to the Arabs, or in Mesopotamia where the success of a more statesmanlike experiment (wrung from us at a pretty heavy cost) can hardly yet be regarded as finally assured. It may suit Washington and Paris and Rome to let us have a free hand for the moment in Cairo. But how can we denounce French militarism, if such there be, or preach disarmament at Washington, when we are ourselves practising sheer militarism in Egypt and basing our ascendancy there on sheer force? Does no one realize that, now that the British Empire no longer has for its foils the old autocratic and military Empires of the European continent, it stands far more open than it ever did before to the taunt of aggressive Imperialism?9

To help defuse or, if at all possible, eliminate that menace, Sir Valentine looked across the Atlantic. Bring in the Americans, he advised, to help Britain and France secure a workable future for the uprooted lands of the former Ottoman Empire. A reliable peace, he wrote at the end of 1918, surely depended on whether Britain’s wartime association with the United States could be translated into an equally hearty cooperation when the fighting was done. He had long since come to believe that ‘the young colossus among the nations’ was destined to become a dominant power, although he never said the dominant power, in the world. His admiration for its strengths remained remarkably staunch, even during times of diplomatic frustration or friction between London and Washington, and was reinforced during the latter days of the war when he took it upon himself to visit some of the American military camps set up in England. His purpose in doing so was to explain to the men waiting to take their turn in the trenches something of what the British had been, and still were, trying to do in India, the Near East and Egypt. Although struck by the young soldiers’ surprising – and surpassing – ignorance of the wider world, he was equally struck by their commendable eagerness to learn as well as by their physical fineness and what he called, in his good Victorian fashion, their ‘moral cleanliness’. Enraged at an impressionable age by the wanton destructiveness of the Communard ‘ruck’ and repelled by the vulgar excesses of the rough and ready demos in Australia, Valentine Chirol was no great believer in democracy per se and never shy about saying so. But he softened his tone when it came to the Americans, although to be fair he dealt in the main with what passed as aristocracy in the United States, not the rough and ready. He went off to Paris in 1919 armed with several ideas for their 477

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involvement in the reconstruction of the former Ottoman Empire, prospects that he had been touting not only in British publications but in the United States as well, wanting, as he had in his talks with American troops, to educate on the one hand and encourage participation on the other. The early signs were promising; during his first weeks in France he wrote home of American opinion ‘broadening rapidly’ with regard to accepting a fair share of responsibility. He hoped then that Washington might act as custodian at Constantinople – which must, in his view, be taken away from the Turks – and the Straits, also that the Americans might agree to lay the foundations for a separate administration in Armenia. These visions, along with the passing idea that they might be persuaded to accept a mandate for Syria, proved chimerical. Not only would Washington have nothing to do with helping to stabilise the Near East, politicians there rejected out of hand any American participation in a transcendent world government designed by their own President to prevent the sort of cataclysm just past. The people of the United States, so it seemed, were determined to turn their backs on most of the world beyond their oceans, having had a sobering taste of involvement in it. That was not, however, the attitude of the people who invited Sir Valentine to come to the United States in the summer of 1924. The desires of the men and women who set up the Norman Wait Harris Foundation at the University of Chicago and those behind the Institute of Politics at Williams College dovetailed neatly with Chirol’s own goals. The series of lectures to be given on the Harris Foundation were specifically intended to promote ‘a better understanding on the part of American citizens of other peoples of the world, thus establishing a basis for improved international relations and a more enlightened world-order’. In similar fashion the Institute of Politics was designed, in the words of President Garfield of Williams College, to help Americans move beyond ‘the old lines of local, so-called national self-interest, [and choose] the great highway of [inter]national co-operation which shall lead the world out of the slough of despond into which it has wandered …’. Nothing could have appealed to Chirol more than the idea of helping like-minded Americans reverse the course their government had taken in rejecting the League of Nations. The last thing the still reeling world needed, he insisted, was to have the United States in all its newly evident power turn in upon itself. At Chicago in July and at Williamstown, Massachusetts, a few weeks later, Sir Valentine spoke to far better-educated and considerably more experienced American audiences than those he faced in the wartime 478

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camps in Britain. The longer he stayed, whether in Chicago, New York or the mountains of western Massachusetts, and the more people he talked with, the more impressed he was. He wrote in mild jest to a friend at home that should Britain – then experiencing the novelty of its first Labour government – become ‘Bolshevized’ he might think seriously of taking sanctuary under the Stars and Stripes. But pending such an event he contented himself with exploring, with his hospitable, attentive audiences, the fault lines of the problem so much on his mind, the all too evident fracturing of East–West relations. He talked of how, on the one hand, the cracks were the result of a long and sometimes violent history of competition between systems of belief and social organisation; on the other, how those old East–West frictions and ingrown misapprehensions were now being exacerbated by specific political realities of the post-war world, whether the millennial prospects held out by Bolshevism or the equally seductive idea of relying on superior force to control and shape the future. The titles of his lectures at Chicago, ranging from the ancient history of East–West conflict through to the problems thrown up by the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, the British experiment in India, and the role set out for protectorates and mandates, were an outline of his concerns. As one knowledgeable friend in New York said at the time, it would be most difficult for the Americans to find a man more ‘truly expert’ on those topics as they had been of compelling interest to him for half a century. However persuasive Chirol was during his visit, it was unfortunately the case of the minister preaching to the choir. Talking to groups of likeminded men and women did nothing to induce the reluctant Americans to pick up any part whatsoever of the ‘white man’s burden’. Back he went to London, pleased with the personal reception given him but quite empty-handed. By comparison with the bitterness or anger expressed in earlier years, when he failed to raise any interest or concern at home as to the decline of British influence, be it in China, Persia or elsewhere where they had once been dominant, Chirol had little to say, at least in his letters, about his lack of success. As the years passed he continued to travel – to South Africa, India, Morocco – and, above all, to write. His summary of the problems plaguing Egypt and an examination of India, ‘old and new’, as well as a bringing up to date of Lord Eversley’s history of the Turkish Empire were published before his American trip, and the lectures he had given in Chicago appeared in book form in the autumn of his return. That same autumn he began a biography of the Armenian statesman Nubar Pasha, 479

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Prime Minister of Egypt under Ismail and a man Chirol had much admired. This book, probably unfinished, never appeared, but others did. There was yet another book on India, a volume in the ‘Nations of the World’ series, books prepared, in the words of the general editor, H.A.L. Fisher, ‘to provide a balanced survey, with such historical illustrations as are necessary, of the tendencies and forces, political, economic, intellectual, which are moulding the lives of contemporary states’. In 1927 he published a memoir entitled, aptly, Fifty Years in a Changing World. No sooner than it appeared, to good reviews, than he was asked by the muchesteemed editor of The Manchester Guardian, C.P. Scott, if he would not please write a follow-up series of articles for the paper, describing his more personal experiences so ‘tantalisingly referred to, but not narrated’, in Fifty Years. Chirol was reluctant. As he told Scott, although it was a great honour to be asked to write for his paper, he doubted if he had enough material to hand for what was wanted ‘without departing from the principles of restraint and discretion which I was determined to observe in writing my “Fifty Years”’.10 All the same he hoped that the matter could be left open for a few months – he was then on his way to South Africa – in order for him to think it over more carefully. In the end he came around and duly wrote of a number of personal adventures he had had over the course of a life not lacking in dramatic moments. At the same time he adroitly managed to keep his personal feelings tucked as discreetly away as ever. During a life spent constantly on the move – as was once said of Lord Elgin, for Chirol to be abroad was for him to be at home – he was captivated by any number of places, Egypt, Morocco, Persia, Japan, even the United States. But in retrospect it was the stupendous spectacle of India, that ‘land of mystery … of fierce light and of impenetrable shade! and our rule over it … itself a standing miracle …’,11 that drew him most strongly. Deeply impressed by that miracle and increasingly concerned as to its future, he devoted a good part of his life, early and late, to studying, elucidating and trying to ameliorate the problems facing both and British and the Indians as the ‘magnificent experiment’ fell on increasingly hard times. Finally, however, he seemed to have his fill of doing so, and when making ready to spend the winter of 1928–1929 there he confessed to having no wish ‘to plunge into the confused stream of Indian politics’, but only to visit quietly with friends and ‘keep his old bones warm’ during the worst of the cold weather. Having done so successfully, he stopped off at Cairo on his way home only to be met by his old and persistent enemy, pneumonia. Half a year later the lingering effects of that 480

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encounter put a full stop to trips to India, or anywhere else in the world for that matter. Death, which had threatened him more than once in the back of beyond, came at home after what one hopes was a pleasurable evening at the London Philharmonic and a scant few weeks before the appearance of the last of his many books, With Pen and Brush in Eastern Lands When I Was Young. He went on his ultimate way as discreetly as he liked to live. A man of rare contrasts, he was touchy and sensitive in a profession that required toughness, physically frail and drawn to danger, an outsider much relied on by those on the inside, one wary to excess of selfrevelation but committed to the exposure of the frailties and follies of governments, individuals and their policies, foreign and domestic, from one end of the world to the other. More than a few people whose lives intersected with his were aware of his unique qualities. At the tenth annual meeting of the Royal Institute of International Affairs, Major-General Sir Neill Malcolm stood up to say that the Institute had lost much by losing a member who had occupied for many years a singular place in Europe. ‘The friend of viceroys, the intimate of ambassadors, one might almost say the counsellor of ministers, he was [also] one of the noblest characters that ever adorned British journalism.’12 Chirol might very well have demurred at such extravagant words, but one cannot help but think that they also would have warmed a heart devoted to his country, loyal to his friends and his principles, and utterly determined to do his best by all three.

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CHAPTER 1 1 2 3 4 5 6

7 8 9 10 11

12 13 14 15 16 17

18

Chirol to Spring-Rice, 16 October 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 F. Bennett, MA, The Story of W.J.E Bennett (London, 1909) London: James Burns, Portman Square, 1847 Chirol to Hubbard, 21 October 1904, London, The Times Record Office, FELB 4/956 Valentine Chirol, Fifty Years in a Changing World (London, 1927), p. 13 Peter Vansittart, Voices, 1870–1914 (New York, 1985), p. 15. Even with war certain, the French Prime Minister was confident, accepting responsibility for it with a ‘light heart’ and saying that ‘we have only to stretch out our hand to take Berlin’. p. 24 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 13–14 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 19 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 20 Gertrude Himmelfarb, Victorian Minds (New York, 1968), p. 333 Robert Lowe, Viscount Sherbrooke, 1811–1892, Liberal politician, orator and Chancellor of the Exchequer in Gladstone’s first government, who joined hands, if briefly, with the Tories to oppose the Liberal Reform Bill of 1867. Himmelfarb, Victorian Minds, p. 390 For a discussion of the reforms see Elie Halevy, A History of the English People in the Nineteenth Century (London, 1951), vol. IV, pp. 445–447 G.M. Young in Asa Briggs, Victorian Cities (New York, 1965), p. 331 Briggs, Victorian Cities, p. 371 George Macaulay Trevelyan, British History in the Nineteenth Century (London, 1922), p. 357 Raymond A. Jones, The British Diplomatic Service, 1815–1914 (London, 1983). The new examination adopted in 1871 was divided into eight compulsory parts, which included spelling, arithmetic, précis-writing, English composition, French translation, dictation and conversation, Latin, German translation, and a general intelligence test. Optional subjects included a further test in German, also ones in ancient Greek, Italian, Spanish, Books I to IV of Euclid, a combined test of European geography and history and one on the constitutional history of England. Zara Steiner, The Foreign Office and Foreign Policy, 1898–1914 (Cambridge, 1969), pp. 16–17 Leopold Amery, My Political Life (London, 1953), vol. I, p. 93

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CHAPTER 2 1 2 3 4

5

6 7

8

9

10 11 12 13 14 15

16

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Ali Pasha Mubarak, Al-Khitat al-Taufiquya, quoted in Jacques Berque, Egypt, Imperialism and Revolution (London, 1972), p. 88 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 28 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 21–22 There were, in effect, three languages to be learned in Cairo. The language of the court, the army and the administration was Turkish, of the ulama and the Mosque, Arabic, of the fellah and the bazaar, a native idiom. ‘This partition of the world … was the most spectacular expression of that growing division of the globe into the strong and the weak, the “advanced” and the “backward” … It was also strikingly new. Between 1876 and 1915 about one-quarter of the globe’s land surface was distributed or redistributed as colonies among a half-dozen states.’ Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Empire (New York, 1989), p. 59 William L. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, 2nd edn (New York, 1972), p. 70 The British government initially pooh-poohed even the idea of a canal. After trying, unsuccessfully, to have the Sultan forbid its construction, they did their best to discourage British investment in it. On the day of the opening of the canal The Times put a good face on the sorry fact that England had ‘missed the boat’ on this project and called it ‘one of the most memorable dates of this wonder-working nineteenth century’. Other British papers were not so generous; one noted that while the ‘[t]he Queen of England has opened the Holborn Viaduct, … the Empress of France is going to open the Suez Canal’. Quoted in C.A. Bayly, Atlas of the British Empire (Oxford and New York, 1989), p. 138 As Chirol saw it, if Louis XIV could say ‘L’état c’est moi’, then Ismail might adopt the motto ‘L’état, c’est ma poche’. Valentine Chirol, The Egyptian Problem (London, 1921), p. 32 According to Derby, ‘the acquisition would be a bad one financially, and…might involve us in disagreeable correspondence both with France and the Porte’. A. Ward and G. Gooch, eds, The Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy (Cambridge, 1923), vol. III, p. 157, n. 1 Ward and Gooch, Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy, vol. III, p. 158 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 23 Ward and Gooch, Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy, vol. III, p. 159 Valentine Chirol, With Pen and Brush in Eastern Lands When I Was Young (London, 1929), p. 26 Chirol, The Egyptian Problem, p. 36 In the 1870s the parts of Europe ruled directly from Constantinople were Bulgaria, Roumelia, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Albania, Thessaly, Epirus, Thrace and Macedonia. Serbia, Montenegro and Romania were tributary states, autonomous but recognising the Sultan as suzerain. ‘Slaying, mutilation, pillage, violation, burning, perpetrated with every refinement of cruelty and barbarity which fiendish ingenuity could devise, continued day and night, and within a month 12,000 Christians had been done to death.’ Ward and Gooch, Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy, vol. III, p. 102 Although the government remained neutral, popular opinion did not. It was in the immediate aftermath of the Russo-Turkish War that the term ‘jingo’ was invented. René Albrecht-Carrié, A Diplomatic History of Europe Since the Congress of Vienna (New York, 1958), p. 172, also Barbara Jelavich, History of the Balkans (Cambridge, 1983), vol. I, pp. 358–359

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19

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

31 32

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

43 44 45 46 47

The sabre-rattling was too much for the hesitant Derby. He resigned from the Cabinet and from that point on Lord Salisbury would be the chief architect of British foreign policy for most of the rest of the century. Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 119 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 78–79 Oliphant’s intentions were political and strategic as well as religious. Anne Taylor, Laurence Oliphant, 1829–1888 (Oxford, 1982), pp. 190–191 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 82 Mrs Margaret Oliphant, quoted in Taylor, Laurence Oliphant, p. 193 Chirol, With Pen and Brush, pp. 46–47 Chirol, With Pen and Brush, p. 48 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 80 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 92–93 Chirol, With Pen and Brush, p. 81 It was said that when Abdul Hamid was a boy ‘a fakir … told him that the star under which he was born was that of the exalted Caliphate of Islam, which he would some day restore to its ancient splendour’. Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 86–87 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 89–90 Valentine Chirol, ’Twixt Greek and Turk, or Jottings During a Journey through Thessaly, Macedonia, and Epirus in the Autumn of 1880 (Edinburgh and London, 1881), pp. 1–2 Chirol, ’Twixt Greek and Turk, pp. 2–3 Chirol, ’Twixt Greek and Turk, p. 3 Chirol, ’Twixt Greek and Turk, p. 31 Chirol, ’Twixt Greek and Turk, p. 42 Oliphant to Blackwood, 3 December 1880, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Blackwood Papers, 4410, ff. 161–162 Chirol to Blackwood, 10 December 1880, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Blackwood Papers, 4403, f. 221 Chirol to Blackwood, 6 February 1881, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Blackwood Papers, 4417, f. 118 Blackwood to Chirol, 26 February 1881, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Blackwood Papers, 30368, pp. 268–269 Blackwood to Chirol, 17 March 1881, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Blackwood Papers, 30368, pp. 290–291 ‘With regard to the illustrations, the Monastir Monastery will, I am sure, be capital for the outside design. Please do call attention to the rope hanging down from the convent balcony, which serves to fish up the traveller. The trees in the foreground require working up (trees are not my strong point).’ Chirol to Blackwood, 18 March 1881, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Blackwood Papers, 4417, f. 135 Chirol, ’Twixt Greek & Turk, Preface Chirol, ’Twixt Greek & Turk, pp. 7–8 Chirol to Blackwood, 2 February 1881, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Blackwood Papers The young Prince was the Tsarina Marie’s [of Hesse-Darmstadt] nephew and also related to Queen Victoria. The Prince was very good-looking, ‘a magnificent specimen of humanity’ according to Robert Graves, Storm Centres of the Near East (London, 1933), p. 3. Chirol laid stress on his character rather than appearance. He was an ideal leader, brave, vigourous, politically sensitive and, most importantly, willing to act

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48 49

50 51 52

53 54 55 56 57 58 59

60 61 62

63 64 65 66 67 68

69 70 71

72 73 74 75

swiftly and resolutely in the interests of his country’s independence and his people’s ambitions. Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 120 For Europeans Arabi was an inflammatory menace determined to wreck their plans for his country. Chirol, who had met and spoken with him, never denied the menace but thought rather well of the man. Although ignorant, ‘he looked one straight in the face and his manners were courteous. He was…to some extent a tool in the hands of abler men. But I believe he was honest and well-meaning, and a patriot according to his lights.’ Chirol, The Egyptian Problem, p. 42 Chirol, The Egyptian Problem, p. 40 Chirol, The Egyptian Problem, p. 66 Chirol to Blackwood, 10 February 1883 and Blackwood to Chirol, 5 March 1883, Edinburgh, National Library of Scotland, Blackwood Papers 4442, ff. 210–212 and Papers, 30369, pp. 322–323 Guy Le Strange was Alice Oliphant’s brother. He had travelled in, and written about, Persia. Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum, Guy LeStrange Bequest Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 220 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 221 Chirol to Charles Hardinge, 9 March 1914, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 61, no. 55 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 146 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 154 Nordenfeldt did not seem upset. When he learned of Chirol’s difficulties and expenses, he cabled him to come home, and to ‘send the Shah to Jericho’. Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 157 Chirol, With Pen and Brush, p. 42 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 120 England had withdrawn its objections to a Big Bulgaria, figuring that if the Russians were unable to dictate to its ruler they would not be in a position to force the country to threaten either the Ottomans or the Austrians. Graves, Storm Centres, p. 74 Her charms were apparently so notable as to be well appreciated by one of Britain’s ‘most prominent statesmen’. Graves, Storm Centres, p. 77 Graves, Storm Centres, pp. 76–77 Chirol to R.J. Kennedy, 18 May 1897, London, The Times Record Office, FELB3/835 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 129 Jelavich, History of the Balkans, vol. I, p. 375. Austria had difficult internal problems to handle, Russia had turned her attention to the Far East, and Britain’s focus had shifted from the Straits to Egypt and Suez. The History of The Times (London, 1947), vol. III, p. 124 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 124 The Times was required to defend themselves not only in a libel suit brought by Parnell but to defray all of the costs of providing defence witness to the special investigating commission set up by Parliament. The loss to the paper was over £200,000. Chirol to Lascelles, 29 November 1891, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 125 ff. D.M. Wallace to Nicholas O’Conor, 28 October 1891, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/3 Chirol to Lascelles, 29 November 1891, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14

486

NOTES

76 77 78 79 80 81 82

Chirol to Lascelles, 29 November 1891, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Lascelles, 29 November 1891, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Lascelles, 29 November 1891, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to O’Conor, 10 February 1892, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/1 Chirol to Lascelles, 29 November 1891, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to O’Conor, 10 February 1892, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/1 O’Conor to Chirol, 24 April 1892, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/1

CHAPTER 3 1 2 3

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

Otto Pflanz, Bismarck and the Development of Germany (Princeton, 1963), as quoted in Gerhard Masur, Imperial Berlin (New York, 1970), p. 61 Koppel S. Pinson, Modern Germany (New York, 1954), p. 157 It is ‘not an exaggeration to say that the Reich Constitution endowed the House of Hohenzollern with an almost absolutist position’. V.R. Berghahn, Germany and the Approach of War in 1914 (New York, 1973), p. 9 Carl Schmitt, in Pinson, Modern Germany, p. 162, 12 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 268 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 270 Sir James Rennell Rodd, Social and Diplomatic Memories (London, 1922), p. 115 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 269 Norman Rich, Friedrich von Holstein (Cambridge, 1965), vol. I, p. 113 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 764 J.S.A. Grenville, Lord Salisbury and Foreign Policy: The Close of the Nineteenth Century (London, 1964), p. 34 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 271 A.J.A. Morris, The Scaremongers: The Advocacy of War and Rearmament (London, 1984), p. 32 Chirol, ‘The Origins of the Present War’, Quarterly Review, vol. 221 (October 1914), pp. 429–430 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 276–277 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 277–278 Bell to B. Richards, 27 February 1892, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 140 Wallace to Chirol, 24 May 1892, London, The Times Record Office, FELB1/365 Rich, Holstein, vol. I, p. 317, fn. 4 Agatha Ramm, ed., Beloved and Darling Child: Last Letters between Queen Victoria and Her Eldest Daughter, 1886–1901 (London, 1990), p. 149 The Times, 3 November 1892 The Times, 25 June 1892 Wallace to Chirol, 7 July 1892, London, The Times Record Office, FELB 1/436–437 John C.G. Röhl, ed., Philipp Eulenburg’s Politische Korrespondence (Boppard-amRhine, 1976–1983), vol. I, p. 647, no. 481 Gordon Craig, From Bismarck to Adenauer (New York, 1965), p. 26 Ramm, Beloved and Darling Child, p. 135 That year Chirol told Lascelles that he, Chirol, had heard from a German ‘who claims to be well acquainted with the present Emperor [that] there were two things which would fatally drive Germany into the arms of Russia: William II’s hatred of England, and his autocratic instincts, both feelings legitimised … as traditions inherited from his glorious grandfather’. Chirol to

487

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28

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62

Francis Lascelles, 9 November 1888, London, NA, Lascelles Papers FO800/ 6/283 Paul Kennedy, ‘The Kaiser and German Weltpolitik: reflections on Wilhelm II’s place in the making of German foreign policy’, in Röhl and Sombart, eds, Kaiser Wilhelm II: New Interpretations (Cambridge, 1982), pp. 155–156 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 275 The Times, 2 January 1894 Chirol to Wallace, 19 October 1894, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Papers, Box 15 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 273–274 Quoted in Agatha Ramm, Sir Robert Morier (Oxford, 1973), pp. 305–306 Chirol to Wallace, 19 October 1894, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 24 October 1894, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 2 November 1894, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 The Times, 27 October 1894 Chirol to Wallace, 2 November 1894, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 6 December 1895, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 The Times, 12 November 1895 Chirol to Lascelles, 9 November 1895, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14; Paul Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism (London, 1980), p. 366 Chirol to Lascelles, 9 November 1895, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Wallace, 20 December 1895, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 The Times, 23 June 1894 In 1889 he admitted openly that he had always opposed having colonies. Recent events had not changed his mind, especially now ‘since Germany might soon be forced to defend her vital interests in Europe and could not afford to divide her energies’. Rich, Holstein, vol. I, p. 248 Chirol to Holstein, 20 July 1892, Norman Rich and M. H. Fisher, eds, The Holstein Papers (Cambridge, 1955), vol. III, pp. 421–422 Oren Hale, Publicity and Diplomacy (New York, 1940), p. 94; Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, pp. 43–45 J. Lepius, A. Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, and F. Thimme, eds, Die Grosse Politik der Europäischer Kabinette, vol. 8, no. 1750, pp. 105–106 Chirol to Holstein, 29 July 1893, Gerhard Ebel, ed., Paul von Hatzfeldt, Nachgelassene Papiere (Boppard-am-Rhine, 1976), vol. II, p. 930 See Holstein to Hatzfeldt, Hatzfeldt Papiere, 29 and 31 July, 2 August 1893, in Ebel, vol. II, pp. 928–932 Wallace to Chirol, 4 November 1893, London, The Times Record Office, FELB2/176 Holstein to Eulenburg, 17 November 1893, Röhl, ed., Philipp Eulenburg’s Politische Korrespondence, vol. II, p. 1143; Rich, Holstein, vol. I, pp. 361–362 Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 412 Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, pp. 214–215 The Times, 13 June 1894 Chirol to Wallace, 13 June 1894, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 19 June 1894, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 23 June 1894, Cambridge, UL , Wallace Add., Box 15 Holstein to Radolin, 8 December 1894, Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, vol. III, pp. 481–482 Radolin to Holstein, 20 December 1894, Ebel, Hatzfeldt Papiere, vol. II, pp. 1015–1016 Hohenlohe to Bülow, 3 January 1895, Grosse Politik, 8, no. 1998, pp. 375–376 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 254 and fn. 3

488

NOTES

63 64 65

66 67

68

69 70

71 72 73

74

75 76 77 78

79 80 81 82 83

84 85

Marschall to Bülow, 24 January 1895, Grosse Politik, VIII, Nr. 2008, p. 385 O’Conor to Chirol, early 1895, London, The Times Record Office, Chirol Papers He was also keen to go as ‘for of the countries I have not yet visited China and Japan are the only two to which my curiosity is at all strongly drawn’. Chirol to Bell, 5 April 1895, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Bell, 25 May 1895, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Whitehall decided that the best course would be for Tokyo to give way to Russia, France and Germany. Chirol’s view was that it would have been better not to irritate the coming Power in the area in order to prop up one that was already dead, if not quite gone. Chirol to Bell, 25 May 1895, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers. Not so chaotic or fragmentary, however, to fail to predict that in due time, and that not long, the West would ‘rue the day when we introduced to the labour markets of the world the enterprising genius of Japan and the countless hosts of Chinese labour’. Chirol to Holstein, 21 June 1895, Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, vol. III, pp. 522–523 A series of 12 special articles on ‘The Situation in the Far East’ were published between the end of September and the end of November and later published by Macmillan as The Far Eastern Question. Chirol to O’Conor, 12 September 1895, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2. Chirol to Bell, 27 November 1895, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers He was to be replaced by Lascelles, who would himself he replaced in St Petersburg by O’Conor. Chirol was overjoyed to have his two great friends not only closer to him physically but in such crucial slots. Chirol to Lascelles, 9 November 1895, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14. To avoid trouble with the Emperor Holstein and Marschall replaced ‘war’ with ‘serious complications’ in their report of Malet’s remarks. The substitution did not work. ‘Malet’, he roared into the ear of his particular friend, Colonel Swaine, had ‘on account of a few square miles full of Negroes and palmtrees, … threatened [England’s] single real friend, the German Kaiser, grandson of Her Majesty the Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, with war’. Kaiser Wilhelm II to Marschall, 25 October 1895, Grosse Politik, XI, Nr. 2579, pp. 8–11 Chirol to Wallace, 6 December 1895, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Lascelles, 9 November 1895, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol, Memo to Lascelles of 20 December 1895, sent by Lascelles to the Foreign Office, 27 December 1895, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/17/62–63 Chirol to Wallace, 20 December 1895, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15, also Hatzfeldt to Holstein, 13 December 1895, Grosse Politik, X, Nr. 2562, p. 230 and Marschall to Hatzfeldt [drafted by Holstein], 15 December 1895, Grosse Politik, X, no. 2563, p. 231 The Times, 30 December 1895 The Times, 27 December 1895 Chirol to Bell, 27 December 1895, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Grosse Politik, XI, no. 2589, pp. 17–18 Chirol to Bell, 30 December 1895, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers. Wallace did go to Whitehall to make inquiries about compensation, but not at once. Marschall to Herff, 30 December 1895, Grosse Politik, XI, no. 2587, p. 16 Chirol to Bell, 4 January 1896, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers

489

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

86

87 88

89 90 91 92 93 94 95

96 97 98 99

100 101 102

103 104 105 106

107 108 109 110 111 112

On 31 December Salisbury telegraphed to Lascelles an account of Chamberlain’s efforts to stop Jameson. Lascelles gave a copy to Marschall on 1 January and Marschall passed it on to the Kaiser the same day. Marschall to Kaiser Wilhelm, 1 January 1896, Grosse Politik, 11, no. 2594, pp. 21–23. Hatzfeldt too let his government know ‘that the action of the Chartered Company [was] unwished for by the English government and that, in this case, they will stop at nothing to bring their influence to bear’. Grosse Politik, 11, no. 2596, p. 24 Chirol to Wallace, 4 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 E.T.S. Dugdale, ed., German Diplomatic Documents, 1871–1914 (London, 1969), vol. II, p. 387. Much has been written about both the inspiration for and the drafting of the telegram. See the Note in Dugdale, pp. 387–388, also Friedrich Thimme, ‘Die Krüger-Despesche’, Europäische Gespräche, Hamburger Monatshefte für Auswärtiges Politik, May–June 1924 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 279–280 Lascelles to Salisbury, 4 January 1896, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/ 17/64–65 Chirol to Wallace, 4 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 7 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Hatzfeldt to Holstein, 4 January 1896, Grosse Politik, 11, no. 2613, p. 33 Chirol to Wallace, 7 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add, Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 7 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add, Box 15; Grosse Politik, 11, no. 2592, p. 20 and Kaiser Wilhelm to Hohenlohe, 6 January 1896, no. 2617, p. 36, where he speaks of the possibility of sending German troops from East Africa into the Transvaal if needed. The Times, 8 January 1896 Lascelles to Salisbury, 8 January 1896, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/ 17/66 The Times, 9 January 1896 Not only had Marschall fudged this detail, he omitted altogether the fact that when the Germans were told no they renewed their request, with added pressure, and on the 8th had received a conditional yes from Lisbon. Chirol to Wallace, 8 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Bell, 10 January 1896, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Wallace, 11 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15. Two weeks later he was still, if not more, angry about being cast for the part of ‘unofficial medium’ in a ‘comedy of intimidation’. Chirol to Wallace, 25 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 11 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 11 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Bell, 9, 15 and 16 January 1896, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers C. Spring-Rice to Francis Villiers, 17 and 18 January 1896, S. Gwynn, ed., The Letters and Friendships of Sir Cecil Spring-Rice: A Record (Boston and New York, 1929), vol. I, pp. 191–193 Chirol to Wallace, 16 January 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Holstein to Hatzfeldt, 29 May 1898, Ebel, Hatzfeldt Papiere, vol. II, no. 724, p. 1162. Chirol and Holstein did not see one another again until November 1901. The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 271, n. 1 Chirol to Wallace, 14 March 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Chirol to Wallace, 2 March 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 Wallace to Chirol, 19 March 1896, London, The Times Record Office, FELB 3/399

490

NOTES

113 Chirol to Wallace, 4 April 1896, Cambridge, UL, Wallace Add., Box 15 114 Wallace to Lascelles, 7 April 1896, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/6/59–60 115 Wallace to Lascelles, 7 April 1896, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/6/59–60

CHAPTER 4 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23

O’Conor to Chirol, 14 January 1896, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to O’Conor, 18 January 1896, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to O’Conor, 14 April 1896, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Lascelles, 6 May 1896, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Bell, 6 July 1896, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to O’Conor, 6 May and 22 June 1896, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 9 June 1896, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 O’Conor to Chirol, 28 June and 11 July 1896, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Bell, 15 November 1896, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Lascelles, 15 November 1896, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/9 Chirol to Lascelles, 15 November 1896, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/9 Chirol, The Far Eastern Question, pp. 179–180 Chirol to O’Conor, 8 November 1896, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Bell, 28 December 1896, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers. Bell was as frustrated as Chirol. He wrote to Morrison on 12 November that ‘[he was] becoming seriously inconvenienced by the impossibility of getting any communication with you … Your numerous covering letters breathe a plaintive air of regret that you are not able to do more and invite a reply that you are doing very well … Yet none of your letters (until this one) have given one the slightest indication how or where I may address you. The spectacle of Rachel calling to her children and declining to be comforted always excites pity but if Rachel stops her ears with beeswax or declines to give any address where she may be reached there’s not much good in trying to give comfort …’ Lo Hui-Min, The Correspondence of G.E. Morrison (Cambridge and New York, 1976), vol. I, p. 40 Chirol to Bell, 28 December 1896, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Morrison, 27 May 1897, London, The Times Record Office, FELB3/ 861 An outgrowth of the old Concert of Europe and made up of the powers most interested and involved in the Balkan and eastern Mediterranean region. Chirol to O’Conor, 12 April 1897, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to O’Conor, 12 April 1897, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Cecil Spring-Rice, 1858–1918, was a career diplomat with a long and distinguished record of service. Chirol met him in 1895 when Springy, as he familiarly called him, was serving as second secretary at the Berlin Embassy. Spring-Rice and his wife, Frances Lascelles, were among Chirol’s closest friends. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 3 May 1897, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 5 April 1897, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 26 September 1918, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/17

491

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24

25

26 27

28 29 30 31

32 33 34 35 36

37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

46 47 48

Chirol to Stillman, 21 May 1897, London, The Times Record Office, FELB3/850. According to Langer, the Germans – and the Austrians and the Russians as well – might not have encouraged, but did not discourage the Sultan. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 369 Among which were keeping Prince Bismarck’s enormous obituary up to date and translating Moritz Busch’s voluminous Bismarck, Some Pages from his Secret Diary. Busch, one-time head of the Press Bureau at the German Foreign Office (1870–1873), was particularly intimate with Bismarck. Chirol to O’Conor, 29 July 1897, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 He warned Bland that he was holding out one of his dispatches as ‘the most prudent thing for the moment … is to “lie low and say nuffink”. But the usefulness of your article will be none the less apparent one of these days.’ Chirol to Bland, 9 September 1897, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers coll. 81 Chirol to O’Conor, 8 October 1897, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 6 October 1897, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 29 November 1897, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 To help persuade the Chinese the Kaiser sent a naval squadron under the command of his brother, Prince Henry. Its departure was the occasion of his bristling ‘mailed fist’ speech. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 29 November 1897, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Morrison, 10 December 1897, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 54 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 10 December 1897, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Bertie, 31 December 1897, London, BL, Bertie Papers Mss.; Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 January 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Morrison, 24 February 1898, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 71. Bell also wrote to Morrison that Whitehall ‘did not much like the publication of that first telegram – but that was our affair not yours, perhaps if they had treated us with a little more confidence it would have been better for them’. Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 70, n. 3 Chirol to Morrison, 24 February 1898, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 70–72 Chirol to O’Conor, 25 February 1898, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to O’Conor, 29 March 1898, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to O’Conor, 16 April 1898, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 7 April 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Smalley, 18 June 1898, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/ 133 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 25 May 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 7 April 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 This was the third in a series of recent Western leases along the coastline of northern China. First the Germans moved into Kiaochow, then the Russians forced the Chinese to grant them a lease of Port Arthur. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 7 April 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Hatzfeldt to the Auswärtiges Amt, 29 March 1898, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 21 Chirol to Lascelles, 3 May 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14. Two weeks earlier Hatzfeldt had written to Bülow that statesmen in London wanted most of all to break up the Russo-French coalition, but had come to the conclusion that it would easier to satisfy the French in west Africa than to ever satisfy Russia. ‘[I]t was this realization which, in my opinion, brought the English to the bitter decision to seek the alliance of Germany and her friends.’ Hatzfeldt to Bülow, 20 April 1898, Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, vol. IV, p. 71

492

NOTES

49 50 51

52 53

54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61

62 63 64 65

Chirol to Lascelles, 3 May 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Lascelles, 17 May 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 When in Berlin in 1897, Chirol had tried to see Holstein but was told quite brusquely that the latter was away. Apparently Chirol knew that that was not true, and once again he was badly stung. Holstein to Hazfeldt, 29 May 1898, Ebel, ed., Hatzfeldt Papiere, p. 1162 Chirol to Blowitz, 28 September 1898, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/173 Still he found the Foreign Office ‘very secretive’ and thus it was hard to find out what was going on. He fervently hoped that they would ‘carry the Cretan job through … To wash our hands of [it] … would be to my mind a repetition of the Armenian disgrace. I don’t mean to say that we are bound to go about the world doing knight-erranty. But we ought to count the cost before donning our armour. Having once done so we cannot shuffle it off merely because it chafes our skin.’ Chirol to Spring-Rice, 4 October 1898, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 18 October 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Morrison, 20 October 1898, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 101 Found guilty of treason in December 1894, he had been a prisoner on Devil’s Island since. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 27 October 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 29 December 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 15 December 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Morrison, 2 December 1898, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 106 Chirol to Morrison, 16 December 1898, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 106–107 The difference of opinion in this instance had been with Bland [in Shanghai] rather than with Chirol. In his letter to Morrison Chirol was quite sharp about Morrison’s actions. ‘However strongly you may feel that you are right and Bland is wrong with regard to the recent coup d’état in Peking, I think you will agree with me that it would be better to avoid such a sarcastic and contemptuous tone as you adopted … towards the views expressed by a colleague … You must also bear in mind that Bland is not after all a mere “bounder” who has never seen anything of China outside of Shanghai settlement …’ Chirol to O’Conor, 13 December 1898, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/69 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 15 December 1898, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Bell, 29 November 1898, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Bell, 2 December 1898, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers

CHAPTER 5 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Chirol to O’Conor, 10 February 1899, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to O’Conor, 10 February 1899, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Lascelles, 25 January 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to O’Conor, 10 February 1899, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to O’Conor, 7 March 1899, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Brinkley, 24 March 1899, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/324 Chirol himself commented that the Germans were ‘behaving quite decently’ and Lascelles wrote at the end of January that the ‘All-Highest’ had been specially pleased by a piece which Holstein had attributed to Chirol. Lascelles to Chirol,

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8

9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16

17 18 19

20 21 22 23

24 25

26 27 28 29 30 31 32

21 January 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 and Lascelles to Salisbury, G. Gooch and H. Temperley, British Documents on the Origins of the War (London, 1927), vol. I, pp. 109–110 According to Morrison his articles showed ‘extraordinary knowledge combined with the most remarkable accuracy. I think it is generally admitted that he writes on China with more authority than any other man living …’ Morrison to Mrs Moberly Bell, March 1899, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 116 The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 196–197 Chirol to Morrison, 2 March 1899, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 112–113 Chirol, The Far Eastern Question, p. 188 Holstein to Hatzfeldt, 21 May 1899, Ebel, pp. 1230–1231 Then Deputy Secretary at the Auswärtiges Amt but soon to be Foreign Secretary when Bülow became Chancellor. As he once told Morrison, ‘a correspondent, while studying every question with all the diligence of a specialist, should seek to place the results of his studies before the public in such a shape as to render them easily accessible and attractive to the largest number of readers possible’. Chirol to Morrison, 18 May 1896, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 37–38 Chirol to Saunders, 20 April 1899, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/353 Saunders was Chirol’s choice to replace him in Berlin. He took over the agency in January 1897 and at once became a thorn in the Wilhelmstrasse’s, and especially Holstein’s, side. Frank Giles, A Prince of Journalists, The Life and Times of de Blowitz (London, 1962), p. 24 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 5 August 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 5 August 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9. To some extent he believed that Chamberlain was ‘working the colonial feeling argument for all it was worth’ and therefore proving himself to have ‘more of the instincts of statesmanship than many of his more dignified colleagues’. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 5 August 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, pp. 63–64; Michael Balfour, The Kaiser and His Times (New York, 1972), pp. 218 ff. Chirol to O’Conor, 5 August 1899, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/69 Chirol to Blowitz, 20 October 1899, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/471. In the end they got around the problem by treating the visit as nothing more than an item of ‘Court News’. Chirol to O’Conor, 24 September 1899, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/69 ‘The biggest blunder we have ever committed in S.A. … was to allow Rhodes to get off practically scot-free after the Raid. Had he been visited with some outward & tangible sign of Imperial displeasure … we should have been in a much stronger position to call the Krüger kettle black.’ Chirol to Amery, 15 October 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Chirol to Spring-Rice, 3 October 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 3 October 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Blowitz, 25 August and 6 September 1899, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/423 & 431 Chirol to Fullerton, 6 September 1899, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/433 Chirol to Steed, 11 September 1899, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/442 The Times, 11 September 1899 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 16 October 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9

494

NOTES

33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

42

43 44

45 46 47 48 49

Chirol to Spring-Rice, 16 October 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Blowitz, 19 October 1899, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/467 Chirol to Amery, 15 October 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Hatzfeldt to Holstein, 7 October 1899, Grosse Politik, XIVii, no. 4102, pp. 651–652 Holstein to Hatzfeldt, 7 October 1899, Ebel, Hatzfeldt Papiere, p. 1273 M. Balfour, The Kaiser and His Times, p. 222 Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, pp. 113–114 The Times, 27 October 1899 The sole positive result of these remarks would hopefully be to irretrievably ruin ‘his prospects of the F.O. …’. Chirol to O’Conor, 20 December 1899, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/23 Bülow told Hatzfeldt that as he himself must be aware there were groups in Germany who, ‘envious of His Majesty the Kaiser’s government, have for a number of years … kept the suspicion alive … that this government inclines toward secret understandings with England in which German interests are always sacrificed to English ones. [… ] The speech I made on Monday [the 11th] was calculated to remove the grounds for this suspicion.’ Bülow to Hatzfeldt, 14 December 1899, in Rich and Fisher, Holstein Papers, vol. IV, p. 170. See also Ward and Gooch, Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy, vol. III, p. 278 Chirol to Lascelles, 14 December 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Bülow did his best to ameliorate the bad effect his speech had had in London, writing to Hatzfeldt that he might ‘convey in strict confidence to the Prime Minister and possibly also to Mr Balfour … the verbal assurance that, provided naturally that England show consideration for German interests, His Majesty the Kaiser’s government will abstain from any Continental grouping directed against England as well as from any collective action which might embarrass England’. Rich and Fisher, Holstein Papers, vol. IV, p. 171 & n. 2 Chirol to Lascelles, 14 December 1899, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Pückler to Hatzfeldt, 15 December 1899, Ebel, Hatzfeldt Papiere, pp. 1306–1307 Holstein to Hatzfeldt, 26 December 1899, Ebel, Hatzfeldt Papiere, pp. 1310–1311 Pückler to Hatzfeldt, 15 December 1899, Ebel, Hatzfeldt Papiere, pp. 1306–1307 Chirol to Mrs O’Conor, 3 January 1900, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/23. ‘The collapse of our military organisation is complete [and] … the retention of Lord Wolseley as C in C has been a scandal for two years past …’

CHAPTER 6 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Bell to Amery, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Rebecca West, 1900 (New York, 1982), p. 56 West, 1900, p. 72 Gwynn, Letters and Friendships of Cecil Spring-Rice, vol. I, pp. 303–304 Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, pp. 625, 660–663 Holstein to Hatzfeldt, 1 January 1900, Ebel, Hatzfeldt Papiere, pp. 1314–1315 Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 661 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 313 Chirol to Smalley, 23 January 1900, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/502 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 314 Lascelles to Chirol, 27 January 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/23 Chirol to Lascelles, 18 February 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14

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13 14 15 16 17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

35 36 37

38 39

40 41 42

Chirol to Spring-Rice, 25 January 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to O’Conor, 17 February 1900, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Amery, 2 February 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Chirol to O’Conor, 19 May 1900, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/23 Chirol to Lascelles, 6 March 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 The History of the Times, vol. III, p. 316 Saunders was pleased to be ‘so generously backed up by you and the Times (I feared at first that you would not care to publish such candid despatches)’. Saunders to Chirol, 25 October 1899, London, The Times Record Office, Chirol Papers Saunders to Chirol, 27 April 1899, London, The Times Record Office, Chirol Papers Baron Hermann von Eckardstein, Ten Years at the Court of St James (London, 1921), p. 141 Lascelles to Chirol, 3 March 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/23 Chirol to Lascelles, 6 March 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Paul, Count von Wolff-Metternich, became ambassador on Hatzfeldt’s death in 1901. Count Metternich to the German Foreign Office, 7 March 1900, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 124 The Times, 14 March 1900 Sanderson to Lascelles, 14 March 1900, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/9 Lascelles to Chirol, 15 March 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/23 Sanderson to Lascelles, 21 March 1900, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/9 Gosselin to Lascelles, 21 March 1900, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/9 Lascelles to Sanderson, 23 March 1900, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO 800/17/228–229 Chirol to O’Conor, 19 May 1900, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/23 Chirol to Amery, 9 March 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Chirol admitted that he ‘lazed to his heart’s content, reading, sketching, ambling through the olive groves & along narrow lanes of cactus & aloes & wild geraniums which run a thread of pink & scarlet through every hedge’. Chirol to O’Conor, 28 April 1900, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/23 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 April 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 June 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 133–134. His last letter to leave the Chinese capital was dated 24 May, only weeks before the rebels entered Peking. It made no mention whatsoever of the Boxers. Chirol to Bland, 11 July 1900, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/555 Chirol to Morrison, 15 June 1900, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p.138 Chirol to Bland, 11 July 1900, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/555. Bland, then in Shanghai, was as cut off from Peking and any trustworthy news as Chirol was in London. Chirol to Bland, 11 July 1900, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/555 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 22 July 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 As he later told Bland, everyone in London ‘was so fully convinced that the worst had happened at Peking, & I was myself just then in such a state of physical & moral depression that we jumped much too readily to the plausibility of the story. [… ] The long & short of it is, in fact, that we were just then in a mood to be harrowed, & we succumbed to the temptation …’ Chirol to Bland, 12 October 1900, Toronto, Thomas Fisher Library, Bland Papers 81/17

496

NOTES

43 44

45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55

56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

The Times, 17 July 1900 Morrison was upset lest Chirol’s praise damage his position vis-à-vis the British minister in Peking, Sir Claude MacDonald. ‘Just compare [my obituary] with Sir Claude’s. I am sure [the latter] did not like it and small wonder … In my opinion the obituary was fulsome and nauseating and rarely have I been more disgusted.’ Morrison to Bland, 10 September 1900, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 142, n. 2 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 22 July 1900, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/9 Chirol to Morrison, 17 August 1900, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 142 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 10 January 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/13 Chirol to Mrs Leo Maxse, 12 January 1901, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 433 Chirol, The Far Eastern Question, pp. 108–109 Chirol to Morrison, 24 December 1900, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p.159 Chirol to O’Conor, 24 January 1901, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Mrs Leo Maxse, 12 January 1901, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 433 Chirol to Amery, 25 February 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Chirol to O’Conor, 24 January 1901, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 ‘His judgment and perception are not always up to the level of his accuracy with regard to facts.’ Chirol to Amery, 9 February 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Chirol to Amery, 9 February 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Chirol to Amery, 23 March 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Chirol to Amery, 23 March 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Amery Papers Chirol to Bell, 7 April 1901, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Leo Maxse, 27 March 1901, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 448 Chirol to Morrison, 23 May 1901, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 163–164 Chirol to O’Conor, 27 July 1901, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Morrison, 11 July 1901, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 166 Gertrude Bell to Chirol, 1 April 1901, Durham, University Library, Gertrude Bell Papers, 303/4/40–43. Curzon to Lord George Hamilton, 18 June 1901, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/160, no. 41

CHAPTER 7 1 2 3

4 5

Chirol to Lascelles, 9 September 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Spring-Rice, undated, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/13 Chirol to David Hogarth, 2 October 1901, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/659; Gooch and Temperley, British Documents on the Origins of the War, vol. I, Appendix; J.B. Kelly, ‘Salisbury, Curzon and the Kuwait Agreement of 1899’, in Bourne and Watt, eds, Studies in International History, pp. 249 ff. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 1 October 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Hardinge, 11 October 1901, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 3, no. 191. In September Metternich wrote that ‘the feeling that there has been enough of trouble for the present may account for the vehement Press campaign … (especially in The Times) in favour of a settlement between England and Russia in the Persian Gulf’. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 156

497

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6

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

On 29 May Salisbury circulated a confidential Cabinet memorandum on ‘Anglo-German Understanding’. In it the he pointed out the insuperable political difficulties that stood in the way of England’s committing herself to defensive arrangements with other Powers. Chirol, ‘The Origins of the Present War’, in the Quarterly Review, London, October 1914, pp. 415–449 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 288 Friedrich Rosen, Oriental Memories of a German Diplomat (London, 1930), p. 179 Rosen, Oriental Memories, p. 178 Holstein, 31 October 1901, Grosse Politik, vol. XVII, p. 101 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 326 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 327 The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 327–328 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 328 The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 330–331 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 295–296 Chirol to Hardinge, 17 November 1901, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 3, #215 Saunders was faithfully reporting, during the very days that Chirol spent in Berlin, that ‘the agitation [against Chamberlain’s speech] was already great …’. The History of The Times, vol. III, Appendix 1, p. 815 The Times, 20 November 1901 The Times, 20 November 1901 Holstein to Chirol, 21 November 1901, reprinted in The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 337–338 Chirol to Holstein, 22 November 1901, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 339 Chirol to Lascelles, 22 November 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Lascelles, 22 November 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Lascelles, 23 November 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Holstein, 23 November 1901, Rich and Fisher, Holstein Papers, vol. IV, pp. 237–238 Chirol to Holstein, 23 November 1901, Rich and Fisher, Holstein Papers, vol. IV, pp. 237–238 Chirol to Holstein, 23 November 1901, Rich and Fisher, Holstein Papers, vol. IV, pp. 237–238 Bülow to Holstein, 25 November 1901, Rich and Fisher, Holstein Papers, vol. IV, p. 239 Chirol to Lascelles, 25 November 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 The Times, 27 November 1901 Chirol to Lascelles, 28 November 1901, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Gooch and Temperley, British Documents on the Origins of the War, vol. II, pp. 76–79 Chirol to Holstein, 28 December 1901, Rich and Fisher, Holstein Papers, vol. IV, pp. 242–243 Holstein to Chirol, 3 January 1902, Gooch and Temperley, British Documents on the Origins of the War, vol. II, no. 96, pp. 84–86 Draft letter to Chirol from Sanderson, 21 January 1902, Gooch and Temperley, British Documents on the Origins of the War, vol. II, pp. 87–88 Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, vol. IV, p. 244, n. 3 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 17 January 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Holstein, 12 January 1902, Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, vol. IV, p. 246

498

NOTES

41 42 43 44 45 46 47

Diary entry, 11 January 1902. Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, vol. IV, p. 244 Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, vol. IV , p. 247; Holstein, Lebensbekenntnis, p. 214, quoted in O.J. Hale, Publicity and Diplomacy, (New York, 1940) p. 255. Sanderson to Lascelles, 22 January 1902, London, NA, Lascelles Papers FO800/10; Chirol to Lascelles, 21 January 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 17 January 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Lascelles, 4 February 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Lascelles, 21 January 1902 , Cambridge, CCA , Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to O’Conor, 9 February 1902, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2

CHAPTER 8 1

2 3 4 5 6 7

8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 February 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10. The Treaty of Alliance that was signed on 30 January was concerned with China and Korea. The signatories agreed to remain neutral should either of them become involved in a war with another Power, but to come to the other’s aid should one or more Powers attack it. They also agreed not to enter into separate arrangements with any other Power without consulting one another. The document was to remain in force for five years. See Lo Hui-Min, The Correspondence of G.E. Morrison, vol. I, p. 180, n. 2 Chirol, The Far Eastern Question, pp. 108–109 Chirol to Morrison, 24 December 1900, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 159–160 Chirol to Lascelles, 11 February 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Bland, 17 April 1902, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Lascelles, 11 February 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 The German Embassy in Washington, so he was told, was the headquarters of pro-Boer agitation in the States and busy spreading the choicest productions of the pan-Germanic press through the German–American community. Chirol to Lascelles, 18 April 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 7 March 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Bland, 7 March 1902, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Bell, 12 June 1902, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Lascelles, 18 April 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Chirol to Lascelles, 18 April 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/14 Lascelles to Chirol, 30 June 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/23 Metternich to Bülow, 9 July 1902, Grosse Politik, XVII, no. 5088, p. 214 Metternich to Bülow, 2,3,15 June 1902, Grosse Politik, XVII, nos 5081–5083, pp. 208–211 Buckle to Curzon, 25 July 1902, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and African Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/182, no. 133 Chirol to MacDonald, 21 August 1902, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/761 Citation from The Times – end of August, start of September, 1902 Chirol to Mrs M. Bell, 15 September 1902, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Mrs M. Bell, 15 September 1902, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Spring-Rice, 12 October 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10

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22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

34 35 35 37 38

39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

Chirol to O’Conor, 11 October 1902, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 12 October 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 12 October 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 November 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 November 1902, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Mrs M. Bell, 26 November 1902, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Curzon to Lord George Hamilton, 18 December 1902, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/161, no. 99 Curzon to Lansdowne, 3 April 1903, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/162, no. 20 Chirol Memo, London, undated, in India Office Library as addendum to Curzon to Lansdowne of 3 April 1903, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/162, no. 20 Chirol Memo, London, undated, in India Office Library as addendum to Curzon to Lansdowne of 3 April 1903, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/162, no. 20 Chirol to Mrs M. Bell, 6 December 1902, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Mrs M. Bell, 6 December 1902. As Curzon himself said, ‘If you want a thing done in a certain way, the manner in which to be sure that it is so done is to do it yourself.’ David Dilks, Curzon in India (New York, 1970), vol. I, p. 264 Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. I, p. 261. Wits at the time called the celebration the ‘Curzonization’. Peter King, The Viceroy’s Fall (London, 1986), p. 92 Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. I, p. 262 Chirol to Mrs Bell, 12 January 1903, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Spring-Rice, 20 January 1903, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Holkar was also a man of exalted, and expensive, tastes and had once harnessed the moneylenders of Indore to the state coach, which he then drove personally around his domain. He also made life hard for the British Residents, saying of one of them that he gave him the sensation of ‘a rat in his pyjamas’. Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. I, pp. 264–265 Chirol to Mrs M. Bell, 29 January 1903, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to O’Conor, 31 March, 1903, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/38 Chirol to O’Conor, 31 March, 1903, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/38 Chirol to O’Conor, 31 March, 1903, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/38 Chirol to O’Conor, 22 April 1903, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Curzon, 23 April 1903, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/182, no. 222 Chirol to Curzon, 23 April 1903, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/182, no. 222 Curzon to Chirol, 13 May 1903, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/182, no. 184 Chirol to Bland, 7 July 1903, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Curzon, 7 June 1903, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/182, no. 235 Chirol to O’Conor, 6 June 1903, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2

500

NOTES

50

51

52

53 54 55 56 57 58

It seems that Braham had been paying rather too much attention to the vicious pogroms then sweeping through Russia, and to signs of revolutionary unrest in general. He was warned two months earlier by the British ambassador to be very careful about sending such items. The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 282–284 Scott told Braham that his expulsion was not because of any particular dispatch but of the generally critical tone of the paper. ‘The government did not know whether the Correspondent was to blame for the policy, or the policy for the Correspondent, but they had made up their mind that The Times Correspondent was no longer to be tolerated’ and that the paper should be taught a lesson. The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 384–385 Chirol to O’Conor, 6 June 1903, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2. In the autumn Scott came to London on leave and went around claiming The Times had ‘ruined’ him. This Chirol found rather ironic since the ‘clamour’ in the paper had worked for instead of against the ‘gaga’ Scott since the Foreign Office was so determined not to be seen to give in to any criticism from Printing House Square that they did not remove him then and there but allowed him to finish out his term. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 6 October 1903, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 August 1903, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to O’Conor, 10 September 1903, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/3 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 24 September and 6 October 1903, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 August 1903, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 6 October 1903, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Murray, 2 October 1903, London, John Murray, Ltd.

CHAPTER 9 1 2 3 4

5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Chirol to Florence Lascelles, 28 November 1903, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to O’Conor, 28 November 1903, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Brodrick to Curzon, 16 November 1903, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/ Curzon to Brodrick, 18 and 21 November 1903, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/173 and 111/162, no. 88. Chirol credited Brodrick’s ‘spite’ against the paper to its criticisms of his tenure in the War Office. Brodrick to Curzon, 29 January 1904, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/163, no. 7 Curzon to Brodrick, 17 February 1904, London India Office Library, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/163, no. 9 The Times, 26 September 1903 Chirol to Florence Lascelles, 29 December 1903, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 1 January 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Morrison, 25 May 1903, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/807 Chirol to O’Conor, 9 February 1904, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 6/1/43 Neither the Kaiser nor the Wilhelmstrasse were happy to lose the time-honoured ability to play off the Anglo-French enmity. But, wishing to keep a low profile,

501

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13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44

45 46 47 48 49 50

officials in Berlin did not show much reaction in public. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, pp. 268–269 Chirol to Curzon, 26 March 1904, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/182, no. 305 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 18 April 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to O’Conor, 31 May 1904, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2; Chirol to Spring-Rice, 10 May 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Morrison to Chirol, 9 March 1904, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 256; The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 429 Chirol to Lionel James, 7 June 1904, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/930 Chirol to Lionel James, 7 June 1904, London, The Times Record Office, FELB4/930 Chirol to Morrison, 24 June 1904, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 265 Chirol to Morrison, 17 August 1904, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 275 Chirol to Morrison, 17 August 1904, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 265, 275–276 Chirol to Bland, 9 and 15 September 1904, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Hardinge to Chirol, 3 June 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 6 Hardinge to Chirol, 3 June 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 6 Chirol to Hardinge, 14 June 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 89 Chirol to Hardinge, 14 June 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 89 Hardinge to Chirol, 20 June 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 6 Chirol to O’Conor, 21 June 1904, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Saunders, 30 May 1904, London, The Times Record Office, FELB/4/886 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 July 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 July 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 9 August 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Hardinge, 10 August 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 3, no. 130 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 6 September 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 398 The Times, 19 September 1904 Chirol to Lascelles, 21 September 1904, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 6 September 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Bland, 1 September 1904, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Lascelles, 27 September 1904, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/12 Chirol to Lascelles, 27 September 1904, London, NA, Lascelles Papers, FO800/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 4 October 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Steed to Chirol, 16 September 1904, London, The Times Record Office, Steed Papers The border was closed to both traders and diplomats, the resident representative of China all but impotent, a former trading agreement with the Indian government inoperative. Chirol to Curzon, 17 February 1904, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/182, no. 289a Chirol to Spring-Rice, 9 August 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26, July 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 The Prime Minister went so far as to say that his disobedience had ‘touched the honour of his country’. Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. pp. 98–99 Chirol to Hardinge, 4 October 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 173 Chirol to Steed, 11 October 1904, London, The Times Record Office; Steed to Chirol, 16 October 1904, London, The Times Record Office, Steed Letter Book 1902–06, no. 02/038

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59 60 61

62 63 64 65

66 67 68 69 70

71 72

The Times, 18 October 1904 The Times, 18 October 1904 Count Bernstorff, The Memoirs of Count Bernstorff (London, 1936), pp. 86–87 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 23 October 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Hardinge, 2 November 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 212 Chirol to Hardinge, 1 November 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7 Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 271 On 13 October Metternich wired Berlin that he had it from trustworthy sources that, if the Russian fleet attempted to leave the Baltic, Japanese agents had been instructed to lay mines in the waters off Denmark. He wondered if he should communicate these warnings to St Petersburg. The answer from Berlin was no. Grosse Politik, vol. XIX, no. 6100 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 1 November 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, vol. IV, p. 311, no. 862; The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 400–401 Metternich to Bülow, 1 November 1904, Grosse Politik, vol. XIX, pt. 1, no. 6111, p. 292. In connection with remarks by the naval attaché see J. Steinberg, ‘Germany and the Russo-Japanese War’, American Historical Review, vol. 75, December 1970, p. 1976; Report by Captain Count von der Schulenberg, 31 January 1906, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, pp. 241–242 Steinberg, ‘Germany and the Russo-Japanese War’, AHR, vol. LXXV, December, 1970, p. 1976 The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 397–398, and n. 1 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 17 August and 23 October 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Gertrude to Lady Bell, 5 November 1904, University of Newcastle, Robinson Library, Gertrude Bell Papers. ‘Domnul’ was a pet name, which originated many years before in Bucharest when Chirol was staying with the Lascelles – and where he met Gertrude for the first time. Taken very ill, he was put in a room in the house next to that of the legation. The legation servants, unable to grasp the name ‘Chirol’, called him ‘the gentleman next door’, the first word of which was ‘Domnul’. Elsa Richmond, ed., The Earlier Letters of Gertrude Bell (New York, 1937), p. 181 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 6 November 1904, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 6 November 1904, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 2 December 1904, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15 Gwynn, The Letters and Friendships of Cecil Spring-Rice, vol. I, pp. 436–437 According to Speck von Sternburg it was not only Durand that earned some strong words from Roosevelt. At the end of September he reported a conversation with the President during which the latter had said that there was not a man in England with whom he could deal. He thought little of Balfour, less of Lansdowne, and found Chamberlain quite unreliable. German Diplomatic Documents, XIX, 541, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 200 Chirol to Hardinge, 15 November 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 228 G.S. Clarke to Chirol, 13 November 1904, London, BL, Sydenham Mss, 50831 no. 260

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CHAPTER 10 1 2 3 4 5 6

7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Chirol to Hardinge, 25 December 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 275; Chirol to Satow, 31 December 1904, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 283 Holstein to von Radolin, 25 November 1904, Rich and Fisher, vol. IV, p. 313 Speck von Sternberg to von Bülow, 10 February 1905, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 216 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 1 November 1904, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Chirol to Curzon, 19 January 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 9 He was certainly the paramount influence on foreign affairs and as to his ‘sincere convictions that the closest possible relations between England and America are to the interest of both … there can be no manner of doubt’. Chirol to Hardinge, 25 December 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 275 Chirol to Satow, 31 December 1904, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 280 Chirol to Hardinge, Christmas Day 1904, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 275 Gwynn, The Letters and Friendships of Sir Cecil Spring-Rice, vol. I, p. 443 Chirol to Hardinge, 17 January 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 324 Chirol to Hardinge, 9 January 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 307 Chirol to Curzon, 19 January 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 9 Chirol to Hardinge, 6 February 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 343 William II to Bülow, 28 December 1904, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 184 Chirol to Hardinge, 9 and 17 January, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, #s 307 & 324 Steinberg, ‘Germany and the Russo-Japanese War’, AHR, vol. LXXV, 1970, p. 1894 The government of Morocco The Times, 20 March 1905 Bertie to Chirol, 21 March 1905, London, BL, Bertie Papers, Mss 63017, vol. VII The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 414 Memo of von Holstein, June 3, 1904, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, pp. 220–221 Von Kühlmann to Bülow, 19 March 1905, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 223 Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 223 Chirol to Bertie, 22 March 1905, British Library, Bertie Mss 63017, vol. III Kühlmann to Bülow, 19 March 1905, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 223 The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 413–414 Rich and Fisher, Holstein Papers, vol. IV, p. 328, n. 1 Michael Balfour, The Kaiser and His Times, p. 255; Bülow to the Emperor, 4 April 1905, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 224 Bell to Harris, 30 March 1905, London, The Times Record Office, Manager’s Letter Book, 39/499 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 413, n. 1 The Times, Tuesday, 4 April 1905 According to Bülow the American minister in Berlin, when told of the imperial sentiments regarding the ‘open door’, exclaimed: ‘That is just exactly what we

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53

also want.’ Bülow to the Emperor, 4 April 1905, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, pp. 224–225 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 3 April 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 In his problematic dispatch of March 19th Harris had said, among all the other troubling things, that the Moors ‘believe, not without some show of reason, that [the visit] will put a definite end to French pretensions in Morocco’. Chirol to Harris, 18 May 1905, London, The Times Record Office, FELB 5/87 Chirol to Hardinge, 3 April 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, #397 Chirol to Morrison, 1 June 1905, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 310–312 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 18 April and 2 May 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Morrison, 1 June 1905, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 311–312. Togo’s victory was not the only good news coming Chirol’s way. After weeks of hesitation on the part of Tokyo, he wrote to Morrison on the following day that Lord Lansdowne had as good as publically announced that the renegotiated alliance was a done deal. On that same day, 2 June, Speck von Sternberg, German ambassador at Washington, telegraphed to the Auswärtiges Amt that Durand had told him that ‘the Anglo-Japanese Alliance would certainly stay’. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, p. 205 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 May 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to O’Conor, 9 May 1905, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Morrison, 1 June 1905, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 310–311 Chirol to Steed, 2 June 1905, London, The Times Record Office, Steed Papers Washington was ‘evidently being made the centre’ of any such negotiations. Chirol to Hardinge, 6 June 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 423 Chirol to Hardinge, 6 June 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 423 Baron Speck von Sternberg to the German Foreign Office, 17 June 1905, Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, pp. 231–232 Chirol to Curzon, 23 June 1905, India Office Library, Curzon Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 76; Chirol to Hardinge, 13 June 1905, Cambridge, Cambridge UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 439 Chirol to Steed, 2 June 1905, London, The Times Record Office Chirol to Hardinge, 13 and 26 June 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, nos 439, 443 Chirol to Hardinge, 13 June 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 439 Chirol to Curzon, 23 June 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 7 Chirol to Curzon, 23 June 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 7. A few days later he told Hardinge that as long as William ‘is not assured of our remaining neutral he will not venture to attack France without some provocation, and he will not get that assurance from us any more than he will get the provocation from France’. Chirol to Hardinge, 26 June 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 443 Chirol to Curzon, 23 June 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 7. On 22 July Metternich told Bülow that the French had now lost their ‘first fear’ and strengthened their attachment to Britain [while] … ‘[i]n England the Morocco question has come to mean a fight for the friendship of France, and in order to keep this and also to prevent a … German hegemony over Europe they would venture on a war’. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, vol. III, pp. 232–233

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61 62 63 64 65 66

The Times, 11 July 1905 Chirol to Hardinge, 10 July 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 455 Chirol to Steed, 2 June 1905, London, The Times Record Office, Chirol to Bland, 5 July 1905, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Hardinge, 24 July 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 455 Chirol to Bland, 5 July 1905, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Hardinge, 24 July 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 472. Chirol need not have worried. Five days later, on 29 July, the Japanese signed an agreement with the United States in which the latter became a party to the Anglo-Japanese Alliance of 1902 as well as more or less agreeing in advance to its new version, which was finally signed on 12 August 1905. Chirol to O’Conor, 19 August 1905, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to O’Conor, 19 August 1905, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 The Times, 23 August 1905 Chirol to Hardinge, 6 September 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 514 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 September 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Hardinge, 6 September 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 514

CHAPTER 11 1

2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

11 12

Chirol and Kitchener first met in the Near East in the late 1870s and saw one another in Egypt several times in the following years. They were never warm friends but more than casual acquaintances. Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 38 ff. Chirol to Barrow, 8 January 1906, India Office Library, Barrow Mss Eur. E420/20 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 11 January 1903, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/10 Dawkins, a Balliol friend of Curzon, had served briefly in India as the Financial Member of the Council. Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. 1, p. 217 and n. 94 Chirol to Bell, 14 December 1901, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Curzon, 19 January 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 9 Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. II, p. 173, n. 85. Younghusband was awarded a K.C.I.E. The Times, 30 January 1905 Chirol memorandum to Arthur Walter, enclosed in Chirol to Curzon, 3 February 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 14a Distinguished member of the Indian civil service and recently resigned as Curzon’s private secretary. He had also pointed out to Brodrick that he much deplored ‘in the public interest’ the way governmental censure such as that directed at Younghusband could well discourage ‘the self-reliance and courage of responsibility’ qualities without which the ‘British Empire would never have been built up’. Chirol

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20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

memorandum to Arthur Walter, enclosed in Chirol to Curzon, 3 February 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Mss Eur. 111/183, no. 14a Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. II, p. 174 Chirol to Curzon, 2 June 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 64a Chirol to Curzon, 23 June 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers, Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 76 Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. II, p. 218 ff. The Times, 29 June 1905 The Times, 29 June 1905 Balfour’s private secretary, J.S. Sandars, had Sir Arthur Godley, Permanent Under-secretary at the India Office, to show Buckle certain telegrams and talk indiscretely. Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. II, p. 239 Barrow had a long and distinguished military career. When Curzon nominated him he was serving as the commander of the Indian First Division. Dilks, Curzon in India, vol. II, p. 234 Chirol to Curzon, 18 August 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 119 Chirol to Hardinge, 4 September 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 514 Chirol to Hardinge, 4 September 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 514 Chirol to Hardinge, 4 September 1905, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 7, no. 514 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 September 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Curzon, 24 August 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 139 Curzon to Chirol, 14 September 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 105 Chirol to Curzon, 14 September 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 158 Chirol to Curzon, 15 September 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon MssEur. F111/183, no. 160 Curzon to Chirol, 5 October 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 124 Curzon to Chirol, 5 October 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Mss Eur. F111/183, no. 124 Chirol to Mrs Moberly Bell, 22 October 1905, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Maxse, 10 November 1905, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 453/140 Chirol to Maxse, 10 November 1905, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 453/140 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice,14 December 1905, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 September 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Garvin, one of the most influential Tory journalists of the first half of the twentieth century, was then editing the Outlook. Two years later he became the editor of the Observer, where he stayed for 34 years.

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44 45 46 47

48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56

57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

Chirol to Maxse, 10 November 1905, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 453/140 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 10 November 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Mrs Leo Maxse, 27 November 1905, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 441/30 Chirol to Mrs Leo Maxse, 27 November 1905, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 441/30 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 14 December 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11. Springy was then in St Petersburg, as Hardinge had returned to London to replace Sanderson as Permanent Under-secretary at the Foreign Office. Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 14 December 1905, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 21 December 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 He told Barrow that he was in frequent communication with Morley ‘through a mutual friend’. Chirol to Gertrude Bell, 14 December 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Morley Mss Eur. D, 573/50. On the 19th she wrote to say that she had passed on his letter to the ‘final authority’ at the India Office. Gertrude Bell to Chirol, 19 December 1905, University of Durham, Bell Papers Chirol to Morrison, 27 March 1906, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 359–361 Chirol to Bland, 13 April 1906, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Morrison, 27 March 1906, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 360–361 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 21 December 1905, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Barrow, 8 January 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Mss Eur. E420/20 Chirol to Barrow, 8 January 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Mss Eur. E420/20 Chirol to Barrow, 8 January 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Mss Eur. E420/20 Chirol to Barrow, 8 January 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Mss Eur. E420/20 Two and a half months later Chirol was considerably tougher on Minto, telling Morrison that the Viceroy was “amiable, straightforward, and well meaning, but his mental outlook is small, and he is simply overwhelmed by the burden of his work … such a burden as he had never conceived to be possible”. [… ] Of course he is entirely in K.’s pocket …’ Chirol to Morrison, 27 March 1906, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 361 Chirol to Barrow, 2 March 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Mss Eur. E420/20 Chirol to Bland, 13 April 1906, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to O’Conor, 30 March 1906, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Morrison, 27 March 1906, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 359–361 Chirol to Morrison, 12 April 1906, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, Chirol to Barrow, 31 May 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Mss Eur. E420/20 The Times, 10 April 1906 The Times, 10 April 1906

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68 69 70 71 72

Chirol to Spring-Rice, 30 April 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Kitchener to Marker, 10 April 1906, London, British Library, Marker Mss, 52276A If Balfour had still been in power, ‘it would have been [Curzon’s] duty to rush into the fray’. But with a new government in office, Curzon ‘might be able to make his influence felt without having recourse to demonstrative methods’. Chirol to Maxse, 22 December 05, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 453/189 Curzon to Barrow, 19 April 1906, India Office Library, Barrow Mss, E420/20 Chirol to Barrow, 31 May 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Mss Eur. E420/20 Chirol to Bland, 13 April 1906, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Strachey, 19 April 1906, London, House of Lords Record Office Strachey Mss, S/4/9/8 Chirol to Barrow, 31 May 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Mss, 420/20

CHAPTER 12 1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Chirol to Mrs Leo Maxse, 27 November 1905, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 441/30 Lord Odo Russell once pointed out to his older brother Arthur that his cosmopolitan background kept him from being a ‘full-blooded’ politician. Katrina Urbach, Bismarck’s Favourite Englishman (London, 1999 ), p. 16 Chirol to Curzon, 3 August 1905, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Curzon Papers Mss Eur. F111/183 no. 130 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 October 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Tyrrell was brought in to be Grey’s précis writer, later became his private secretary. Chirol to Morrison, 12 April 1906, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 363 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 18 April 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Bland, 31 May 1906, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to O’Conor, 7 June 1906, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Barrow, 6 December 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Papers Mss Eur. E420/20 Jonathan D. Spence, The Search for Modern China (New York, 1990), p. 239 Hardinge to Spring-Rice, Gwynn, The Letters and Friendship of Cecil Spring-Rice, vol. II, p. 82 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 and 30 October 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 October 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 October 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 November 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Barrow, 6 December 1906, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Papers Mss Eur. E420/20 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 14 December 1906, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 17 November 1906, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15

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27 28 29 30

31 32 33

34 35 36 37 38 39

40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Chirol to Hensman, 18 December 1906, London, The Times Record Office, FELB5/206 Spring-Rice to Grey, 29 March 1906, Gwynn, The Letters and Friendships of Cecil Spring-Rice, vol. II, p. 69 Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, vol. II, p. 708, and n. 2. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 287 The Times, 26 June 1906 Chirol to Nicolson, 3 July 1906, London, NA, Nicolson Papers, 800/338/114 Chirol to Strachey, 3 July 1906, London, House of Lords Record Office, Strachey Mss, S/4/9/9; Chirol to Nicolson, 3 July 1906, London, NA, Nicolson Papers, 800/338/114 Chirol to Steed, 7 June 1906, London, The Times Record Office Which was that Whitehall was reluctant to irritate Leopold as he played a part in their strategic policy in Europe. Chirol to Morel, 11 June 1906, London, LSE, Morel Papers, 30/8 The summary came with a cover letter from a group calling themselves the West African Missionary Association. There was of course no such association; the summary was instead the brainchild of the desperate Leopold. Adam Hochschild, King Leopold’s Ghost (New York, 1999), pp. 251–252 The Times, 18 April 1906 Chirol to Morel, 18 June 1906, London, LSE, Morel Papers, 30/8 On 9 August he said that it was difficult ‘to explain the why and the wherefore in writing to you’. Three weeks later he urged Morel come to London so that they could talk ‘… as there are a good many things I could say to you viva voce which I don’t care to write …’. Chirol to Morel, 31 August 1906, London, LSE, Morel Papers, 30/8 Chirol to Maxse, 20 September 1906, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers Chirol to Morel, 14 September 1906, London, LSE, Morel Papers, 30/8 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 October 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Morel, 14 December 1906, London, LSE, Morel Papers, 30/8 Michael Balfour, The Kaiser and His Times, p. 286 The Times, 5 September 1906. The reaction in the French press was uniformly positive. It was a ‘masterly’ response, an ‘extremely remarkable’ leader. See The Times, 7 September 1906 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 November 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 November 1906, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/11 Chirol to Steed, 4 December 1906, London, The Times Record Office Chirol to Morel, 18 January 1907, London, LSE, Morel Paper, 30/8 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 15 January 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 18 February 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 24 February 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 20 January 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 18 February 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 20 January 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 March 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12. Three weeks later he said much the same to Morrison, adding even more

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frankly that it was high time to complete the isolation of Germany. ‘She of course has a very fair inkling of what is going on, and is working tooth and mail to upset our coach in St Petersburg, but so far without success.’ Spring-Rice to Chirol, Gwynn, The Letters and Friendships of Cecil Spring-Rice, vol. II, p. 99 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 16 April 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 16 April 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 16 April 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12

CHAPTER 13 1

2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

19

For Chirol Campbell-Bannerman was ‘invertebrate, amorphous, plastic: hence … the ideal Prime Minister of the day’. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 11 July 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 George Dangerfield, The Strange Death of Liberal England (New York, 1935), p. 16. Balfour, said Chirol, simply veered erratically between petty temper tantrums and ‘long spells of incurable indolence’. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 11 July 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Morrison, 19 July 1907, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 422–427 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 10 February 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 24 February 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 10 February 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Admiral of the Fleet; First Sea Lord, 1904–1910, 1914–1915. Nobody seemed to remember the Crown Colonies, which were, economically and commercially, ‘of still greater importance to the Mother Country’. Chirol to Spring-Rice, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 16 April 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 24 February 1907, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 10 February 1907, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 March 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 18 February 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Bourchier, 4 and 5 April 1907, London, The Times Record Office, FELB5/246 & 248 Chirol to Steed, 25 May 1907, London, The Times Record Office, FELB5/259 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 5 May 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 He knew that the Japanese were not being particularly loyal to the spirit of the alliance in economic questions. But, to be fair, they might well argue themselves, ‘with some justice’, that the British were not ‘acting up very loyally in regard to military and naval matters’. Chirol to Morrison, 5 June 1907, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 419 Chirol to Barrow, 4 June 1907, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Papers, Mss Eur. E420/21

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20 21 22 23 24 25

26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

38 39 40 41

42 43 44 45 46

Chirol to Morrison, 5 June 1907, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 418; Chirol to O’Conor, 3 June 1907, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Chirol to Barrow, 4 June 1907, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Barrow Papers, Mss Eur. E420/21 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 10 June 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Nicolson, 5 June 1907, London, NA, FO800/339; Chirol to O’Conor, 3 June 1907, Cambridge, CCA, O’Conor Papers, 5/3/2 Gwynn, The Letters and Friendships of Sir Cecil Spring-Rice, vol. II, p. 103 [no date on letter] Chirol to Spring-Rice, 7 August 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12. Over the next few years there was pervasive unrest and civil war in Persia but crimes against foreigners were few. Russia did intervene periodically; by 1911 Russian troops in Persia numbered about 12,000. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 11 July 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 7 August 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Joseph H. Choate, The Two Hague Conferences (Princeton, 1913), pp. 55–56 Chirol to Morrison, 19 July 1907, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 423–424 Chirol to Bland, 1 June 1907, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/7 Chirol to Bourchier, 29 November 1907, London, The Times Record Office, FELB5/341 Kitchener to Sir Beauchamp-Duff, 31 October 1907, enclosed in Kitchener to Raymond Marker of same date, London, BL, Marker Papers, 52276A Kitchener to Raymond Marker, 31 October 1907, London, BL, Marker Papers, 52276A Chirol to Morel, 9 June 1907, London, LSE, Morel Papers, 30/8 Chirol to Morel, 2 July 1907, London, LSE, Morel Papers, 30/8 Morel to Chirol, 12 July 1907, LSE, Morel Papers, 30/8 Chirol to Morel, 13 July 1907, LSE, Morel Papers, 30/8. Logic or no logic, Chirol did turn the Congo screw on the government. At one point he let Grey know that Morel’s was not the hottest head in the Reform Association and there had been talk of his putting ‘too much trust in Sir E. Grey’! ‘Get in the first blow’ was Chirol’s advice. Grey wrote in return that if he had his way no one would be able to charge the government with negligence. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 4 September 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Balfour, The Kaiser and His Times, p. 276 Chirol to Bland, 16 November 1907, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/7 Chirol to Bland, 16 November 1907, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/7. This was the Kaiser’s first meeting with Grey. He found the Foreign Secretary ‘a capable sort of country gentleman’; Grey thought the Kaiser ‘not quite sane and very superficial’. Balfour, The Kaiser and His Times, p. 278 Balfour, The Kaiser and His Times, p. 278 Chirol to Chilver, 28 November 1907, London, The Times Record Office, FELB5/339 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 5 September 1907, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Bland, 16 November 1907, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/7 His instinct was to refuse. But he still decided to go to London and talk with Bell. Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 429

512

NOTES

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49

Bell to Morrison, 15 August 1907, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 429 Garvin to Northcliffe, 1 December 1906, quoted in A.M. Gollin, The ‘Observer’ and J.L. Garvin (New York, 1960). Chirol knew of the offer and asked Garvin to discuss it with him. ‘I am not in a position to do more than express my own views of what I should like to see done, but I should like to know how far yours might fall in with mine.’ Chirol to Garvin, 2 December 1906, University of Texas at Austin, Henry Ransom Humantities Research Center, J.L Garvin Papers Chirol to Morrison, 19 July 1907, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 422–427

CHAPTER 14 1

2

3

4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Cyril Arthur Pearson, 1866–1921, was the very successful proprietor of a number of popular newspapers, among them the Daily Express, Standard and Evening Standard. J.B. Capper (1855–1936), journalist and man of letters, began with The Times in 1878, joined the editorial department in 1880, was principal assistant editor from 1884–1913. On Sunday the 5th the Observer, then edited by J.L. Garvin, stated: ‘It is understood that important negotiations are taking place which will place the direction of The Times newspaper in the hands of a very capable proprietor of several popular magazines and newspapers.’ The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 514 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 517 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 8 January 1908, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Bland, 15 January 1908, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Gertrude Bell to Chirol, 10 January 1908, Durham, University Library, Gertrude Bell Papers, 303/4/88–89 St Loe Strachey to Chirol, 22 January 1908, London, House of Lords Record Office, Strachey Papers, S/4/9/10 Chirol to Mrs Leo Maxse, 18 January 1908, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 441 Years before he told Maxse that the Daily Mail was ‘so irresponsible that one never knows what mischief it may not be capable of doing’. Chirol to Maxse, 21 October 1906, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 456 Chirol to Garvin, 1 February 1908, University of Texas at Austin, Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center, J.L. Garvin Papers Sir Edward Priaulx Tennant (b. 1859) was an MP as of 1906. See Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 472, n. 2 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 527 Moberly Bell to G.E. Morrison, 23 September 1908, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 472 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 529 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 437 See The History of The Times, vol. III, chapters 16 and 17 for full details of the long and complicated negotiations. Chirol to Bland, 10 February 1908, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 15 February 1908, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Maxse, 31 January 1908, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 458

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22 23

24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39

40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

49

Chirol to Maxse, 1 February 1908, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 458 Chirol to Maxse, 5 February 1908, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 458. Five days later he wrote again to say that for both himself and the foreign department he had, ‘I fear, done the latter, quite unconsciously no doubt, a very great disservice, whilst for myself … you have done your best to weaken my position and influence on the paper by placing me in an invidious position of antagonism to [my] colleagues. [… ] Nothing, I truly believe, was further from your intentions, but so it is.’ Chirol to Maxse, 10 February 1908, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers Chirol to Bell, 28 March 1908, The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 590–591 Chirol to Morrison, 4 August 1905, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 332 Chirol to Bland, 20 September 1906, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Morrison, 18 September 1906, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 384 Chirol to Morrison, 19 July 1907, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 422 Chirol to Bland, 16 November 1907, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Morrison Papers, Sydney, Mitchell Library, Diaries 1907, Items 2 & 3, October– December 1907 J.O.P. Bland, Diary, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/32 Chirol to Morrison, 21 January 1908, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 437–440 Chirol to Morrison, 7 February 1908, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 443 Morrison to Chirol, 14 April 1908, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 443 ff. Morrison to Chirol, 14 April 1908, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 443 ff. Morrison to Chirol, 14 April 1908, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 443 ff. Chirol to Morrison, 7 May 1908, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 451 Chirol to Morrison, 7 May 1908, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 450 ff. Collective security as embodied in the ‘Concert of Europe in the Eastern Question’, put into practice after 1856, was seldom able to intervene effectively and ‘virtually expired’ during the Sanjak Railroad business. W.D. David, European Diplomacy in the Near Eastern Question, 1906–1909 (Urbana, IL, 1940), p. 13, n. 10; Chirol to Spring-Rice, 10 February 1908, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 The Times, 18 February 1908, quoted in David, European Diplomacy, p. 54 Chirol to Bland, 10 February 1908, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 643–644 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 650 Chirol to Bourchier, 29 November 1907, London, The Times Record Office, FELB 5/341 J.O.P. Bland, Diary, 6 October 1908, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/32 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 15 October 1908, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 653 On 1 November Bell wrote to Chirol that at the time he had thought his draft telegram was ‘somewhat too strong, but I adopted your words and sent the telegram in my name and took the opprobrium …’. The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 653, n. 3 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 15 October 1908, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12

514

NOTES

50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68

Chirol to Lovat Fraser, 18 October 1908, Aberystwyth, the National Library of Wales, Maxwell Fraser Papers, Class P Gooch and Temperley, British Documents on the Origins of the War, vol. VI, no. 101, p. 158 Chirol to Tyrrell, 25 October 1908, London, NA, FO800/106 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 3 November 1908, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Tyrrell, 4 November 1908, London, NA, FO800/106 Chirol to Tyrrell, 4 and 5 November 1908, London, NA, FO800/106 Gooch and Temperley, British Documents on the Origins of the War, vol. V, no. 430 Goschen, The Diary of Edward Goschen, 1900–1914 (London, 1980), pp. 177–178 Bourchier to Steed, 20 October 1908, London, The Times Record Office The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 655 Steed to John Walter, 30 November 1908, London, The Times Record Office, Walters Papers, WFA/2/1/454 In the end Steed did not leave Vienna until 1911 and did not leave The Times until 1922. Bourchier to Steed, 17 November 1908, London, The Times Record Office Bourchier to Steed, 17 November 1908, London, The Times Record Office Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 14 November 1908, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Tyrrell, 14 November 1908, London, NA, FO800/106 The Times, 26 November 1908 As a unilateral repudiation of the terms of an international treaty it was considered a breach of international law. Chirol to Tyrrell, 26 November 1908, London, NA, FO800/106

CHAPTER 15 1 2

3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

‘He had got to look over seventy [when he was in fact only fifty-six] and feeble …’ Bell to Morrison, 4 February 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 479 An Austro-Hungarian–Turkish protocol was published in The Times on 19 January, although it was not actually signed until 26 February. A Turco-Bulgarian settlement was signed in mid-April. Chirol to Bland, 5 January 1909, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Steed, 18 February 1909, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 626 Chirol to Steed, 25 February 1909, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 627 The Times, 25 February 1909 The Times, 27 February 1909 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 14 March 1909, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 The Times, 27 March 1909 Chirol to Steed, 26 March 1909, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 630 The Times, 27 March 1909 Chirol to Steed, 26 March 1909, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 631 The Times, 27 March 1909 ‘Few men came away from talking with Fisher without feeling impressed, and sometimes overwhelmed, by his articulate and spicy language, wild imagination, engaging frankness and boundless energy in conversation.’ Paul Kennedy, Strategy and Diplomacy 1870–1945 (London, 1983), p. 115

515

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15

16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27

28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

In 1908 the Germans laid down four big ships to Britain’s two, and in 1909 added four more. In addition Krupp, the armament combine, had modernised production facilities so that they could turn out armour plate, guns and gun mounts much more quickly. Chirol to Garvin, 20 March 1909, University of Texas at Austin, Harry Ransome Humanities Research Center, Garvin Papers Gollin, The ‘Observer’, p. 77 Gollin, The ‘Observer’, p. 75 A.J.A. Morris, The Scaremongers, p. 179 This was, however, not a singular case. Lloyd George told the Prime Minister more than a month earlier that during the past weeks The Times, the Observer, the Westminster Gazette, and the Daily Telegraph had all been informed about their presumably private discussions on army and navy matters. Lloyd George to Asquith, 8 February 1909, Asquith Papers, in Gollin, The ‘Observer’, p. 66, n. 2 Garvin to Grey, 22 March 1909, in Gollin, The ‘Observer’, p. 79 Grey to Garvin, 22 March 1909, in Gollin, The ‘Observer’, p. 80 Garvin to Northcliffe, 23 March 1909, quoted in Gollin, The ‘Observer’, p. 81 Chirol to Northcliffe, 25 March 1909, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251, no. 56 Chirol to Maxse, 1909, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, no. 460 Chirol Memorandum, 23 February 1909, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251,#53 Chirol waxed enthusiastic about Northcliffe, telling Bell that the two of them had long talks and he felt that he had been able ‘to say a good many useful things – … except perhaps on financial questions where he has me of course at a disadvantage’. Chirol to Bell, 4 March 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers [EMB 190] Chirol to Northcliffe, 4 April 1909, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251, no. 63 Chirol to Morrison, 30 March 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 480–482 Chirol to Morrison, 30 March 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 481–482 Chirol to Morrison, 7 April 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 486–487 Morrison to Bell, 14 January 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 477–478 Hugh Trevor-Roper, The Hermit of Peking: The Hidden Life of Sir Edmund Backhouse (New York, 1986), pp. 30, 67 Trevor-Roper, The Hermit of Peking, p. 77 Morrison cared little for the genial, scholarly Bland, resented his ability in Chinese and knowledge of Chinese history – things he had never taken the time to study. To have him as a rival was bad enough, the fact that he was an independently minded one was worse. Trevor-Roper, The Hermit of Peking, pp. 30–31 Bell to Morrison, 4 February 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 478–479 Bell to Morrison, 6 April 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 485–486 Chirol to Maxse 9 April 1909, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, no. 459 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 24 April 1909, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Bland, 12 May 1909, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Rumbold to Hardinge, 31 May 1909, London, NA, FO800/68 Chirol to Northcliffe, 30 May 1909, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, no. 66 Morrison to Bell, 14 July 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 501

516

NOTES

44

45 46 47 48 49

50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58

60

61

62

63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

Morrison to Bland, 11 June 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 489; Morrison Papers, Sydney, Mitchell Library, 312/17, Diaries 1909, Item 2, April–June 1909. Both men had dinner with Bland, who reported in his own diary that Chirol looked well, if weary, and that Morrison did nothing but talk about himself the entire evening. Morrison Papers, Sydney, Mitchell Library, Diaries 1909, Item 2, April–June 1909, Ref. nos 157, 158, 168 Chirol to Bell, 16 June 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Morrison Papers, Sydney, Mitchell Library, 312/17, Diaries 1909, Item 2, April–June 1909, Ref. 162 Chirol to Bell, 16 June 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers [EMB] The leader, while admitting Morrison’s sympathy with case put by the Chinese, suggested that as a result of conversations in Tokyo he had been persuaded to agree that Peking was intent on causing friction between Japan and other Powers. Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 502, n. 1 Morrison to Bell, 14 July 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 501–502 Chirol to Morrison, 8 September 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Morrison Papers Chirol to Morrison, 7 July 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 490 Chirol to Tyrrell, 24 June 1909, London, NA, FO800/106 Chirol to Tyrrell, 24 June 1909, London, NA, FO800/106 Chirol to Baron Katsura, late June, 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 497–501 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 August 1909, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Tyrrell, 29 June 1909, London, NA, FO800/106 Not only was Washington offended, Chirol told Tyrrell, American public opinion had been ‘materially affected’. Chirol to Tyrrell, 18 August 1909, London, NA, FO800/106 Chirol to Morrison, 19 August 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 514. Notes made at the Foreign Office in mid-July said that the bank’s reason for turning down the American bank was that it seemed to be a lone, and insignificant, institution and not part of the American banking syndicate then operating in China. PRO, notes by Tyrrell, Hardinge, Campbell, 23 July 1909, NA, FO800, no. 106 By now the Foreign Office realised that the ‘unimportant’ American bank was the International Banking Corporation, not technically part of the American Syndicate but going to act as its representative at Peking. Tyrrell admitted that the Foreign Office had been negligent, if not actually misled by the Hong Kong and Shanghai people. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 19 August 1909, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Maxse, 29 August 1909, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, no. 460; Chirol to Morrison, 30 August 1909, London, The Times Record Office Chirol to Morrison, 19 August 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 513–514 Chirol to Morrison, 27 August 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Morrison Papers Chirol to Morrison, 2 October 1909, London, The Times Record Office Chirol to Morrison, 3 September 1909, London, The Times Record Office Morrison Diary, 16 December 1909, Sydney, Mitchell Library, Morrison Papers. Chirol to Bland, 10 October 1909, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Morrison, 15 October 1909, London, The Times Record Office Chirol to Morrison, 10 November 1909, London, The Times Record Office Chirol to Morrison, 17 December 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 536–537

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72 73

Chirol to Morrison, 22 December 1909, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 537–538 Chirol to Morrison, 5 January 1910, London, The Times Record Office

CHAPTER 16 1 2 3

4 5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 658 Chirol to Bell, 4 March 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Reginald Baliol Brett, second Viscount Esher. There is reason to believe that Edward VII was concerned as to the future of the paper and that Northcliffe’s letter to the King’s confidant, Esher, was intended to sooth HM’s fears. R. Pound and G. Harmsworth, Northcliffe (New York, 1960), p. 329 Pound and Harmsworth, Northcliffe, p. 329 Chirol to Clarke, 7 May 1908, London, BL, Sydenham Papers, no. 50832 Pound and Harmsworth, Northcliffe, p. 330 Buckle to Northcliffe, 23 June 1908, Pound and Harmsworth, Northcliffe, p. 328 As Leo Amery later said, ‘Arthur Walter could have been an autocrat but was more of a constitutional monarch …, allowing his ministers to carry on in their own way most of the time’. With the sale to Northcliffe, however, the latter discovered ‘they had traded in King Log for King Stork’. Amery, My Political Life, vol. I, pp. 94–95 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 661 Northcliffe to Buckle, 10 August 1909, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 662 Northcliffe to Chirol, early August, 1909, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251, no. 72 Chirol to Morrison, 27 August 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Chirol Papers Chirol to Northcliffe, 8 August 1909, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251, no. 69 Northcliffe to Chirol, 12 August 1909, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251, no. 74 Chirol to Morrison, 27 August 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Chirol Papers From America Bell wrote that he was ‘rather satiated with new experiences and feel as if I had eaten a very large meal too quickly and want to digest it’. E.H.C. Moberly Bell, The Life and Letters of C.F. Moberly Bell (London, 1927), p. 306 Chirol to Bell, 17 September 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Bell, 23 July 1905, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Bell to Steed, 2 April 1909, The History of The Times, vol. IV, p. 17 A son of John Walter III by his second marriage, thus a half-brother to Arthur Fraser Walter. Chirol to Bell, 17 September 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Steed to R. Walter, 9 and 15 September 1909, London, Walter Family Archives, 9/1/4 and /5 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 10 September 1909, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Bell, 1 October 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Spring-Rice, 10 September 1909, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Northcliffe, 12 October 1909, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251, no. 75 Britain, Germany, the United States, Japan and, to some degree, Russia

518

NOTES

28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

36 37 38 39

40 41 42 43 44 45

46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56

57 58 59

His leader on the subject on 27 March was praised by Northcliffe and quoted approvingly in the Westminster Gazette. The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 678 Chirol to Saunders, 3 February 1909, London, The Times Record Office, Saunders Mss Chirol to Steed, 13 November 1909, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 682, n. 1 Chirol to Tyrrell, 13 November 1909, London, NA, Grey Mss FO800/106/241 Dangerfield, The Strange Death of Liberal England, p. 24 Chirol to Bland, 8 December 1909, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 ‘Personally, I gave up the idea of ever influencing Bell when I was abroad. I have not the strength, nor the time, nor the inclination for the task of convincing such a man against his will.’ Northcliffe to Buckle, 9 December 1909, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 669 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 668 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 668 Buckle to Northcliffe, 15 December 1909, The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 669 ff. At one point Northcliffe came up with a new version of an old adage – ‘A Bell, a woman and a walnut-tree, the more they are beaten the better they be.’ The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 739 Chirol Memo, 22 January 1910, London, The Times Record Office, Buckle Papers Chirol Memo, 22 January 1910, London, The Times Record Office, Buckle Papers Chirol Memo, 22 January 1910, London, The Times Record Office, Buckle Papers Bell to Chirol, early 1910, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 672 Bell to Chirol, 26 January 1910, London, The Times Record Office, Buckle Papers Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 31 January 1910, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15. The election results were Liberals, 274; Unionists, 272; Labour, 41; Irish Nationalists, 82. Chirol, Thirty Years, pp. 233–234 Chirol, Thirty Years, p. 236 Chirol to Mrs M. Bell, 12 March 1910, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 16 February 1910, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Gertrude Bell to Chirol, 16 April 1910, Durham University, Gertrude Bell Papers, 303/4/94 Chirol to Mrs M. Bell, 12 March 1910, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Chirol to Tyrrell, 22 April 1910, London, NA, Grey Papers, FO800/106/241 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 16 February 1910, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Dangerfield, The Strange Death of Liberal England, p. 25 Chirol to Tyrrell, 28 April 1910, London, NA, Grey Papers, FO800/106/247 He told Bland at the beginning of July that he had no pension and could not afford to retire at that point. 3 July 1910, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 17 July 1910, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Thus Chirol to Florence on 17 July. Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 He was even short-tempered with Bland, which was unusual. He had turned to the latter to help in reviewing his, Bland’s, own recent book. When that help was neither promptly nor enthusiastically – to his way of thinking – offered, he wrote sharply that he was ‘sorry and surprised that your help should have been

519

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60 61

62

63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70

71

72

73

given me so grudgingly and reluctantly … when I am hard pushed to it to get my own book under way in addition to the more than customary press of work at the office’. Chirol to Bland, 10 October 1910, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17. At once Bland wrote ‘a suitable soft answer’. He was not aware, he said, of what or how he had written as he had been hurrying to catch an express post, ‘but I must have expressed myself jolly badly if I have given you the impression that I would not gladly do anything and everything to help you at all times’. Chirol to Northcliffe, 27 October 1910, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251, no. 82. ‘[Y]ou, in the last few months, have written a book that will probably be as long remembered as the … Dean of Worcester’s prophesy in regard to the future of the then American Colonies …’ Northcliffe to Chirol, 28 October 1910, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251, no. 8 Northcliffe to Chirol, 28 October 1910, London, BL, Northcliffe Add Mss, 62251, no. 86. Chirol thanked Northcliffe for his concern and said that he was doing his best to take good care of himself. While agreeing with his ideas on the future organisation of the department he could not but point out that such ‘spacious views’ were hard to combine with financial strictures. Chirol to Northcliffe, 4 November 1910, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, Add. Mss, 62251, no. 93 Northcliffe to Chirol, 3 November 1910, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers Add. Mss, 62251, no. 92 Northcliffe to Bell, 29 October 1910, London, The Times Record Office, Northcliffe Papers, NOR/1/1/7 Morrison to Northcliffe, 25 August 1910, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 544–545 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 740 Sydney, Mitchell Library, Morrison Papers, 312/18, Diaries, 1910, Item 3, July– September 1910, Ref. 60, 74, 92 Bland Diary, 2 September 1910, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/34 Bland Diary, 16 October 1910, Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/34 Morrison’s account of the incident seems to have confused it with an earlier upset of Chirol’s when he had threatened to resign in June of 1910 over the appointment of Mackenzie as editor of the weekly edition. Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 575 Bland Diary, 4 November 1910, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/34. Chirol did know, although he said nothing to Bland until the spring of 1912, that Northcliffe had told Bell, presumably in the aftermath of Morrison’s visit to Paris, ‘that if it was to be a question of Morrison or Chirol going, Chirol would have to go’. Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 794 Well before Morrison’s visit, Northcliffe had written to him that Bell and Chirol were not to blame for the preference for letters over cables, ‘except so far as their responsibility for the muddling which brought about the financial state of the Paper is concerned. That muddling began fully thirty years ago.’ Northcliffe to Morrison, 10 September 1910, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 547 Bland Diary, 4 November and 15 December 1910, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/34

520

NOTES

CHAPTER 17 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

19 20 21

22 23

24 25 26 27 28

Sydney, Mitchell Library, Morrison Papers, 312/18, Diaries 1910, Item 4, October– December 1910, Ref. 128–129 Morrison to Steed, 24 January 1911, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 564–565 Morrison to Chirol, 25 January 1911, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 565 Morrison to Bell, 25 January 1911, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 565 Morrison to Bell, 25 January 1911, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 568 Bell to Morrison, 26 January 1911, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 568–569 Here Chirol was on shakier ground, given what others – even Bland – said from time to time. Chirol to Bell, 26 January 1911, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 569 Morrison to C. Clementi-Smith, 13 February 1911, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, pp. 574–575 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 29 January 1911, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Hardinge, 20 January 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 69, part 1, no. 101 The Times, 12 January 1911; Chirol to Hardinge, 12 January 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 69, part 1, #78 Chirol to Hardinge, 12 January 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 69, part 1, no. 78. Chirol to Hardinge, 20 January 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 69, part 1, no. 101 Chirol to Northcliffe, 5 February 1911, London, BL, Northcliffe Papers, vol. Add. Mss, 62251, no. 100 Pound and Harmsworth, Northcliffe, p. 405 Chirol to Bell, 12 January 1911, London, The Times Record Office, Moberly Bell Papers The declaration was designed to clarify what until then were rather loosely defined rights of belligerent and neutral nations during wartime. The issues dealt with included the question of prize, of blockade and, most controversial of all, what was or was not to be considered contraband and therefore either free from or liable to seizure or destruction. The Evening News and the Weekly Dispatch. Northcliffe to Thomas Marlowe, 10 February 1911, quoted in Morris, Scaremongers, p. 279, n. 41 Buckle to Northcliffe, 1 March 1911, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers. Northcliffe wrote to Nicholson a few days later that the paper showed ‘about as much independence on certain matters as the hall porter at the Foreign Office …’. Pound and Harmsworth, Northcliffe, p. 411 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 749 ‘I fear nothing can be done to help … or even, at present, to console him.’ Fraser to Bland, 7 March 1911, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/18. The History of The Times, vol. III, pp. 750–751 Chirol to Bland, 14 March 1911, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Bland, 28 June 1911, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Hardinge, 20 April 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 49, part 2, no. 300 Chirol to Hardinge, 20 April 1911, Cambridge UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 49, part 2, no. 300

521

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

43

44 45 46 47 48

49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

Chirol to Tyrrell, 20 April 1911, London, NA, Grey Papers, FO800/106/259 Chirol to Tyrrell, 20 April 1911, London, NA, Grey Papers, FO800/106/259 Chirol to Mrs M. Bell, 11 May 1911, London, The Times Record Office, Bell Papers Bland to Chirol, 5 May 1911, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/6 Chirol to Slade, 8 June 1911, Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Slade Papers Chirol to Tyrrell, 23 June 1911, London, NA, Grey Papers, FO800/106/262 Chirol to Tyrrell, 23 June 1911, NA, Grey Papers, FO800/106/262 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 8 June 1911, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Tyrrell, 23 June 1911, London, NA, Grey Papers, FO800/106/262 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 August 1911, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers., 1/15 Chirol to Slade, 8 June 1911 and 2 August 1911, Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Slade Papers Chirol to Slade, 2 August 1911, Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Slade Papers Ward and Gooch, Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy, vol. III, pp. 445–446 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 2 August 1911, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12. He was unaware that both Grey and Asquith were in favour of Lloyd George speaking out and that they did not share Chirol’s view of the status of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Ward and Gooch, Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy, vol III, p. 445 Chirol to Slade, 14 September 1911, Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Slade Papers; Fritz Fischer, War of Illusions: German Policies from 1911–1914 (London, 1972), pp. 76–77 Chirol to Slade, 2 August 1911, Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Slade Papers Chirol to Slade, 14 September 19ll, Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Slade Papers Chirol to Morley, 10 September 1911, in Morley to Crewe, 17 October 1911, Cambridge, UL, Crewe Papers, C/37 Chirol to Morley, 10 September 1911 Chirol to Morley, 10 September 1911, in Morley to Crewe, 17 October 1911, Cambridge, UL, Crewe Papers, C/37. Lord Crewe wrote back to Morley on 19 October that he found Chirol’s letter ‘remarkably interesting’ and wondered if his obvious desire to expose ‘what he calls the Kitchener legend will be allowed to colour the columns of The Times’. Crewe to Morley, Cambridge, UL, Crewe Papers, C/37 Chirol to Buckle, 8 August 1911, London, The Times Record Office, Buckle Papers Chirol to Buckle, 8 August 1911, London, The Times Record Office, Buckle Papers Chirol to Buckle, 8 August 1911, London, The Times Record Office, Buckle Papers Chirol to Buckle, 9 August 1911, London, The Times Record Office, Buckle Papers Chirol, With Pen and Brush in Eastern Lands, pp. 153–154 Chirol to Hardinge, 14 November 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. no. 69 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 15 November 1911, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Hardinge, 14 November 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. no. 69 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 15 November 1911, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12

522

NOTES

58 59 60 61

62 63 64 65 66 67 68

69 70 71 72 73 74 75

76 77 78

79 80 81

82 83

Chirol to Hardinge, 14 November 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. no. 69 Chirol to Hardinge, 6 December 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. no. 458 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 15 November 1911, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 According to the Shorter History of India both the ‘intrinsic wisdom and the method of … announcement’ of the relevant measures were ‘perhaps equally open to question’. See pp. 888–889 Chirol to Hardinge, 15 December 1911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. no. 69 Chirol to Hardinge, 28 December l911, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. no. 69 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 759 Northcliffe to Nicholson, 11 January 1912, The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 760 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 762 The History of The Times, vol. III, p. 762 Morrison to Chirol, 9 February 1912, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 728. In the letter written to Buckle, which was read out at the dinner, he said much the same. Morrison to Buckle, 9 February 1912, Lo Hui-Min, vol. I, p. 728. In his diary, however, he noted that both letters were ‘written much against the grain’. 23 February 1912, Mss 312/21, Item 1 Chirol to Slade, 4 January 1912, Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Slade Papers Chirol to Slade, 22 February 1912, Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Slade Papers Chirol to Slade, 22 February 1912, Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Slade Papers Chirol to Hardinge, 12 January 1912, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 70, no. 6 Chirol to Hardinge, 24 January 1912, Cambridge UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 70 Chirol to Hardinge, 7 June 1912, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 70, #146 Its beginnings were in South Africa, where a group of young men, brought together there by Alfred Milner, worked out the formula for its federation. J.E. Kendle, The Colonial and Imperial Conferences, 1887–1911 (London, 1967), pp. 132 ff. Curtis to Chirol, 19 March 1912, Oxford, Bodleian Chirol to Bland, 17 May 1912, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 16 August 1912, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/15. Montagu Butler was appointed to be one of the two secretaries of the commission. Chirol’s fellow commissioners were Herbert Fisher, Ramsy MacDonald, Lord Ronaldshay, Murray Hammick, Frank Sly, Theodore Morrison, Mr Justice Abdul Rahim, representing Muslim interests, and G.K. Gokhale, a Chitpawan Brahman who did the same for the Hindus. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 October 1912, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 October 1912, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Soon Chirol was feeling that Islington was probably right to tread warily at first – ‘but, however sound his views and excellent his disposition, his profound ignorance handicaps him severely’. Chirol to Hardinge, 6 January 1913, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 56, no. 32 Chirol to Hardinge, 1 January 1913, Cambridge, UL , Hardinge Papers, vol. 56, no. 13 Chirol to Hardinge, 12 January 1913, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 56, no. 44

523

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

84 85 86 87 88 89 90

91 92 93 94 95 96 97

Chirol to Hardinge, 19 January 1912, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 56, no. 61 Chirol to Hardinge, 10 April 1913, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 71, no. 9 Chirol to Hardinge, 18 April 1913, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 71, no. 29 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 13 August 1913, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 19 September 1913, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/15 Chirol to Hardinge, 9 September 1913, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 71, no. 221 Chirol to Bland, 31 July 1913, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17. He reported to Springy the following month that the luncheon had been ‘rather successful’ as far as he could see. Morley and Cromer ‘were very forthcoming and told stories against each other of their official experiences and the great men they had known ante Agamemnon (i.e. Lloyd George) which were quite interesting without being indiscreet, whilst my three brown brothers sat with mouths wide and gaping’. Chirol to SpringRice, 10 August 1913, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Hardinge, 22 November 1913, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 59, no. 256 Chirol to Spring-Rice, 3 December 1913, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/12 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 27 January 1914, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Hardinge, 9 April 1914, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 71 Chirol to Hardinge, 15 April 1914, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 71, no. 458 Chirol to Hardinge, 1 May 1914, Cambridge, Cambridge UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 71, no. 480 Chirol to Hardinge, 24 May 1914, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 71, no. 540

CHAPTER 18 1

2 3 4 5 6 7

8

On 3 August Elsa Bell Richmond noted in her diary that ‘Domnul’ had been to tea, ‘saying the whole thing has been a German–Austrian plot, trusting we should not come in [for] such a far-off excuse as Servia & now it looks as tho’ their expectations would be justified’. Greenwich, National Maritime Museum, Richmond Mss, RIC 1/16 Viscount Grey of Fallodon, Twenty-Five Years (London, 1928), vol. II, p. 261 Chirol to Robinson, 19 July 1914, London, The Times Record Office, Dawson Papers. Robinson changed his name to Dawson in 1917. Chirol to Spring-Rice, 4 September 1914, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/13 Chirol to Maxse, 4 September 1914, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 469 Chirol to Crewe, 18 September 1914, Cambridge, UL, Crewe Mss, C/7 ‘To this end,’ he told Lord Crewe, ‘I can, I know, confidently depend upon the assistance of the … organisation represented by the Round Table, most of whom, such as Grigg, Kerr, Lionel Curtis, etc. are my personal friends.’ Chirol to Crewe, 18 September 1914, Cambridge, UL, Crewe Mss, C/7 Chirol to Bland, 9 October 1914, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17

524

NOTES

9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27

28 29 30

31 32

33 34

Chirol to Butler, 19 November 1914, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Butler Papers Mss Eur. F Chirol to Spring-Rice, 26 November 1914, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/13 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 10 December 1914, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Maxse, 10 December 1914, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 469 Lady Algernon Gordon Lennox, The Diary of Lord Bertie of Thame (New York), vol. I, pp. 88–89 Chirol to Gertrude Bell, 10 February 1915, University of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Robinson Library, Bell Papers Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 24 January 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Gertrude Bell, 10 February 1915, Newcastle, Robinson Library, Bell Papers Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 30 March 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 30 March 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 9 April 1915, Cambridge, CCA, 1/16 Chirol to Hardinge, 13 April 1915, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 72, no. 1 Chirol to Hardinge, 2 May 1915, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 72, no. 8 Chirol to Hardinge, 24 May 1915, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 72, no. 76. Bülow had been the German ambassador to Italy before becoming German Foreign Secretary in 1897 and then Chancellor in 1900. Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 21 May 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 21 May 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 21 May 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Crewe to Grey, 14 June 1915, London, NA, Grey Papers, FO800/95/105 Although still doubtful Grey did admit that, since Chirol ‘would be able to avoid pitfalls … if there is any chance of doing good, [he] is not likely to miss it’. Grey to Crewe, 15 June 1915, London, NA, Grey Mss, FO 800/95/112 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 23 June 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 J.D. Gregory, On the Edge of Diplomacy (London, 1934), p. 125 ‘The trouble is that the price we must pay the Bulgars we can’t pay out of our own pocket but must pay out of the Serbian pocket and, though they owe it and more than owe it to us to pay, will they be ready to do so?’ Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 28 July 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 The Queen was Kaiser Wilhelm’s sister. Although one of the leading Greek politicians, M. Venizelos, was a staunch friend of the Allied cause he was at that point out of office and definitely out of favour with the German-leaning royals. Gregory, On the Edge of Diplomacy, pp. 109–111 The Italians had been promised land in the western Balkans and along the coast of the Adriatic which the Serbs claimed and which they felt had already been promised to them as compensation should they be forced to compromise vis-à-vis Macedonia.

525

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56

57 58 59

60

61 62 63

Gregory, On the Edge of Diplomacy, p. 111 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 28 August 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Gregory, On the Edge of Diplomacy, p. 113 Chirol to Hardinge, 27 July 1915, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 72, no. 285 Chirol to Hardinge, 27 July 1915, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 72, no. 285 Gregory, On the Edge of Diplomacy, p. 114 Chirol, Fifty Years, p. 317 Gregory, On the Edge of Diplomacy, p. 115 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 28 July 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Hardinge, 29 August 1915, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 72, no. 402 Gregory, On the Edge of Diplomacy, p. 120 Chirol to Grey, 8 September 1915, London, NA, Grey Papers, FO 371, 2262, 350 Chirol, Fifty Years, pp. 324–325 Chirol to Hardinge, 29 August 1915, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 72, no. 402 Lennox, The Diary of Lord Bertie, vol. I, pp. 232–233 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 2 September 1915, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Hardinge, 27 July 1915, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 72, no. 485 Chirol to Fisher, 10 October 1915, Oxford, Bodleian Library, Fisher Mss, no. 61, f. 36–41 Chirol to Hardinge, 29 August 1915, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 72, no. 402. Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 22 September 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 24 October 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 On 14 November the Sultan did pronounce a jihad against all the enemies of his empire. Much to Chirol’s – and not just his – relief the Indians, both Muslim and Hindu, remained staunchly loyal. Chirol to Fisher, 10 October 1915, Oxford, Bodleian Library, Fisher Mss, #61 f.36–41 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 24 October 1915, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/16 ‘Things are almost as bad there as they ever were, and I suppose there has been nothing like it for incompetence and inertia and resultant disaster and misery since the Crimea.’ Chirol to Mrs Leo Maxse, 7 August 1916, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, no. 473 At the end of March Hardinge poked a hole in this rosy picture, telling Chirol that Russia would be all but useless to the Allies for the time being and that the war would probably be indefinitely prolonged. Hardinge to Chirol, 28 March 1917, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 30, no. 261 Chirol to Bland, 6 December 1915, University of Toronto, Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81/17 Chirol to Mrs Leo Maxse, 7 August 1916, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, no. 473 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 9 May 1916, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/17

526

NOTES

64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72

73 74 75

Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 20 November 1916, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/17 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 10 January 1917, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/17 Chirol to Butler, 16 January 1917, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Butler Papers Mss, Eur. F116/37 Chirol to Garvin, 8 January 1917, University of Texas, Henry Ransome Humanities Research Center, Garvin Papers Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 6 April 1917, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/17 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 6 April and 3 June, 1917, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/17 Chirol to Hardinge, 30 May 1916, Cambridge, UL, Hardinge Papers, vol. 22, no. 61 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/17 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 14 April 1918, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/17. In the end he wrote only a slim volume of remembrance, Cecil Spring-Rice: In Memorium, published by John Murray in 1919. He wanted to do the longer work but was certain that the authorities would veto any publication of the letters written from Washington during the war. As his family wanted the thing done soon, and thinking of his own age, Chirol was ‘reluctant to undertake what would inevitably fail to do full justice to him just at the time when in my opinion he rendered the most splendid service to the country, and might block the writing of a really important book some years hence’. Chirol to John Murray, 17 July 1920, London, Archives of John Murray Publishers Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 21 September 1918, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/17 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 13 October 1918, Cambridge, CCA, Spring-Rice Papers, 1/17 Chirol to Florence Spring-Rice, 11 November 1918, Cambridge, CCA, SpringRice Papers, 1/17

EPILOGUE 1

2

3

Even in his private letters Chirol’s sentences frequently trailed on and on. Writing to Garvin in 1921 he begged forgiveness for one particularly ‘Germanendless’ example, excusing it on his inability ‘to shake off the baneful influence of … years [of] immersion in the turbid waters of journalese German’. Chirol to Garvin, 28 December 1921, University of Texas at Austin, Henry Ransome Humanities Research Center, Garvin Papers He was with the Political Intelligence Department of the Foreign Office. According to Algernon Cecil in an article in the Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy [1923 edn, p. 628], it had been set up ‘to make good … the absence of information from enemy countries through the ordinary diplomatic channels… Its members were in many cases expert students of their subjects – publicists accustomed to look at international affairs not through the traditions, however good, of an Office, but with clear and independent eyes – and as a body they were not, perhaps, so very far from realising that ideal [which stated] that the Foreign Office ought to be “a mirror of the nation”.’ It ceased to exist after 1922. Chirol regarded the revival of Muslim militancy as a serious and dangerous portent. But at present London would, he felt, be better off bending to the

527

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

4

5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12

storm, even doing so on her knees, as she was too exhausted and the Allies too divided to stand up and beat it down. Chirol to Garvin, 28 December 1921, University of Texas at Austin, Henry Ransome Humanities Research Center, Garvin Papers ‘The whole world has gone mad,’ he wrote to Bland in January 1921, ‘but India, I think, maddest of all, and the worst of it is that, as in Egypt, so [in India], we have ourselves largely to thank for it.’ Chirol to Bland, 7 January 1921, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, Bland Papers, 81, Box 17 Chirol to Butler, 24 November 1918, London, BL, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections, Butler Papers, Mss Eur. F116/37 Chirol to Garvin, 28 December 1921, University of Texas at Austin, Henry Ransome Humanities Research Center, Garvin Papers See Peter Maxwell, The British in Egypt (London, 1971) As long as he had reason to believe that The Times would be willing to use him for special assignments he felt it more seemly not to identify himself too closely with any other paper, including Garvin’s Observer. But his Indian articles seemed to have put an end to those assignments and, except for printing his letters to the editor, Printing House Square was ignoring him. As a result he told Garvin that he felt no qualms about ‘taking his wares – for what they are worth – to another market’. Still he preferred to offer his views in the form of an interview rather than a letter to the editor for fear that the latter might induce The Times to shut him out all together. Chirol to Garvin, 18 November 1921, University of Texas at Austin, Henry Ransome Center, Garvin Papers Chirol to Grigg, 26 December 1921, London, Private Hands Oxford, Bodleian Library, Hammond Papers Chirol to Mrs Leo Maxse, 27 November 1905, Chichester, West Sussex Record Office, Maxse Papers, 441(30) The Times, 6 November 1929

528

Selected Bibliography

MANUSCRIPT SOURCES

Australian Sources Sydney Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales Morrison Papers

British Sources Aberystwyth The National Library of Wales Maxwell Fraser Papers

Cambridge Churchill College Archives (CCA) Amery Papers O’Conor Papers Saunders Papers Spring-Rice Papers University Library (UL) Chirol Papers Crewe Papers Hardinge Papers Wallace Papers Fitzwilliam Museum Guy LeStrange Bequest

Chichester West Sussex Record Office Leo Maxse Papers

529

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

Durham University of Durham, Sudan Archive Gertrude Bell Papers

Edinburgh National Library of Scotland Blackwood Papers

Greenwich National Maritime Museum Admiral Sir Edward Slade Papers Richmond Papers

Lewes East Sussex Record Office Chirol family records

London British Library Bertie Papers Macmillan (Publishers) Papers R.J. Marker Papers Northcliffe Papers Steed Papers Sydenham Papers (George Sydenham Clarke) Asia, Pacific and Africa Collections (previously Oriental and India Office Library) Barrow Papers Butler, Harcourt Papers Curzon Papers Lowndes Papers Meston Papers Morley Papers Reading (Issacs) Papers Younghusband Papers House of Lords Record Office St Loe Strachey Papers The Huguenot Society of Great Britain and Ireland J.L. Chirol material London School of Economics Morel Papers Archives of John Murray Publishers

530

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

News International Record Office: Times Archives Bell Papers Bourchier Papers Buckle Papers Chirol Papers Dawson Papers Morrison Papers Northcliffe Papers Saunders Papers Steed Papers; Steed Letter Book Walter Family Papers Foreign Editor’s Letter Books 1–5 (FELB) Manager’s Letter Book National Archives (formerly the Public Record Office) Bertie Papers Curzon Papers Grey Papers Lansdowne Papers Lascelles Papers Nicholson Papers Rumbold Papers Foreign Office Index

Oxford Bodleian Library H.A.L. Fisher Papers Lionel Curtis Papers C.P. Scott, Hammond Papers

Manchester John Rylands Library, University of Manchester Manchester Guardian Mss, C.P. Scott Papers

Newcastle-upon-Tyne Robinson Library Gertrude Bell Papers

Canadian Sources Ottawa National Archives of Canada Parkin Papers

531

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

Toronto University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library J.O.P. Bland Papers

French Sources Paris Musée Clemenceau Clemenceau Papers

German Sources Bonn Politisches Archiv des Auswärtiges Amtes Holstein Papers

United States Sources Austin, Texas The University of Texas, Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center Garvin Papers

Chicago, Illinois The University of Chicago Library, Dept. of Special Collections Norman Wait Harris Foundation Papers

Durham, North Carolina Duke University, Special Collections Library Sir George Lowndes Papers Thomas Nelson Page Papers Frederick Sleigh Roberts, First Earl Roberts Papers

Williamstown, Massachusetts Williams College, Archives and Special Collections The Institute of Politics at Williamstown Papers

532

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

PRINTED PRIMARY SOURCES Bourne, Kenneth and Watt, Donald Cameron, eds, British documents on foreign affairs: reports and papers from the Foreign office confidential print. Dugdale, E.T.S., ed., German Diplomatic Documents. Vols. I – IV, London, 1969 Gooch, G.P. and Temperley, Harold, eds British Documents on the Origins of the War, 1898–1914. London, 1927 Lepius, J., Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, A. and Thimme, F., eds, Die Grosse Politik der Europäischer Kabinette. Berlin, 1922–1927 Lowe, C.J. and Dockrill, M.L., The Mirage of Power: British Foreign Policy 1902–1922. London, 1972

REFERENCE BOOKS Bayly, Dr C.A., ed., Atlas of the British Empire. Oxford and New York, 1989 Cook, Chris and Paxton, John, European Political Facts, 1848–1918. London, 1978 Cook, Chris with Kirk, Tim and Moore, Bob, Sources in European Political History. London, 1989 The Dictionary of National Biography Keller, Helen R, The Dictionary of Dates. Vols. I and II, New York, 1934 Langer, William, ed., An Encyclopedia of World History. Fifth Edition, Boston, 1972 The Royal Commission on Historical Manuscripts, Guides to Sources for British History, No. 4. Private Papers of British Diplomats, 1782–1900. London, 1985 Vansittart, Peter, Voices, 1870–1914. New York, 1985

VALENTINE CHIROL PUBLICATIONS

Books ’Twixt Greek and Turk. Edinburgh and London, 1881 The Far Eastern Question. London, 1896 The Middle Eastern Question, or Some Political Problems of Indian Defence. London, 1903 Indian Unrest. London, 1910 Cecil Spring-Rice: In Memorium. London, 1919 The Egyptian Problem. London, 1921 India Old and New. London, 1922 The Occident and the Orient. Chicago, 1924 India (Modern World Series). London, 1926 Fifty Years in a Changing World. London, 1927 With Pen and Brush in Eastern Lands When I Was Young. London, 1929

Introductions, Chapters and Articles ‘The Conflict of World Forces in the Far East’ in the National Review, June 1904 ‘The Attitude of the Powers’ in Villari, Luigi, ed., The Balkan Question. London, 1905

533

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

‘Our Imperial Interests in Nearer and Further Asia’ in Goldman, Charles S., ed., The Empire and The Century: A Series of Essays on Imperial Problems and Possibilities by Various Writers. London, 1905 ‘Pan-Islamism’ in the National Review, December 1906 ‘The Origins of the Present War’, Quarterly Review. London, October 1914 ‘Serbia and the Serbs’, Oxford Pamphlets, 1914 ‘Germany and “The Fear of Russia’’’, Oxford Pamphlets, 1914 ‘Preface’ to Frobenius, Colonel H., The German Empire’s Hour of Destiny. London, 1914 ‘Introduction’ to Kennedy, A.L., Old Diplomacy and New. London, 1922 ‘India’ in Peoples of all Nations. London, 1922 ‘The Boer War and the International Situation, 1899–1902’, Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy. vol. III, Cambridge, 1923 with Lord Eversley, The Turkish Empire. Second Edition, London, 1923 ‘Four Years of Lloyd George Foreign Policy’, The Edinburgh Review. January 1923 ‘Islam and Britain’, Foreign Affairs. March 1923 ‘The Downfall of the Khalifate’, Foreign Affairs. June 1924 ‘Forward’, in Barnum, H.D., trans., The Khoja, Tales of Nasr-ed-Din. New York, 1924 ‘The Times’, ‘The Times Literary Supplement’, 1892–1928

MEMOIRS, DIARIES, CONTEMPORARY ACCOUNTS Amery, The Rt. Hon. L.S., My Political Life. Vol. I, England before the Storm. London, 1953 Bell, E.H.C., The Life and Letters of C.F. Moberly Bell. London, 1927 Bell, Lady D.B.E., ed., The Letters of Gertrude Bell. Vols. I and II, London, 1927 Bennett, F., The Story of W.J.E. Bennett. London, 1909 Bennett, W.J.E., ‘A Reply to “A Statement of Facts” Made by Mr Alexander Chirol, B.A.’. London, 1847 Bernstorff, Johann Heinrich Graf von, Memoirs of Count Bernstorff. London, 1936 Bunsen, Marie von, Zeitgenossen Die Ich Erlebte, 1900–1930. Leipzig, 1932 Burgoyne, Elizabeth, Gertrude Bell: From Her Personal Papers. Vols. I and II, London, 1961 Cecil, Lord Edward, The Leisure of an Egyptian Official. London, 1921 Choat, Joseph H., The Two Hague Conferences. Princeton, 1913 Ebel, Gerhard, ed., Paul von Hatzfeldt, Nachgelassene Papiere, 1838–1901. Boppardam-Rhine, 1976 Eckardstein, Baron Hermann von, Ten Years at the Court of St James. London, 1921 ------------ Lebenserinnerungen und politische Denkwürdigkeiten. Leipzig, 1919–1921 Graves, Sir Robert, Storm Centres of the Near East, Personal Memories, 1879–1929. London, 1933 Gregory, J.D., On the Edge of Diplomacy. London, 1934 Grey, Lord of Fallodon, Twenty-Five Years. Vols. I – III, London, 1928 Gwynn, Stephen, ed., The Letters and Friendships of Sir Cecil Spring-Rice: A Record. Boston and New York, 1929 Haller, J., ed., Eulenburg-Hertefeld, Philipp Fürst zu: Aus fünfzig Jahren; Errinnerungen, Tagebücher and Briefe aus dem Nachlass des Fürst zu Eulenburg-Hertefeld. Berlin, 1923

534

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Hammann, Otto, Der neue Kurs. Berlin, 1918 Harris, Walter, The Morocco that Was. London, 1921 Heyking, Elizabeth von, Tagebücher aus vier Weltteilen. Leipzig, 1926 Hohenlohe, Alexander von, Aus meinem Leben. Frankfurt am Main, 1925 Howard, Christopher H.D., ed., The Diary of Edward Goschen, 1900–1914. London, 1980 Jones, Kennedy, Fleet Street and Downing Street. London, 1920 Kennedy, A.L., Old Diplomacy and New, 1876–1922. London, 1922 Kühlmann, Richard von, Erinnerungen. Heidelberg, 1948 Lennox, Lady Algernon Gordon, ed., The Diary of Lord Bertie of Thame, 1914–1918. Vols. I and II, New York, Lo Hui-Min, The Correspondence of G.E. Morrison. Vols. I and II, Cambridge and New York, 1976 Mary, Countess of Minto, ed., India, Minto and Morley, 1905–1910. London, 1934 Military Correspondent of The Times, The War in the Far East. New York, 1905 Nicholson, Harold, Lord Carnock: A Study in the Old Diplomacy. London, 1930 Oliphant, Laurence, The Land of Gilead, with Excursions in the Lebanon. New York, 1881 Pückler, Karl Graf von, Aus meinen Diplomatenleben. Schweidnitz, 1934 Ramm, Agatha, ed., Beloved and Darling Child: Last Letters between Queen Victoria and her Eldest Daughter. London, 1990 Raschdau, Ludwig, Unter Bismarck und Caprivi: Erinnerungen eines deutschen Diplomaten aus den Jahren 1855–1894. Berlin, 1939 Rich, Norman and M.H. Fisher, eds, The Holstein Papers: The Memoirs, Diaries and Correspondence of Friedrich von Holstein. Cambridge, 1955 Richmond, Elsa, ed., Earlier Letters of Gertrude Bell. New York, 1937 Rodd, Sir James Rennall, Social and Diplomatic Memories, 1884–1893. London, 1922 Röhl, John G. C. ed., Eulenburg-Hertefeld, Phillipp Fürst zu, Politische Korrespondenz. Boppard-am-Rhine, 1976–1983 Rosen, Friedrich, Oriental Memoirs of a German Diplomatist. London, 1930 ------------ Aus einem Diplomatischen Wanderleben. Berlin, 1931 Steed, Henry Wickham, Through Thirty Years, 1892–1922. Vol. I, New York, 1925 Trevelyan, George Macaulay, British History in the Nineteenth Century (1782–1901). London, 1922 Ward, Sir A.W. and Gooch, G.P., eds, The Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy. Vol. III, Cambridge, 1923 Wilson, Keith, ed., George Saunders on Germany, 1919–1920. Leeds, 1987 Wilson, Trevor, ed., The Political Diaries of C.P. Scott, 1911–1928. Ithaca, NY, 1970

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Balfour, Michael, Britain and Joseph Chamberlain. Boston, 1985 ----------- The Kaiser and His Times. New York, 1985 Baylen, Joseph O., ‘Valentine Chirol, Baron von Holstein, and the Venezuelan Grisis of 1895–1896; an unpublished Memorandum’, The Historian. Vol. 27, no. 2, February 1965 Beloff, Max, Imperial Sunset. Vol. I, Britain’s Liberal Empire, 1897–1921. New York, 1970 Berghahn, Volker R., Germany and the Approach of War in 1914. New York, 1973 Berque, Jacques, Egypt, Imperialism and Revolution. London, 1972 Bishku, Michael B., ‘Intrigue, Propaganda and the Press: British Perceptions of and Reactions to the 1919 Egyptian Uprising’, Journal of Newspaper and Periodical History. No. 4, Winter 1987–1988 Bourne, K., The Foreign Policy of Victorian England, 1830–1902. Oxford, 1970 Bourne, K. and Watt, D.C., eds, Studies in International History: Essays Presented to W. Norton Medlicott. Oxford, 1967 Brailey, Nigel, ‘Sir Ernest Satow, Japan and Asia: The Trials of a Diplomat in the Age of High Imperialism’, The Historical Journal. No. 35, pr. 1, 1992 Briggs, Asa, Victorian Cities. New York, 1965 Burton, David H., Cecil Spring-Rice: A Diplomat’s Life. London and Toronto, 1990 Cecil, Algernon, ‘The Foreign Office’ in The Cambridge History of British Foreign Policy, 1866–1919. Vol. III ------------ British Foreign Secretaries, 1807–1916. London, 1971 ------------ Queen Victoria and Her Prime Ministers. London, 1953 Cecil, Lamar, Wilhelm II: Prince and Emperor, 1859–1900. Chapel Hill, NC, 1989 Coetzee, Frans, For Party or Country: Nationalism and the Dilemmas of Popular Conservatism in Edwardian England. New York, 1990 Craig, Gordon, From Bismarck to Adenauer: Aspects of German Statecraft. New York, 1965 ---------- The Politics of the Prussian Army, 1640–1945. New York, 1979 ---------- and Gilbert, Felix, eds, The Diplomats, 1919–1939. Vol. I, New York, 1974 ---------- and George, A.G., Force and Statecraft: Diplomatic Problems of our Time. Oxford, 1983 Dangerfield, George, The Strange Death of Liberal England, 1910–1914. New York, 1935 Dann, Uriel, ed., The Great Powers in the Middle East, 1919–1939. New York, 1988 David, Wade D., European Diplomacy in the Near Eastern Question, 1906–1909. Urbana, IL, 1940 Dilks, David, Curzon in India. Vols. I and II, New York, 1970 ---------- ed., Retreat from Power: Studies in Britain’s Foreign Policy in the Twentieth Century. London, 1981 Dockrill, Michael and McKercher, Brian, eds, Diplomacy and World Power: Studies in British Foreign Policy, 1890–1950. Cambridge, 1996 Ebering, Dr Emil, ‘Die Times in der ersten Marokkokrise’, Historische Studien. Vol. 196, Berlin, 1930 Feuchtwanger, E.J., ed., Upheaval and Continuity: a Century of German History. London, 1973 Fischer, Fritz, War of Illusions: German Policies from 1911–1914. London, 1972 Frey, Werner, Sir Valentine Chirol: Die britische Position und Politik in Asien, 1895–1928. Zurich, 1976

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Friedberg, Aaron L., The Weary Titan: Britain and the Experience of Relative Decline, 1895–1905. Princeton, 1988 Fromkin, David, A Peace to End All Peace The Fall of the Ottoman Empire and the Creation of the Modern Middle East. New York, 1989 Gilbert, Martin, The First World War. New York, 1994 Giles, Frank, A Prince of Journalists: The Life and Times of de Blowitz. London, 1962 Gollin, A.M., Proconsul in Politics: A Study of Lord Milner in Opposition and in Power. New York, 1964 ---------- The ‘Observer’ and J.L. Garvin, 1908–1914. New York, 1960 Gooch, G.P., Historical Surveys and Portraits. New York, 1966 Green, E.H.H., ed., An Age of Transition: British Politics 1880–1914. Edinburgh, 1997 Grenville, J.S.A., Lord Salisbury and Foreign Policy: The Close of the Nineteenth Century, 1895–1902. London, 1964 Grigg, John, Lloyd George: The People’s Champion, 1902–1911. Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1978 ---------- Lloyd George: From Peace to War, 1912–1916. Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1985 Guttsman, W.L., The British Political Elite. London, 1963 Hale, Oron James, Publicity and Diplomacy, with Special Reference to England and Germany, 1890–1914. New York, 1940 Halevy, Elie, A History of the English People in the Nineteenth Century. Vols. IV and V, London, 1951 Haller, Johannes, Philipp Eulenburg: The Kaiser’s Friend. vol. I, New York, 1930 Hamilton, Keith, Bertie of Thame: Edwardian Ambassador. London, 1990 Hayes, Carlton J.H., A Generation of Materialism, 1871–1900. New York, 1941 Hildebrand, Klaus, German Foreign Policy from Bismarck to Adenauer. London, 1989 Himmelfarb, Gertrude, Victorian Minds: A Study of Intellectuals in Crisis and Ideologies in Transition. New York, 1968 Hinsley, F.H., ed., British Foreign Policy under Sir Edward Grey. Cambridge, 1977 Hobsbawm, Eric, The Age of Empire, 1875–1914. New York, 1989 Hochschild, Adam, King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror, and Heroism in Colonial Africa. New York, 1999 Hohenberg, John, Foreign Correspondence: The Great Reporters and Their Times. New York, 1964 Holborn, Hajo, A History of Modern Germany, 1840–1945. Princeton, 1969 Hornik, M. P., ‘The Anglo-Belgian Agreement of 12 May 1894’, English Historical Review. vol. 57, 1943 Hughes, Judith M., Emotion and High Politics: Personal Relations at the Summit. Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1982 Hughes, Michael, Diplomacy before the Russian Revolution: Britain, Russia and the Old Diplomacy, 1894–1917. London, 2000 Hull, Isabel V., The Entourage of Kaiser Wilhelm II, 1888–1918. Cambridge, 1982 James, Lawrence, The Rise and Fall of the British Empire. London, 1994 James, Robert Rhodes, Rosebery. New York, 1963 Jelavich, Barbara, History of The Balkans. Vols. I and II, Cambridge, 1983 Jones, Raymond A., The British Diplomatic Service, 1815–1914. Gerrards Cross, UK, 1983 Kaplan, Robert D., Balkan Ghosts: A Journey through History. New York, 1994

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Kendle, John Edward, The Colonial and Imperial Conferences, 1887–1911: A Study in Imperial Organization. London, 1967 Kennen, George F., The Fateful Alliance: France, Russia, and the Coming of the First World War. New York, 1984 Kennedy, Paul, The Realities Behind Diplomacy, Background Influences on British External Policy, 1865–1980. London, 1981 ---------- The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, 1860–1914. London, 1980 ---------- The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers. New York, 1987 ---------- Strategy and Diplomacy, 1870–1945. London, 1983 King, Peter, The Viceroy’s Fall: How Kitchener destroyed Curzon. London, 1986 Kohut, Thomas A., Wilhelm II and the Germans: A Study in Leadership. New York, 1991 Koss, S., The Rise and Fall of the Political Press in Britain. Chapel Hill, NC, 1981 Koszyk, Kurt, Deutsche Presse im 19. Jahrhundert: Geschichte der deutschen Presse. Vol. II, Berlin, 1966 Langer, W.L., The Diplomacy of Imperialism. New York, 1972 Lehmann, Dr Johannes, Die Aussenpolitik und die ‘Kölnische Zeitung’ während der Bülow-Zeit (1897–1909). Bleicherode am Herz, 1937 Leslie, Sir Shane, Mark Sykes: His Life and Letters. London, 1929 Lewis, Bernard, The Middle East. New York, 1995 Lewis, David Levering, The Race to Fashoda: European Colonialism and African Resistance in the Scramble for Africa. New York, 1987 Lloyd-Jones, P.H.J., et al., eds, History and Imagination: Essays in Honour of H.R. TrevorRoper. London, 1981 Longford, Elizabeth, Jameson’s Raid. London, 1984 Louis, William Roger, In the Name of God, Go! New York, 1992 Mansfield, Peter, The British in Egypt. New York, 1971 Martel, G., Imperial Diplomacy: Rosebery and the Failure of Foreign Policy. Buffalo, NY, 1986 Matthew, H.C.C., The Liberal Imperialists: The Ideas and Politics of a Post-Gladstonian Elite. Oxford, 1973 Maxwell, Peter, The British in Egypt, London, 1971 May, E.R., ed., Knowing One’s Enemies: Intelligence Assessment before the Two World Wars. Princeton, 1984 Meyer, Karl E. and Brysac, Shareen Blair, Tournament of Shadows: The Great Game and the Race for Empire in Central Asia. Washington, DC, 1999 Mommsen, Wolfgang J., Der autoritäre Nationalstaat: Verfassung, Gesellschaft und Kultur im deutschen Kaiserreich. Frankfurt am Main, 1990 ---------- ‘Domestic Factors in German Foreign Policy before 1914’, Central European History. Vol. 6, no. 1, March 1973 Monger, G.L., The End of Isolation: British Foreign Policy 1900–1907. London, 1963 Monroe, Elizabeth, Britain’s Moment in the Middle East, 1914–1971. London, 1981 Morris, A.J.A., The Scaremongers: The Advocacy of War and Rearmament, 1896–1914. London, 1984 Morris, A.J.L, ‘George Saunders, The Times’ Berlin Correspondent: A Case Study in Diplomacy and Publicity, 1896–1904’, Moirae. Ulster Polytechnic, Newtownabbey Morris, James, Pax Britannica: The Climax of an Empire. New York, 1968

538

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Nichols, J. Alden, Germany after Bismarck: The Caprivi Era, 1890–1894. Cambridge, MA, 1958 ---------- The Year of the Three Kaisers: Bismarck and the German Succession, 1887–1888. Illinois, 1987 Nicolson, Harold, King George V: His Life and Reign. London, 1952 Nimocks, Walter, Milner’s Young Men: The ‘Kindergarten’ in Edwardian Imperial Affairs. Durham, NC, 1968 Nish, I.H., The Anglo-Japanese Alliance. London, 1966 Packenham, Thomas, The Scramble for Africa. New York, 1991 Pinson, Koppel S., Modern Germany: Its History and Civilization. New York, 1954 Playne, C.E., The Pre-War Mind in Britain. London, 1928 Pound, Reginald and Harmsworth, Geoffrey, Northcliffe. New York, 1960 Pribham, Alfred F., England and the International Policy of the European Great Powers, 1871–1914. Oxford, 1931 Pugh, Martin, The Making of Modern British Politics, 1867–1939. Oxford, 1993 Ramm, Agatha, Beloved and Darling Child: Last letters between Queen Victoria and Her Eldest Daughter, 1886–1901, London, 1990 Ramm, Agatha, Sir Robert Morier: Envoy and Ambassador in the Age of Imperialism, 1876–1893. Oxford, 1973 Rich, Norman, Friedrich von Holstein: Politics and Diplomacy in the Era of Bismarck and Wilhelm II. Cambridge, 1965 Robinson, R. and Gallager, J.A., Africa and the Victorians. London, 1961 Rogge, Helmuth, Holstein und Hohenlohe. Stuttgart, 1957 Röhl, John C.G., Kaiser, Hof und Staat: Wilhelm II: und die deutsche Politik. Munich, 1988 ---------- Germany without Bismarck: The Crisis of Government in the Secord Reich, 1890–1900. Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1967 ---------- and Sombart, N., eds, Kaiser Wilhelm II, New Interpretations. Cambridge, 1982 Ryan, W. Michael, Lieutenant-Colonel Charles à Court Repington: A Study in the Interaction of Personality, the Press, and Power. New York, 1987 Scally, Robert, The Origins of the Lloyd George Coalition. Princeton, 1975 Schmitt, Bernadotte E., The Annexation of Bosnia, 1908–1909. Cambridge, 1937 Schneer, Jonathan, London 1900, The Imperial Metropolis. New Haven and London, 1999 Searle, G.R., The Quest for National Efficiency, 1898–1914. Oxford, 1971 Semmel, Bernard, Liberalism and Naval Strategy: Ideology, Interest, and Sea Power during the Pax Britannica. Boston, 1986 Seton-Watson, Hugh and Christopher, The Making of a New Europe: R.W. Seton-Watson and the Last Years of Austria-Hungary. London, 1981 Shannon, Richard, The Crisis of Imperialism, 1865–1915. London, 1976 Sheehan, James J., ed., Imperial Germany. New York, 1976 Sontag, Raymond, ‘The Cowes Interview and the Krüger Telegram’, The Political Science Quarterly, vol. XL, 1925 Spence, Jonathan D., The Search for Modern China. New York, 1990 Steed, David and Nish, Ian, China, Japan and Nineteenth-Century Britain. Dublin, 1977 Steinberg, Jonathan, Yesterday’s Deterrent. London, 1965 ---------- ‘The Copenhagen Complex’, Journal of Contemporary History. Vol. 1, pt. 3, 1966

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---------- ‘Germany and the Russo-Japanese War’, American Historical Review. Vol. 75, no. 7, December 1970 Steiner, Zara, The Foreign Office and Foreign Policy, l898–1914. Cambridge, 1969 ---------- Britain and the Origins of the First World War. London, 1977 ---------- ‘Great Britain and the Creation of the Anglo-Japanese Alliance’, The Journal of Modern History. Vol. 31, March–December 1959 Stone, Lawrence, Road to Divorce: A History of the Making and Breaking of Marriage in England. Oxford, 1995. Taylor, Anne, Laurence Oliphant, 1829–1888. Oxford, 1982 Taylor, A.J.A., The Trouble Makers: Dissent over Foreign Policy, 1789–1939. London, 1969 The Times of London, The History of The Times. Vols. I – V, London, 1935–1952 Thimme, Friedrich, ‘Die Krüger-Despesche’, Europäische Gespräche. May–June 1924 Tidrick, Kathryn, Empire and the English Character. London, 1992 Tombs, Robert, ‘“Lesser Breeds Without the Law”: The British Establishment and the Dreyfus Affair, 1894–1899’, The Historical Journal. Vol. 41, no. 2, 1998 Trevor-Roper, Hugh, The Hermit of Peking: The Hidden Life of Sir Edmund Backhouse. New York, 1986 Urbach, Karina, Bismarck’s Favourite Englishman, London, 1999 Wallach, Janet, Desert Queen; The Extraordinary Life of Gertrude Bell. New York, 1996 Watt, D.C., Personalities and Politics. London, 1965 West, Rebecca, 1900. New York, 1982 Wiener, Joel H., ed., Papers for the Millions, The New Journalism in Britain, 1850s to 1914. New York, 1988 Wilke, Ekkehard-Teja P. W., Political Decadence in Imperial Germany: Personnel-Political Aspects of the German Government Crisis, 1894–1897. Illinois, 1976 Wilson, Keith M., Empire and Continent: Studies in British Foreign Policy from the 1880s to the First World War. London, 1987 ---------- ‘“Refuse in the Usual Terms”: The Foreign Office, the Press, and the Distribution of Blue Books, 1887–1905’, Victorian Periodicals Review. Vol. 16, no. 1, Spring 1983 ---------- ‘The Foreign Office and the “Education” of Public Opinion before the First World War’, The Historical Journal. Vol. 26, no. 2, 1983 Winstone, H.V.F., Gertrude Bell. London, 1978

540

Index

to, 128; VC writes to in South Africa,

Abdul Hamid II, Ottoman Sultan: accession and reign, 22, 28; Oliphant negotiates

131–132; on military ineptitude in

with, 27; and Caliphate, 28–29; and

South Africa, 137; as potential head of The Times foreign department, 390

Alexandria massacre, 33; and Balkan troubles, 187; and Russian threat, 192;

Ampthill, Arthur Russell, 2nd Baron, 222

rule ends, 342

Anglo-Persian Oil Company, 419

Aden, 260

Arabi, Ahmad, Pasha, Colonel, 33

Aehrenthal, Baron Aloys Lexa von,

Armenia, 478 Armenian massacres, 187

340–341, 346–347, 349–350

Armistice (1918), 470

Afghanistan: VC visits border, 181; Russian

army (British): VC criticises, 137; reforms,

threat to, 241, 264–265, 313; VC’s

305; drink problem, 450

anxieties over, 250, 256; proposed railway from India, 264–265; arms

Ashburnham family, 14

traffic, 396; in First World War,

Ashburnham, Sir Anchitel (VC’s uncle), 14

465–466

Ashburnham, Revd Sir John (VC’s uncle), 4

Africa: European rivalry in, 66–67

Asia Minor: German ambitions in, 240

Agadir, Morocco: crisis (1911), 424–425

Asquith, Herbert Henry: on Times

Agra, 445

antagonism to Germany, 173;

Ahmad Shah see Shah of Persia

premiership (1905), 342; favours

Ahmet Effendi, 20–21

naval expansion, 361–363; re-elected

Albania: dispute with Montenegro, 29

(1910), 400; and Home Rule for Ireland, 403

Alexander II, Tsar of Russia, 33

Athens: VC visits in war, 457, 462

Alexander, Prince of Battenberg: and Bulgarian throne, 33, 38; and dispute

Atromitos (ship), 458

with Serbia, 38; abdicates, 39–40;

Augusta Victoria, Kaiserin (William II’s first wife), 319

criticised in London, 39 Alexandra, Queen of Edward VII, 395

Australia: VC visits, 46–47

Alexandria: massacre (1882), 33

Austria: intervenes in Bulgaria-Serbia

Algeciras: Conference (1906), 283–284, 395

dispute, 38; in Triple Alliance, 64, 73;

Algeria: French in, 138

and Macedonian crisis, 193; builds

Amery, Leopold Charles Maurice

railroad through Novi Bazar, 340–341;

Stennett: on VC’s Foreign Office

takes control of Bosnia-Herzegovina,

career, 16; and British position in

345, 347; and Bulgaria, 352; as threat

South Africa, 120; Moberly Bell writes

to European peace, 353; and Serbian

541

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

crisis (1909), 356–359; German

Belgrade, 347, 350–351, 464

cooperation with, 395; declares war

Bell, Charles Frederic Moberly: as

on Serbia (1914), 447

managing editor of The Times, 1, 42–43, 278; friendship with VC, 44;

Baghdad Railroad, 153, 187–190, 240,

and VC’s appointment to The Times

413–414, 418–419

post, 47, 56; relations with

Balfour, Arthur James: succeeds Salisbury

government, 55; and VC’s posting to

as Prime Minister, 14; VC on, 100, 275;

China, 71; and VC’s reports on

friendliness towards Germany, 122;

German activities in southern Africa,

indifference to VC’s views, 149; and

76, 78, 84; and VC’s hopes of

building of Baghdad Railroad, 188;

succeeding to Wallace, 90–91; and

reorganises government (1903), 193,

Morrison in China, 92–93; and VC as

213; and fiscal reform, 194; and

Foreign Editor at The Times, 108–109,

Younghusband mission to Tibet, 213;

114; writes to Amery in South Africa,

relations with Curzon, 214; and

128; Sanderson on, 136; and VC’s

Dogger Bank incident, 218;

reports from Peking in Boxer crisis,

government weakens, 246, 257; and

148; and Coronation Durbar (Delhi,

Tibet Convention, 251; and Kitchener’s

1903), 174; recalls VC from India, 186;

control of Indian army, 253; and

and James’s wireless transmissions,

Curzon’s resignation as Viceroy, 256;

203; and Braham’s expulsion from

government falls (1905), 274, 302; in

Russia, 205; and VC’s hostility towards

opposition, 303; and Indian unrest,

Repington, 250; and VC’s

310; record on Persia and Tibet, 312;

accompanying Prince of Wales to

opposes Pearson’s appointment to

India, 258; invites Morrison, then

The Times, 327

Garvin to take over as Foreign Editor

Balkans: revolt against Ottomans, 21; VC

of The Times, 320–321, 336; and The

travels in, 30; and Bulgarian problem,

Times’ financial difficulties, 321–324;

41; Austrian interests in, 73; Greek-

and management changes at The

Turkish war in (1897), 93–94;

Times (1908), 323, 325–329, 331, 333,

Christian–Muslim conflicts in, 315,

383; and Northcliffe’s interest in

344; unrest in, 340, 395–396; Austrian-

acquiring The Times, 329–330; and

Russian relations in, 341; as crisis

Morrison’s position in Far East, 334;

region, 356; wars (1912–1913), 439,

proposes to transfer Steed from Vienna

442–444; in First World War, 450, 455;

to Berlin, 342–343; solvency under

VC’s wartime mission to, 455–462, 464

Northcliffe, 342; sends VC on trip

Baluchistan, 313

through European capitals, 344–345,

Barrow, General Sir Edmund, 255, 272, 310

346; criticises Bourchier, 350–351;

Basrah, 419, 451

and VC’s recuperation from illness

Battenberg, Prince Henry, 39

(1908–09), 354; Northcliffe harasses

Bavaria: VC holidays in, 115–116

and criticises, 364–365, 384, 387–389,

Bax-Ironside, Sir Henry, 460

397–398; Morrison complains to of

Bebel, August, 125

VC, 367–369, 373, 409, 410–411;

Beirut, 38

dissuades VC from returning from

Belgium: in Congo, 66, 287–291, 295,

China by rail, 373; requests more

317, 354

frequent correspondence from

542

INDEX

Morrison, 380; relations with

Ottomans, 29; dominance in German

Northcliffe, 385–386, 406; trip to

Reich, 50–51; retires, 50, 56; character,

North America with Northcliffe, 389,

53; Holstein opposes, 56–57; maintains

397; on control of The Times foreign

interest and influence in politics, 56;

department, 390; VC writes to on

VC’s view of, 57–58; policy towards

Lords crisis (1909), 393; and

Britain, 63; diplomatic method, 130;

Northcliffe’s unilateral decisions at

and reinsurance treaty with Russia, 208

The Times, 399–400, 415; Morrison

Björkö (Finland), Treaty of, 245

mistrusts, 408; supports Declaration of

Blackwood, William, 30–32, 34

London, 416; death, 420–421; and VC’s

Blackwood’s Magazine (Maga), 30, 34

offer to resign from The Times, 420

Blakiston, Hugh, 268, 278, 290, 390

Bell, Enid, 179

Blanc, Baron Alberto, 70

Bell, Ethel (née Chataway; Moberly Bell’s

Bland, J.O.: VC signs up for The Times Far

wife): VC writes to from India, 179,

Eastern service in Shanghai, 92; and

181, 183, 185, 187; and VC’s visit to

VC’s part in Anglo-Japanese alliance,

Aden, 260; dissuades VC from

169; and VC’s wish for gentlemanly

returning by rail from China, 373;

war correspondents, 204; and situation

and VC’s view of Lady Minto, 401

in Liaotung Peninsula, 210; on

Bell, Gertrude: regard for VC, 149; meets

vacation, 245; and VC’s anti-Kitchener

VC in London, 221–222; and VC’s

campaign, 265; and Blakiston’s suicide,

campaigning in India, 262, 271; VC

268; and Buckle’s new interest in

writes to from India, 402; VC writes

foreign affairs at The Times, 278; and

to from Persian Gulf in war, 452

Anglo-Russian agreement, 299; and

Bell, Hilda, 106, 108, 111

Berlin scandal, 319; and VC’s losses in

Bell, Sir Hugh, 246, 404

US financial crash, 320; and changes

Bengal: partitioned, 400–401, 432

in The Times proprietorship and

Bennett, Revd William, 4–6

management, 325, 330; VC’s

Berlin: Congress of (1878), 23–24, 32–33;

attachment to, 335; and Morrison’s

VC’s Times post in, 47–50; as capital

visit to London, 336; VC meets in Paris,

of Prussia and of Germany, 51;

345; and Anglo-Japanese agreement,

character, 51–52; VC returns to (1895),

367; difficult relations with Morrison,

72; VC leaves, 87; VC revisits (1900),

368; travels on Trans-Siberian Railroad,

152; VC visits on way to Persia (1902),

373; covers for Morrison during

175; Treaty of (1878), 193, 357;

absence from Peking, 379, 381; warns

Eulenburg homosexual scandal (1907),

VC of Morrison’s antipathy, 380; and

318–319

VC’s difficult relations with Morrison,

Berliner Neuesten Nachrichten, 172

382, 408; and Lords’ opposition to

Bernstorff, Count Johann Heinrich, 216

Lloyd George’s budget, 397; and VC’s

Bertie, Sir Francis, 98, 100, 217, 230–234,

trip to Persian Gulf, 414

236, 456, 463

Blowitz, Henri Stefan Opper de, 44, 104,

Bethmann-Hollweg, Theobald von, 413

115, 117, 119

Bismarck, Graf Herbert von, 53, 57

Boer War (1899–1902): outbreak, 109, 120;

Bismarck, Prince Otto: and Britain’s

German view of, 124–125; conduct

purchase of Suez Canal shares, 20; at

and progress of, 125, 131–132, 137,

Congress of Berlin (1878), 23; supports

150, 170; ends, 174, 199

543

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

Boers: disaffection with British, 75–78, 84;

shipping in Far East, 207; relations

German support for, 78–80; actions in

with Japan, 211, 299; Germany

war, 128, 132; in British concentration

believes ready to attack Russia, 220;

camps, 156

strengthens home fleet, 220; joint

Bolsheviks, 474

fleet manoeuvres with French,

Bombay, 418

236–237; rejects compulsory military

Bordeaux, 384

service, 239; Delcassé claims promise

Bosnia: rebels against Ottomans, 19;

to support France in German invasion,

Austro-Hungary takes control of, 345,

242–243; negotiates for agreement

358; Austria-Russian confrontation

with Russia, 281–282, 299–301,

over, 354

311–312; Germanophile movement

Bourchier, James David: differences with

in, 285; naval strength, 298–99;

VC, 307, 343–346, 365, 387; supports

agreement with Russia signed (1907),

Turkish reform programme, 315;

313, 318, 395, 414, 436–437; and

withdrawn from Balkans, 346; VC

protection of Persian Gulf, 414; coal

meets in Belgrade, 350–351; complains

strike (1912) and industrial unrest,

of mistreatment by VC, 406–407

437–438; and outbreak of First World

Boxers (China), 139–143, 145, 147, 207,

War (1914), 447; wartime coalition

280

government, 454; casualties in First

Braham, D.D.: expelled from Russia,

World War, 456–457

190–192, 204–206; in The Times

British Empire: growth and power, 18–19,

foreign department, 390; advises

70; defence of, 63; and tariff reform

Morrison not to write letter of

(imperial preference), 190; VC’s belief

complaint, 411; and VC’s proposed

in, 304; and Imperial Conference

resignation, 429; leaves The Times, 446

(1911), 422; VC supports imperial

Brahmo Samaj, 187

federation in, 438; and East–West

Brinkley, Captain, 92, 111, 335, 338, 340,

tensions, 474; and post-war

371

imperialism, 477

Britain: influence in Middle East, 24;

Brodrick, St John (later 1st Earl Midleton):

deteriorating relations with Germany,

as Secretary of State for India in

54, 62–63, 66, 68, 72–74, 76–78, 112,

Balfour’s government, 193, 213, 250;

116–118, 156–157, 161–162, 167, 285,

antagonism to The Times, 197–198;

319, 347; Holstein’s attitude to, 54, 62,

and Younghusband’s Tibet mission,

64–66, 153–154; democratic

214, 251–252; VC dislikes, 250–251,

government, 63; naval presence in

257; supports Kitchener over control

Mediterranean, 65, 69; agreement with

of Indian army, 253–257; leaves India

Belgium over Congo, 66–68; and crisis

Office, 261, 302; and unrest in India,

in southern Africa, 76–78; policy in

310

China and Far East, 91–92, 375–376;

Browne, Gordon, 295, 346

popular German hostility to, 122–124,

Bucharest, 461

126–127, 133–134, 136, 156–157, 159,

Buckle, George: as editor of The Times, 1,

164, 172, 175; treaty with Japan

41–43; relations with government, 55;

(1902), 168–169; entente with France,

and VC’s anti-Bismarck views, 58;

200–201, 218, 229, 237, 285–286,

praises VC for intervention in Congo

291–292, 395; Russians interfere with

crisis, 68; VC writes to from Berlin,

544

INDEX

97; reaction to Gladstone’s death, 101;

Buller, General Sir Redvers, 125, 128

and foreign editorship of The Times,

Bülow, Bernhard, Graf von: informs

114, 253, 265, 334; VC attacks, 128;

Blanc of VC’s influence, 70;

Sanderson on, 136; Curzon wishes to

summarises Kaiser’s visit to Queen

attend 1903 Coronation Durbar, 174;

Victoria, 122; and Chamberlain’s

and VC in India, 179; holiday (1904),

friendliness to Germany, 124; and

208; and Curzon–Kitchener conflict,

German anti-British feelings, 124–125,

253–255; favours Kitchener, 265;

134; promotes Navy Bill, 124–125;

letters from VC in India, 265; and VC’s

anti-British Reichstag speeches,

campaign against Kitchener in India,

130–131, 163–167; criticises

268–269, 271, 284, 316–317; interest

Saunders, 134; and The Times

in foreign affairs, 278; and reform in

criticisms of Germany, 135–136,

Belgian Congo, 290; health problem,

172–173; and Manchuria, 147, 151;

316; and management changes at The

meets VC, 153–156, 158–159; proposes

Times (1908), 323–325, 327, 329, 331,

agreement with Britain, 155, 169–170;

333; as director of Times Publishing

criticises Chamberlain’s Edinburgh

Company, 333, 354, 427–429;

speech, 158–161; VC attacks in The

dissuades VC from returning from

Times, 164; on Baghdad Railroad, 189;

China by rail, 373; VC discusses Far

and treaty rights in Manchuria, 216;

East with, 375; accepts Northcliffe’s

drafts Russo-German defensive treaty,

regime, 385–386; and Northcliffe’s

220; and revolution in Russia (1905),

proposed reorganisation of The Times,

228; passes on Harris’s report on

387–388; defends Bell against

Morocco to Kaiser, 231; and Moroccan

Northcliffe, 397–398; Northcliffe

crisis (1905), 233; and Kaiser’s visit to

rebukes, 397; resists Northcliffe’s

Tangier, 234–236; VC’s relations with,

attempt to end Times’ editorial

277; dissolves Reichstag and calls

independence, 415–418, 420; supports

elections (January 1907), 295–297,

Declaration of London, 416–418; letter

299; and reorganisation of German

from VC in India, 427; discusses

Colonial Office, 295–296; foreign

successor to VC at The Times, 434;

policy, 301; and Balkan unrest, 347

Robinson (Dawson) succeeds, 438

Bundesrath (German ship), 129

Budget (national): Lloyd George’s ‘people's’ (1909), 392–393, 396–397

Caine, Hall, 449

Bulgaria: revolt against Ottomans, 21;

Cairo: VC in, 17–18, 20–21, 34, 68, 98;

Russia sets up as autonomous state, 22,

British occupy (1882), 34; see also

32; conflict with Serbia, 38–39; Eastern

Egypt

Rumelia seeks union with, 38; VC in,

Calcutta, 266–267, 423, 445

38–41; Alexander abdicates throne,

Caledonian, SS, 366

39–40; and Macedonian crisis, 192;

Caliphate: nature of, 28–29

Ferdinand occupies throne, 345;

Cambon, Paul, 110, 243

denies attachment to Austria, 352; war

Campbell-Bannerman, Sir Henry, 267, 274,

with Turkey (1912), 439; attacks Serbia

302, 304, 342

and Greece (1913), 443; in First World

Capper, John Brainerd, 323

War, 448, 450, 464; VC’s wartime

Caprivi, General Georg von, Graf, 53–54,

mission to, 456–457, 459–462

56, 58–59, 61, 66, 68

545

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

Carlyle, Thomas, 12

treaties with Japan and Russia, 381;

Casablanca, 395

revolution (1911), 430–431; see also Tz’u-hsi, Dowager Empress

Casement, Sir Roger, 287

Chios (island; Scio), 32

Catholic Church: VC’s father joins and

Chirol, Alexander (VC’s father): birth and

leaves, 4–6; and Dreyfus affair, 119–120 Cawnpore, 444

upbringing, 3; converts to

Ceylon: VC visits, 35

Catholicism, 4–6; returns to Anglican Church, 6

Chamberlain, Austen, 327

Chirol, Harriet (née Ashburnham; VC’s

Chamberlain, Joseph: radical leadership, 64; and West Africa, 100; negotiates

mother): marriage, 4; embraces

with German diplomats, 102–104,

Catholicism, 6; in Versailles during

122–124, 155; denounces Rhodes, 118;

Franco-Prussian War, 8–9; health

and Samoa dispute, 121; and German

decline, 111, 304; stroke and death, 345, 348

militarism, 125, 156; Edinburgh speech criticising Germany, 156–160; proposes

Chirol, Jean Louis (VC’s grandfather), 4

alliance with Germany, 162; abused

Chirol, Louisa (VC’s grandmother), 6

in German Reichstag, 163; German

Chirol, Thomas Alexander Ashburnham (VC’s brother): ordained, 6; school

Embassy approaches, 172; supports

teaching, 14

imperial preference, 190–191, 194;

Chirol, Sir Valentine: appointment on

leaves government, 193; suffers stroke, 275; VC criticises, 275; on C.A.

The Times, 1–2, 44–46; unrecorded

Pearson, 323, 327

birth and baptism (as Mary Valentine

Chaplin, Henry, 1st Viscount, 100

Ignatius Chirol), 3; Catholicism, 6;

Charles I, King of England, 199

childhood and upbringing, 6–7;

Chicago: Norman Wait Harris

European languages, 7; French university degree, 7; in Germany,

Foundation, 478–479

7–8; in Versailles and Paris during

China: VC in, 9, 71–72, 91–93, 145–146, 373; war with Japan (1894), 71, 202;

Franco-Prussian War, 9–12; joins and

German machinations in, 90–92,

leaves Foreign Office, 15–16; learns

97–99, 147, 153, 207, 377; Western

Arabic, 16, 18, 21; in Cairo, 17–18,

and US interests and rivalries in,

20–21, 34, 68, 98; and Congress of

91–92, 99, 105, 112, 143; German

Berlin, 23–24; re-encounters Oliphant

missionaries murdered in, 97; The

in Middle East, 24–25; travels in Syria,

Times interest in, 97–98; British lease

Lebanon and Anatolia, 25–26, 28, 30;

ports in, 101–102; internal differences,

financial circumstances, 26–27;

107, 112; Boxer rebellion in, 138–141,

painting, 26, 262; takes up journalism

145, 207, 280; indemnity question,

with Whitaker, 27–28; in Balkans, 30;

150; and Tibet, 212–213, 215–216;

sends book to Blackwood, 30–32;

VC’s view of, 279, 335, 373, 381–382;

described by Alice Oliphant, 34–35;

educational reform, 280; rise of

in Persia to sell Nordenfeldt machine-

nationalism in, 280; Morrison’s view

gun, 36; reports on Bulgaria–Serbia

of, 335, 337, 410–411; and railroad

conflict, 38–39, 41; supports Prince

concessions, 354, 377–378, 395; and

Alexander, 39–40; studies for Bar, 41,

Japanese in Manchuria and Korea,

46; receives inheritance, 46; visits

375–376, 381; US policy on, 377–378;

Australia, 46–47; loses money in bank

546

INDEX

failure, 47; posted to Berlin, 47–50;

honour, 151, 475; revisits Berlin

life in Berlin, 51–53; relations with

(1900), 152; Holstein sees on visit to

Holstein, 52, 56, 63–64, 68–69, 71,

Berlin, 153–154; discussion with

74, 83; coverage and analysis of

Bülow, 155–156; correspondence with

German affairs, 55–57; and press in

Holstein over Chamberlain’s

Germany, 55; view of Bismarck,

Edinburgh speech, 157–161; attacks

57–58; mistrusts William II, 59–61;

Bülow, 164; and Japanese treaty

takes year’s absence in Egypt and Far

(1902), 168–169; visit to Persia

East, 61; secretiveness, 63; sent to

(1902), 175–178; devotion to India,

China, 71–72; and crisis in southern

178–179, 262–263, 272, 274, 315,

Africa, 76–77, 79–83; and Kaiser’s

474, 480; in India for Coronation

telegram to Krüger, 78–79; and British

Durbar (1903), 183–187, 189;

position in South Africa, 80–81;

publishes articles (later book) on

mistrusts German protestations of

Middle East Question, 189–190,

friendship, 84–85, 87; Holstein turns

193–194; with Curzon on cruise in

against, 85; letter to Holstein, 85–86;

Gulf, 194–198; and Russo-Japanese

leaves Berlin, 87; stands in for Wallace

War, 198, 210; pleurisy and flu, 200;

at The Times, 90–91, 93, 96, 101;

and James’s wireless transmissions to

criticises feeble British foreign policy,

The Times, 203–204, 210; suspects

91–92, 94, 100; returns to Far East

secret Russo-German pact, 206–208,

(1896–1897), 91–93; sets up The

211, 215; London social life, 221–222;

Times’ Far Eastern Service, 92; health

visit to USA (1904–1905), 223–236; on

concerns and depressions, 96,

German role in Moroccan crisis,

110–111, 120, 137–138, 229, 252,

230–231, 233–234, 237, 242–244;

304–305, 333, 365–366, 369, 391, 406,

advocates renewal and maintenance

472; pessimism, 99–100, 305, 473; in

of Japanese alliance, 237–238, 241,

love with Hilda Bell, 106, 108, 111;

246, 277, 341, 366, 375; hopes for

takes over as Foreign Editor at The

agreement with Russia, 238, 283,

Times (January 1899), 108–110, 114;

311–312; and Russo-Japanese peace

holiday in Bavaria (1899), 115–116;

settlement, 241, 245–246; and Tibet

and deteriorating British relations with

policy, 250–252; supports Curzon in

Germany, 116–118, 120, 122–123, 126,

dispute with Kitchener over Indian

131, 133–137, 153, 156–157, 164–166,

army control, 254–256, 258;

170, 319; condemns Dreyfus verdict,

accompanies Prince of Wales to India,

119–120; on popular German hostility

258–265, 267; campaign against

to Britain, 126–127; on British military

Kitchener, 261–262, 264–265, 268–274,

inadequacy, 127; criticises Bülow’s

279, 284, 316, 427; political views,

speech on seized German ships,

275–276, 278–279, 293, 302–304,

130–131; criticises government,

437, 445–446, 477; accepts changes

131–132, 422; returns to London

and new technology, 277; diplomatic

(1871), 131–134; calls on Foreign

expertise, 277; religious scepticism,

Office over views on Germany, 136;

279; view of China, 279, 335, 373,

visits Far East in Boxer crisis, 143–148;

381–382; on negotiations for

on British apathy towards world

agreement with Russia, 282–283,

affairs, 149–150, 302, 315; idealises

299–300; continuing mistrust of

547

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

Germany, 284–287, 291–292; and

389–390, 398; reorganises The Times

Belgian behaviour in Congo, 288–291,

foreign department, 389–391,

317–318; on world scene and domestic

405–406; gives up night work, 391,

politics, 294; belief in Empire, 304;

398; on national domestic issues, 392,

moves in with Marillier family in

394; visit to Paris (1909), 396; protests

Kelmscott House, 306; relations with

at Northcliffe’s autocracy at The Times,

The Times foreign correspondents,

398–400; visit to India (1910),

307; and Indian unrest (1907),

400–402, 404; correspondence with

308–310; and Russian expansionism

Morrison over grievances, 410–412;

in Middle East, 313–314; loses US

concern over Persian Gulf, 414; travels

shares in 1907 crash, 320; pension

to India and Persian Gulf (1911),

expectations, 320; plans reorganisation

414–415, 418, 421; offers to resign

of The Times office, 320; and

from The Times, 417; supports

management changes at The Times

Declaration of London, 417–418; on

(1908), 322–326, 328, 330–332;

Parliament Bill and constitutional

disagreements with Morrison, 324,

crisis (1911), 423; pilgrimage to

334–340, 367–368, 378–380, 387, 405,

headwaters of Ganges, 429–430;

410; convalesces in Italy and Devon,

knighthood, 433; retirement from

333–334, 340; as director of Times

The Times and pension, 433–435, 472;

Publishing Company, 333, 354, 383,

contributes to The Times after

427–429; view of Ottomans, 343–344;

retirement, 438, 475; promotes

tour of European capitals (1908),

imperial federation, 438–439; serves

344–345, 348; and mother’s stroke

on Royal Commission on Indian

and death, 345, 348; and Steed’s

Public Services (1912–1914), 439–445,

resignation, 350; meets Bourchier in

451, 454; and outbreak of First World

Belgrade and Sofia, 351; recuperation

War, 446, 447–448, 450–451; counter-

from illness (1908–1909), 354; resumes

propaganda work in First World War,

work at The Times (1909), 354; on

449; wartime visits to India, 451,

Serbian crisis (1909), 356–358; on

465–468; pessimism over progress of

Russian acquiescence in Balkan affairs,

war, 453–454, 465; wartime mission

358–359; disagreement with Garvin

to Balkans, 455–462, 464; dysentery

over naval programme, 360–365, 369;

in Serbia, 458–459; sued by Tilak,

explains workings of The Times foreign

465–466, 568; returns to wartime

department to Northcliffe, 365; travels

England from India, 468–469; writes

to Far East (1909), 366, 369, 371–374;

Spring-Rice’s Memoirs, 469; welcomes

praises Morrison, 372–373; supports

Armistice (1918), 470; in British

Japan’s position in Manchuria, 374;

Mission to Paris (1919), 472–473, 477;

preoccupation with Far Eastern

character and style, 472, 481; concern

matters, 377–378; asks Morrison to

with East, 474, 479; pugnacity,

postpone expedition away from

474–475; in Egypt (1919), 475–476;

China, 381; discusses condition of

invited to USA (1924), 478–9; later

The Times with Northcliffe, 383,

travels and writings, 479–480;

386–388; management of The Times

pneumonia and death, 480–481; The

in Northcliffe’s absence, 389; overwork

Far Eastern Question, 141, 145; Fifty

in The Times foreign department,

Years in a Changing World, 480; Indian

548

INDEX

Unrest, 465; The Middle Eastern

Currie, Sir Philip, 69

Question, 193–194, 260, 313; ’Twixt

Curtis, Lionel, 438

Greek and Turk, 32, 34, 192; With Pen

Curzon, George Nathaniel, Marquess: VC

and Brush in Eastern Lands When I

on, 100, 108; conflict with Kitchener

Was Young, 481

over control of Indian army, 108,

Choate, Joseph, 223, 314

249–250, 252–257, 267, 316; as

Churchill, (Sir) Winston S.: joins VC and

Viceroy of India, 108, 249; on British

Curzon at Muscat, 195; VC’s view of,

policy towards Persia, 149; and

277; and Parliament Bill (1910), 403;

Coronation Durbar (1903), 174, 185,

VC blames for Dardanelles, 454

249; VC meets in India, 178, 183,

Clarke, Sir George, 369, 385

195–196; and British position in the

Clemenceau, Georges: on Austro-Hungarian

Gulf, 179–180; qualities, 183, 195,

policy in Balkans, 345, 346; VC meets,

256; and Holkar’s reabdication, 187;

348; on growing rift with Britain, 395

encourages VC’s articles on Middle

Clementi-Smith, Sir Cecil, 412

East Question, 189–190; and

Cologne Gazette (Kölnische Zeitung), 156,

government reshuffle (1903), 193; VC

285–286, 357

accompanies on cruise of Gulf,

Colonial Conference (1907), 305

194–198; and Younghusband

Combariere (French chef de cabinet 1905),

expedition to Lhasa, 212–214; and

229

Russian defeat in war with Japan, 227;

Committee of Imperial Defence: formed,

VC writes to on Moroccan crisis, 241;

239–240

discusses Persia with VC, 249; and

Concert of Powers (European), 93–94, 341

Brodrick’s opposition to government

Congo: Anglo-Belgian Agreement on

of India, 252; resigns as Viceroy,

(1894), 66–68; Belgian administration

255–258, 310; greets Prince of Wales

in, 287–291, 295, 317, 354; German

on visit to India, 259; sends secret

claims on French, 424; Germans

document to VC, 259–260; popular

acquire territory, 430

support for in India, 260; returns

Connaught, Arthur William Patrick Albert,

from India, 260–261; and VC’s

Duke, and Louise, Duchess of, 184–185

campaign against Kitchener, 271; VC

Conservative Party: The Times supports, 307

visits in Reigate, 306; opposes Pearson’s

Constantinople: dissidence and conflict in,

appointment to The Times, 327;

19, 21–22; VC in, 21, 27–28; VC visits

proposes division of Bengal, 400; and

on European capitals tour (1908),

Morley’s Indian reforms, 433

351–352; VC proposes taking from

Curzon, Mary, Countess (née Leiter),

Turks in 1919 peace settlement, 478

195–196

Crespo, Joaquín (President of Venizuela), 74

Cyprus: Britain occupies, 23

Crete, 93–94, 105 Crewe, Margaret, Marchioness of (née

Daily Express, 42

Primrose), 186

Daily Mail, 42, 327; and Boxer rebellion,

Crewe, Robert Offley Ashburton Crewe-

141–142

Milnes, Marquess of, 186, 293, 433,

Daily News, 32

439, 449, 455

Daily Telegraph: interviews Kaiser, 349

Cromer, Evelyn Baring, 1st Earl of, 70,

Dalziel’s News Agency, 45–46

305, 443

d’Annunzio, Gabriele: La Gioconda, 138

549

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

Dardanelles campaign (1915), 455–457,

Kiel (1904), 206, 221; and The Times

464

article on Russo-German

Dawkins, Clinton, 250

understanding, 219; accepts Curzon’s

Dawson, Geoffrey see Robinson, Geoffrey

resignation, 255; visits Kaiser (1906),

DeForest, Lee, 202

291; Kaiser visits (1907), 319; visits

Delagoa Bay, southern Africa, 81, 85

Berlin (1909), 395

Delane, John Thadeus, 333

Egypt: VC in, 17–18; British role in, 19–20,

Delcassé, Théophile, 233, 235, 242–244,

34, 69, 475; political deterioration,

284

33; VC visits from Berlin, 61; VC writes

Delhi: Coronation Durbar (1903), 174,

on, 70, 479; VC visits (1898), 98–99;

183–185, 189, 249; VC in, 183–186,

and Anglo-French entente, 201, 230;

445; Coronation Durbar (1911), 414,

VC revisits (1905), 229; as British

421, 426, 432

Protectorate, 475, 477; in First World

Derby, Edward George Geoffrey Smith

War, 475; VC visits (1919), 475–476;

Stanley, 14th Earl of, 12

nationalism, 476

Derby, Edward Henry Stanley, 15th Earl of,

Eldridge, J.G., 24, 26

20

Elgin, Thomas Bruce, 7th Earl of, 480

Deutsche Revue, 291–292

Ellis, Tristam, 26

Deutschland (German warship), 136

Encyclopaedia Britannica, 108

Devonshire, Spencer Compton

Ernst-Günther, Prince von Schleswig-

Cavendish, 8th Duke of, 100

Holstein, 60

Dickens, Charles, 13

Esher, Reginald Baliol Brett, 2nd Viscount,

Disraeli, Benjamin (Earl of Beaconsfield):

384

defeated on Irish Church

Etienne, Eugène, 229, 238, 318

disestablishment, 13; buys Suez Canal

Eugénie, Empress of Napoleon III, 19

shares, 16, 19–10; imperialism, 18–19

Eulenburg, Graf Philipp von, 318–319

Dogger Bank incident (1904), 217–221,

Eversley, George John Shaw-Lefevre, 1st

232

Baron, 479

Dreyfus, Captain Alfred, 100, 105, 115, 117–120

Falkland Islands, battle of (1914), 451

Druse people, 24

Fao, Mesopotamia, 452

Dufferin, Frederick Temple Blackwood,

Fashoda incident (1898), 104–105, 107,

1st Marquess of, 34

110, 117

Durand, Sir Mortimer, 223, 225, 277

Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg-Kohary, Tsar of

Duse, Eleanora, 138

Bulgaria, 40, 345, 350, 443, 462 Fez, Morocco, 241

Eastern Rumelia, 32, 38–39

First World War (1914–1918): outbreak,

Eckardstein, Hermann Johannes, Baron

446, 447; progress, 466, 469–470;

von, 133, 136, 163, 172

ends, 470–471; effects, 474

Edward VII, King of Great Britain: on

Fischer, Dr Franz (of Kölnische Zeitung), 53

Lascelles conciliatory manner in

Fisher, Professor H.A.L., 480

Germany, 164; and The Times

Fisher, Admiral John Arbuthnot, 1st Baron

criticisms of Germany, 172–173;

(‘Jacky’): naval reform, 305, 331,

Coronation Durbar (Delhi, 1903),

360–362; and British representation

174, 184–185, 189; meets Kaiser in

at Hague Peace Conference, 315; and

550

INDEX

German naval threat, 331; confides in

Balkan unrest, 347; believes war

Garvin, 360–364; VC criticises, 361–363

unlikely in Serbia, 358; assassinated, 446

Foch, Marshal Ferdinand, 470

Franz Joseph, Emperor of Austria-Hungary,

Folkestone, HMS, 458

57, 294

Ford, Patrick, 403

Fraser, Lovat, 390, 417

Foreign Office: VC joins and leaves, 14–16; VC considers return to, 89–90; confides

Frederick III, Kaiser of Germany, 50

in VC, 163; VC sees improvement in,

Frederick, Empress of Germany (Victoria), 56, 59

240; reforms, 276; Far East policy, 375, 378; and VC’s report on Persian Gulf

Fry, Sir Edward, 314–315

(1911), 421–422; and Balkan situation

Fullerton, Morton, 115, 120

in First World War, 455, 460, 462–464; Gallipoli campaign (1915), 454, 457, 459,

and Dardanelles campaign, 464

462–464

France: dual control in Egypt abolished, 34; agreement with Russia, 54; German

Gandhi, Mohandas Karamchand, 444

apprehensions of, 64; rivalry with

Garfield, James Abram, 478

Britain in Indo-China, 65, 112; rivalry

Garvin, James Louis, 261, 320–321, 327, 360–365, 369

in Africa, 67; in China, 92, 112; and

General Elections (Britain): (1892), 64;

Dreyfus affair, 100, 105, 107, 115, 117,

(January 1910), 400; (December 1910),

119; VC mistrusts, 102; and Fashoda

413

incident, 104–105, 107, 117; policy

George V, King (earlier Prince of Wales):

and position in Morocco, 137–138, 151, 236–237, 241, 318; in Algeria,

visit to Berlin (1902), 164–165; VC

138; refuses cooperation against

accompanies on visit to India

Boxers, 141; relations with Britain,

(1905–1906), 258–260, 262–264, 267,

166; and Anglo-Japanese treaty, 169;

401; accession and first opening of

and Russo-Japanese War, 199; Entente

Parliament (1911), 416; visit to India (1911), 423, 426, 432–433

with Britain, 200–201, 218, 229, 237, 285–286, 291–292, 395; and rumoured

German Navy League, 296–297

Russo-German agreement, 210; and

German West Africa: and German 1907 election, 296

Moroccan crisis with Germany (1905),

Germany: interests in Turkey, 29, 64,

229–234, 240–244; negative attitude to Russia, 229; joint fleet manoeuvres

69–70, 75; supports Ottomans, 29, 90,

with British, 236–237; and Anglo-

95; negotiates commercial treaties,

Japanese alliance, 238; Britain denies

48; unification and constitution as

military pact with, 243; improved

Reich, 50–51; deteriorating relations

relations with Germany, 395; and

with Britain, 54, 62–63, 66, 68, 72–75,

Moroccan crisis (1911), 424–425;

77, 79–80, 112, 116–118, 131, 151,

protectorate of Morocco accepted, 430;

161–162, 167, 170, 285, 319, 347–346;

First World War losses, 454; post-war

press in, 55, 209–210; VC’s reporting

differences with Britain, 473

from, 56, 59; interests in Africa, 67–68;

Franco-Prussian War (1870), 8–10

and Britain in Far East, 72; seeks

Frankfurt-am-Main, 7

reconciliation with Russia, 73; and

Franz Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria-

southern Africa, 73, 75–84; machinations in China, 90–92,

Hungary: as crown prince, 298; and

551

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

97–99, 147, 153, 207, 377; missionaries

policy on Far East, 376; professes

murdered in China, 97; VC proposes

cooperation with USA, 378;

alliance with, 102–103; and dispute

cooperation with Austria, 395;

over Samoa, 110, 112–113, 117, 119,

demands at St Petersburg, 395;

121; reported in The Times, 114–115,

improved relations with France, 395;

209; popular and press hostility

attempts takeover of Siberian and

towards Britain, 122–124, 126–127,

Russian-Chinese banks, 396; and

133–134, 136, 156–157, 159, 164, 172,

Turkish claims in Persian Gulf, 420;

175; attitude to Boer War, 124–125;

and Agadir crisis (Morocco 1911),

naval expansion programme, 124, 164,

424–425; and Balkan war (1912–1913),

220, 228, 298–299, 319, 331, 341,

442; invades Belgium (1914), 447;

360–362, 442; ships seized and

munitions productivity, 454; successes

searched by British in Durban,

against Russians in First World War,

129–130; military force in China

454–456; sends supplies to Turkey in

against Boxers, 142, 147–148;

First World War, 465; spring 1918

agreement with Britain over China,

offensive, 469; defeat (1918), 470

143; rumoured agreement with Russia,

Gibraltar, 200–201

154, 206–211, 215, 228–229; and

Gladstone, William Ewart: forms

Anglo-Japanese treaty, 169–170;

government (1868), 13; Turcophobia,

attempts to create rift between USA

29; foreign policy, 64; death, 101; on

and Britain, 171; and building and

Home Rule, 244

financing of Baghdad Railroad,

Gokhale, Gopal Krishna, 441

188–189, 240, 413–414; and Russo-

Gordon, General Charles George

Japanese War, 200; policy towards

(‘Chinese’), 37, 42, 44

Japan, 211, 376; interference in Tibet,

Goschen, Sir Edward, 349–350

212, 215–216, 218, 220; and coaling

Greece: promised part of Ottoman

of Russian fleet, 217–218, 220; and

territory, 29; dispute with Turkey over

Russian fleet attack in Dogger Bank

Crete, 93; war with Turkey in Balkans,

incident, 219–221; seeks reconciliation

93, 95; war with Turkey (1912), 439;

with Britain, 228; threatens to invade

war with Bulgaria, 443; and outbreak

France (1905), 242; attends Algeciras

of First World War, 448, 450; position in First World War, 459, 462

Conference on Morocco, 283–284; opposes Anglo-Russian agreement,

Greenbaum, Dr, 340, 373

283; attempts to undermine Anglo-

Gregory, J.D., 456–457, 459–461

French entente, 285–286, 292; British

Grey, Sir Edward: speaks to empty House

groups favour friendship with, 285;

of Commons, 149; and Anglo-

VC’s mistrust of, 285–287, 291–292;

Japanese alliance, 246; as Foreign

and Belgian Congo, 290, 295; elections

Secretary, 257, 276–277, 279, 283, 303;

(1907), 296–297; rearms, 298; at Hague

pro-French policy, 283, 292; and

Peace Conference (1907), 315; and

Belgian administration in Congo, 289,

Moroccan affairs: (1905), 230, 232–237,

317; and unrest in Russia, 293; and

240–244; (1907), 318; and Balkan

negotiations with Russia, 298; and

unrest, 347, 356–357; Russian hostility

Anglo-Russian agreement, 300;

to, 349; aggressiveness, 353; supports

opposes Pearson’s appointment to

Austrian actions in Balkans, 358–359;

The Times, 327; and Balkan unrest,

552

INDEX

341, 345–347, 358, 443; and Steed’s

Lansdowne writes to on Russian fleet

transfer to Berlin, 343; meets Isvolsky,

attack on fishing boats, 218; and VC’s

346, 349; recalls VC from European

visit to Washington, 223; and Nicholas

trip, 346; VC reports to on meeting

II in 1905 revolution, 228; and VC’s

with Holstein, 348; policy on Turkey,

advocacy of Anglo-Japanese alliance,

352; and naval race with Germany,

237; and proposed British agreement

360, 362–364; warns Fisher over

with Russia, 238; and Roosevelt’s

Garvin, 363; and VC’s analysis of

peace brokering between Japan and

Japan situation, 377; and Irish Home

Russia, 241; VC writes to on Germany

Rule question, 403; supports

in Moroccan crisis, 242; and VC’s

ratification of Naval Prize Bill, 416;

pessimism over Russo-Japanese peace

approves VC’s report on Persian Gulf,

conference, 247; and Curzon–Kitchener

421; and Agadir crisis, 424; and VC’s

conflict, 255; and Afghanistan, 257;

warnings of German war threat, 448;

and VC’s campaign against Kitchener

and VC’s wartime mission to Balkans,

in India, 271; position at Foreign

455–456, 463

Office, 276–277; VC’s relations with,

Grigg, Edward William Macleay (later 1st

277; and Anglo-Russian agreement,

Baron Altrincham), 390, 405, 429, 476

300; and VC’s warnings on Far

Gulf, the see Persian Gulf

Eastern situation, 378; succeeds

Gurkhas, 212

Minto as Viceroy of India, 402, 405; VC visits in India (1911), 414,

Hague Peace Conference (1907), 309,

421–423, 432, 445, 451–453; VC’s

314–315, 318

correspondence with from Gulf,

Haimun, SS, 202

418–419; and VC’s warnings on

Hainauer, Mrs (Saunders’s mother-in-law),

Persian Gulf, 421; VC praises, 427;

133

and dangers of Muslim antipathy,

Haldane, Richard Burdon Haldane,

431; and George V’s proclamation on

Viscount, 440

Bengal partition, 433; VC tells of

Hale, Edward Matthew, 101

retirement from Times, 433; letter

Halsbury, Hardinge Stanley Giffard, 1st

from VC on Russian threat in Persia,

Earl of, 330

437; and British industrial unrest, 438;

Hamburger Korrespondenz, 86

and VC’s membership of Royal

Hamilton, Lord George, 100, 149, 213

Commission on Indian Public

Hamilton, General Sir Ian, 463–464

Service, 439, 441; and German

Hankey, Sir Maurice (later 1st Baron), 464

agitation in First World War, 449;

Harden, Maximilian, 286–287, 318–319

death of wife and son, 451; home

Hardinge, Arthur, 195

government threatens to recall,

Hardinge, Charles (later 1st Baron

452–453; and VC’s wartime mission

Hardinge of Penshurst): letter from VC

to Balkans, 460, 462

on reconciliation with Russia,

Hardinge, RMIS, 195

151–152; VC reports to on Bülow, 155;

Hardy, Thomas, 449

and The Times position in Russia,

Harris, Walter: on Germany in 1905

204–206; and rumoured Russo-

Moroccan affairs, 230–231, 233–234, 237; and Kaiser’s visit to Tangier, 235

German agreement, 210, 229; and

Hassan (Cairo donkey boy), 18, 20–21

Younghusband mission to Tibet, 214;

553

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

Hatzfeldt und Trachtenberg, Hermann

VC in Far East, 72; on Malet’s warnings

von, 66, 69, 75, 81, 85, 87, 113, 121,

to Germany over South Africa, 73; and

125–126, 161–162

German interests in Turkey, 75; and

Hay, John: relations with Spring-Rice, 131;

Kaiser’s Krüger telegram, 78; VC

and VC’s visit to Washington, 223,

challenges over German actions in

226; on Japanese victory against

Transvaal, 82–84, 88; breach with VC,

Russia, 224; illness in London, 241

85, 97, 103, 114, 133, 152; VC writes

Hayashi Tadasu, Count, 194, 238–239

to, 85–86; allows VC to understand

Henry, Prince of Prussia, 171

workings of German Press Bureau,

Hereros: revolt against Germans, 295

87–88; seeks reconciliation with VC,

Herzegovina: rebels against Ottomans, 19;

113–114; and Samoa dispute, 121;

Austro-Hungary takes control of, 345,

and Chamberlain’s friendliness

358; Austria-Russian confrontation

towards Germany, 124; on British

over, 354

complacency, 126–127; anger at

Heyking, Edmund von, 91

British seizure of German ships off

Hicks, General William, 34

South Africa, 129; suggests Eckardstein

Hicks Beach, Sir Michael Edward, 100

meet VC, 133; and The Times’

Hildenburg und von Beneckendorff, Paul

comments on Germany, 135; discussion with VC on visit to Berlin,

von, 446 Hillier, Edward, 91

153–154; on Chamberlain’s Edinburgh

Himalaya, HMS, 401

speech against Germany, 157–158;

Hinduism, 35–36

corresponds with VC over

History of the Times, 109, 123

Chamberlain’s Edinburgh speech,

Hohenlohe-Schillingfürst, Chlodwig,

157–159; VC sends New Year letter to

Prince zu: as German Chancellor, 70;

(1901/2), 161–162; letter from VC

Malet warns over German actions in

criticising Bülow, 164–165; seeks

South Africa, 73

meeting with Lascelles, 172; VC

Hohenzollern (Kaiser’s yacht), 123

suspects of accusing The Times of

Holkar, Maharajah, 187

Cassandra-like cries, 209; seeks

Holstein, Friedrich von: relations with VC,

agreement with Russia, 219; memo to

52, 56, 62–64, 68–69, 71–72, 74, 83–84,

Radolin on British warmongering, 220;

277; status and character, 52–53; seeks

and outcome of Russo-Japanese War,

agreement with Britain, 54, 62, 64–66,

224–225; and war scare (1904), 230;

74, 103, 113, 154; opposes Bismarck,

and Morocco, 231–232, 237, 284;

56–58; political aims, 56–57, 64;

illness, 232; and Kaiser’s visit to

attitude to Wilhelm II, 58, 74;

Tangier, 234; and Russian defeat by

apprehensions over Russia, 63–64; and

Japan, 238; fall from grace, 286–287;

British naval presence in

Bülow consults about foreign affairs,

Mediterranean, 65; and Anglo-

296; and Austrian policy in Balkans,

Congolese Agreement, 67; on

347–348; VC meets in Berlin (1908), 347–348; death, 348

deteriorating relations with Britain,

Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking

68–69, 72, 137, 347; and prospective

Corporation, 91, 377–378

disintegration of Ottoman Empire, 69;

Hooper and Jackson (US business

and British imperial expansion, 70;

company), 322–323, 328–329

hostility to Salisbury, 72, 74–75; and

554

INDEX

Howard, Sir Henry, 314

Isfahan, Persia, 176–178

Hubbard, William F. (Times correspondent

Islam (and Muslims): VC’s attitude to, 35,

in Rome), 308

437; in India, 311, 437, 444, 453, 465; and threat of clash with Christendom, 431; fundamentalism, 464–465; in

Imperial Conference, London (1911), 422

First World War, 475–476

India: routes to, 18; British achievements

Islington, John Poynder Dickson-Poynder,

in, 35; VC first visits, 35–36; Russian

Baron, 439

threat to, 126, 241, 299, 339, 436; Coronation Durbar (Delhi, 1903), 174,

Ismail Pasha, Khedive of Egypt, 17, 19–21,

184–186; VC’s growing interest in and

475

devotion to, 178–179, 262–263, 272,

Isvolsky, Alexander Petrovich, 341,

274, 315, 474, 480; VC visits (1903),

346–349, 358

183–187; vulnerability to Gulf, 189;

Italy: in Triple Alliance, 64, 74; and Sudan,

control of army in, 249–250, 252–256,

70, 90; VC convalesces in, 333;

266–267, 269–270; Prince of Wales

declares war on Turkey and occupies

visits (1905–1906), 258–264, 267–268,

Tripoli, 430–431, 440; VC holidays

401; famine in, 265, 423; defence of,

in, 438, 445

272, 475; military expenditure in, 301,

Ito, Prince of Japan, 145, 431

316, 427; riots and unrest, 308–311, 400, 423, 444, 453, 465, 467; Muslims

Jago, T.S., 26

in, 311, 437, 444, 453, 465, 467;

James, Lionel, 202–204

forward policy, 312; political reforms,

Jameson, Dr Leander Starr, 76–78, 80, 82,

354; VC revisits (1910), 400–402, 404;

118

VC visits for Coronation Durbar

Japan: Morrison’s view of, 33, 335,

(1911), 414–415, 418, 421–423; George

337–339; hands back Liaotung

V visits (1911), 423, 426, 432;

Peninsula, 71–72; war with China

independence movement in, 431;

(1894), 71; VC visits, 72, 143–144,

and Persian unrest, 432, 435–436;

367, 371–372, 374; rise to power in

Royal Commission on Public Services

East, 141, 144; in China during Boxer

(1912–1914), 439–443; VC in as

rebellion, 147; treaty with Britain

member of Royal Commission,

(1902), 168–169; war with Russia

439–440, 444; VC proposes imperial

(1904–1905), 198–202, 208, 210, 212,

federation for, 439; VC’s wartime visits

224–225, 230, 232, 238, 240, 250,

to, 451, 465–468; in First World War,

281; restricts James’s wireless

452–453; coal shortage, 467; VC

transmissions to The Times, 202–203;

writes on, 479

relations with Britain, 211; rumoured

India Office: and Curzon–Kitchener

insolvency, 225; occupies Port Arthur,

conflict, 250, 254; and

227; VC advocates renewal and

Younghusband mission to Tibet,

maintenance of alliance with,

251–252

237–238, 240, 246, 252, 277, 341,

Indian National Congress: protests at

366, 375; peace negotiations with

military costs, 316; Muslim members,

Russia, 244–247; revived treaty signed

437; Tilak addresses, 467

(1905), 257; rise to Great Power status,

Indo-China: Franco-British rivalry in, 65

280; activities in Manchuria, 335,

Ireland: Home Rule, 403

337, 340, 374–376, 381; The Times

555

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

supports, 335, 337–338; VC advises,

448, 450; and Dardanelles campaign,

376–377; US policy on, 377–378; see

454; wartime advice to Serbs, 463

also Mutsuhito, Emperor

Kölnische Zeitung, 55, 82

Jones, Kennedy, 328, 389–390, 393–394,

Komura Jutaro, Marquess, 374

397

Korea, 91, 168, 198, 366, 375–376

Jordan, Sir John, 373

Kotze, Leberecht von, 60 Krüger, Paul: Kaiser sends telegram of

Kato Takaakira, 367

support to, 78–81, 87, 103, 165, 212;

Katsura Taro, Duke, 376

German support for, 84; as threat, 118

Kayser, Paul, 67

Kühlmann, Richard von, 232–235

Kelmscott House, Hammersmith, 306

Kuropatkin, General Alexei Nikolaevich,

Ketteler, Klemens, Baron von (German

227

ambassador in Peking), 139

Kuwait, 151, 153, 414, 426

Khartoum, 37, 104 Khyber Pass, 181, 263

Labour Federation, 446

Kiao-chau, China, 97, 117, 207

Labour Party: rise of, 278; VC’s interest in,

Kiderlen-Wächter, Alfred von, 425

279

Kimberley, John Wodehouse, 1st Earl of, 69

Ladysmith: relief of (1900), 132

Kitchener, General Horatio Herbert (later

land valuation: in Lloyd George’s 1909

Field Marshal 1st Earl): and Fashoda

budget, 392–393

incident, 104–105, 107; returns to

Lansdowne, Henry Charles Keith Petty-

London, 107; conflict with Curzon

Fitzmaurice, 5th Marquess of: and

over control of Indian army, 108,

relations with Germany, 121, 158, 161,

249–250, 252–257, 266–267; as Chief-

163, 165–166, 221; and Anglo-Japanese

of-Staff in South Africa, 128; on

treaty, 168; Salisbury appoints Foreign

colonial troops in South Africa, 137;

Secretary, 174, 276; Curzon forwards

sets up concentration camps in South

VC memo on Persia to, 180; and

Africa, 156; as C. in C. of Indian army,

building of Baghdad Railroad, 188;

170, 249, 256, 269–271, 301, 309;

and Russian fleet’s attack on British

discusses Persia with VC, 249–250;

fishing boats, 218; relations with US

despises Repington, 250; and Curzon’s

ambassador Choate, 223; avoids

resignation, 256; autocratic behaviour

brokering peace in Russo-Japanese

in India, 261, 270, 309; VC’s

War, 229; on British shipping presence

campaign against, 261–262, 264,

in Gulf, 256; and VC’s semi-official

268–274, 279, 284, 310, 316, 334, 427;

position, 277; record on Persia and

frontier policy in India, 264; VC

Tibet, 312; opposes Pearson’s

meets in Calcutta, 266–267; opposes

appointment to The Times, 327; and

agreement with Russia, 281, 316;

Indian reform, 433

command in India extended for two

Lascelles, Florence see Spring-Rice,

years, 305; and Indian unrest, 310;

Florence, Lady

and Anglo-Russian agreement, 312;

Lascelles, Sir Frank Cavendish: introduces

and military costs in India, 316, 427;

VC to Alexander in Bulgaria, 39; VC

VC confides in Morrison about, 334;

informs of Mackenzie Wallace’s

as prospective successor to Minto in

rejoining The Times, 43–44; as

India, 402, 405; in First World War,

ambassador in Berlin, 62, 73–74, 76,

556

INDEX

79, 82, 136; Marschall assures of

policies, 302; and Lords reform,

German friendship, 84; and VC’s

303–304; opposition to, 312; divided

attitude to Germany, 85, 166–167;

over defence policy, 359–360; twice

supports VC’s return to Foreign Office,

re-elected (1910), 400, 413; and

90; VC criticises British policy to, 92;

Parliament Bill (1910), 403, 413

VC visits in Berlin, 97, 113, 347; VC

Lloyd, George Ambrose (later 1st Baron),

shares personal views with, 108; asks

464

VC for information on Samoa

Lloyd George, David: VC criticises over

negotiations, 110; and tensions in

complaints about South African war

Berlin, 130; asks VC to rein in

expenses, 293; brings in ‘people’s

Saunders, 134; meets William II,

budget’ (1909), 392–393; and

135–137, 162–163; entertains Rosen,

Parliament Bill (1910), 403; Mansion

152; VC sends copies of Holstein letter

House speech warning Germany in

to, 158; and Holstein-Bülow

Agadir crisis, 425

criticisms of Chamberlain, 160–161;

Lockinge House, Berkshire, 222

suggests Anglo-German alliance, 162;

London: disorder (1878), 12–13; conditions and improvements, 13–14

Edward VII citicisises for nonbelligerence towards Germans, 164;

London, Declaration of (1911), 416–417

and Anglo-Japanese treaty, 169; and

Lords, House of: reform proposals,

Anglo-US relations, 171; Holstein

303–304; opposes Lloyd George’s

seeks meeting with over Saunders,

1909 budget, 393, 396–397; in

172; letter from VC on Russian

constitutional crisis (1910–1911), 402–403, 413, 416

designation of contraband, 207; and The Times attacks on Germany, 210;

Lorenzo Marques, 81–82, 129

and VC’s article on Russo-German

Lowe, Robert, 12

agreement, 219; Bülow summons to complain of British warmongering,

Macdonald, Sir Claude, 91, 371

220–221; and Franco-German conflict

MacDonald, John Cameron, 42–43

over Morocco, 240; Kaiser abuses, 243;

Macedonia, 38, 187, 192, 315, 344, 456,

on Bülow in 1907 elections, 296; and

458, 460–461

Anglo-German naval rivalry, 298;

Mackenzie, Frederick A.: appointed to edit

retires, 347, 349; VC visits in

The Times weekly edition, 398, 400

Yorkshire, 404

McKinley, William, 101

Lascelles, Mary Emma, Lady: death, 94–95

Madras, 445

Lavino, William, 47, 343

Madrid Convention (1880), 230, 232, 241

Lawrence, Sir Walter, 252, 258

Mafeking: relief of (1900), 132

Leopold I, King of the Belgians, 20, 66–67

Mahdi, the, 34, 104

Leopold II, King of the Belgians: and

Malcolm, Major-General Sir Neill, 481

affairs in Congo, 287–288, 295, 317

Malet, Sir Edward, 73

Levant Herald, 46

Mallet, Lewis, 149, 421

Lhasa: Younghusband in, 214

Malula, Syria, 25

Liaotung Peninsula, 71, 91, 202, 210

Manchester Guardian, The, 480

Liberal Party: forms government (1892),

Manchuria: 91, 99, 112, 145 German policy

64; return to power (1905), 257, 274,

on, 147, 151, 153, 216; Japan and,

277–278; and foreign affairs, 282;

168, 198, 335, 337, 340, 366–367,

557

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

374–376, 381; in Russo-Japanese

Russian pact, 316–317; VC stays with

War, 210, 224; Russian actions in,

in India (1910), 401

339, 381

Minto, Mary Caroline, Countess of, 401

Marchand, Captain Jean-Baptiste, 104–105

Montagu, Edwin Samuel, 427

Marillier family, 306

Montenegro: dispute with Albania, 29

Marker, Raymond, 316–317

Monypenny, William Flavell, 118, 323, 333, 427

Marschall von Bieberstein, Adolf, Freiherr

Morel, Edmund Dene, 287–290, 295,

von: as German Foreign Secretary under

317–318

Caprivi, 53, 58; tests out British diplomatic attitudes, 66; and Anglo-

Morier, Sir Robert Burnett David, 115

Congolese Agreement, 67–68; and

Morley, John (later Viscount): as

British in Sudan, 70; and southern

Secretary of State for India, 264, 267,

Africa crisis, 73, 76, 78–79, 81–83;

272–273, 277, 303; and proposed

assures Lascelles of German friendship,

agreement with Russia, 281; and

84; ostracises and disparages VC, 85;

Indian unrest, 310; on Kitchener’s

Wallace meets, 87; at Hague Peace

opposition to Anglo-Russian

Conference (1907), 315

agreement, 316–317; opposes Pearson’s appointment to The Times, 327; on

Mary, Queen of George V (earlier Princess

partition of Bengal, 401, 432; and

of Wales), 401 Maxse, Kitty, 326

Hardinge’s appointment as Viceroy of

Maxse, Leo: VC writes to, 148, 260–261;

India, 402, 405; and Coronation

regard for VC, 149; and VC’s

Durbar (1911), 426; Indian reforms,

campaign against Kitchener, 271; and

432; meets Indian members of Royal Commission, 443

Belgians in Congo, 289; and management changes at The Times,

Morning Standard, 32–33

331–333; and VC’s disagreement with

Morocco: French policy in, 137–138, 151,

Garvin on naval programme, 364; and

236, 241, 318; VC visits, 200; British

VC’s absence in Far East, 369; and

withdrawal from, 201; crisis in (1905),

Balkan disputes in First World War, 456

229–236, 238–244; German interests in, 229–277, 318; Conference on

Mediterranean: British naval presence in,

(1906), 283–284; German–French

65, 69; Powers in, 230

conflict over (1908–1909), 348, 354,

Mesopotamia: in First World War, 451–452, 465, 466; post-war

395, 424; Franco-German crisis in

settlement, 477

(1911), 424–425, 430; Germans accept French protectorate in, 430

Metternich zur Gracht, Count Paul von

Morrison, George: position in China,

Wolff, 135–136, 161, 172–173, 216,

92–93, 97, 99, 105, 107, 279; and

220–221, 243, 362 Midhat Pasha, 22, 24, 26

Boxer rebellion, 139–140, 142–143;

Milner, Sir Alfred (later Viscount), 111, 118

VC criticises, 146; and Russo-Japanese

Minto, Gilbert Elliot, 4th Earl of: as

War, 198–199; and James’s wireless

Viceroy of India, 259, 267, 401; and

transmissions in Russo-Japanese War,

VC’s campaign against Kitchener,

203; on German interference in Tibet,

271–272; and Anglo-Russian

212; on German action in Peking,

agreement, 312; Morley writes to on

215–216; sent to Russo-Japanese peace

Kitchener’s opposition to Anglo-

conference, 245; VC writes to on

558

INDEX

Kitchener in India, 268; Bell invites

Near East and India, The (journal):

to take over as Foreign Editor of The

obituary of VC, 16

Times, 320, 336; disagreements with

Nepal, 212–213

VC, 324, 334–340, 344, 367–368,

Neue Freie Presse (Vienna), 286

378–380, 382, 387, 405–408, 410; and

New Delhi: building, 444–445, 466

management changes at The Times,

Newman, John Henry, Cardinal, 4

328; changes views on Japan and

Newnes, George, 328

China, 335, 337–339; and VC’s trip to

Newton, Thomas Wodehouse Legh, 2nd Baron, 303

Far East (1909), 366–367, 369,

Nicholas II, Tsar of Russia: rumoured

371–373, 376; complains of VC, 367, 372–374, 408–411; character and

agreement with Kaiser, 206, 209, 215,

behaviour, 368, 372; VC praises,

219, 228–229; excuses Russian fleet’s

372–373; opposes Japanese policy in

attack on British fishing boats,

Manchuria, 374–375; rumoured

217–218; and revolution (1905),

mental problems, 378; VC warns

227–228, 262; rejects German

against discussions with Hong Kong

direction, 230, 232; meets Kaiser at

and Shanghai Bank, 378; plans tour

Björkö, 246; and peace settlement

to remoter parts of China, 379–380,

with Japan, 248; and prospective

383; proposes leaving China, 380–381;

agreement with Britain, 299; meets Kaiser at Potsdam (1909), 413

VC recommends as successor in The Times foreign department, 390; returns

Nicholson, Reginald, 397, 434

to London from China, 406; letter of

Nicolson, Sir Arthur (later 1st Baron

complaint to Bell and VC, 410–411;

Carnock): VC meets in Morocco, 138;

on improving Anglo-Chinese relations,

VC criticises British government to,

411; letter to VC on retirement and

293; and German 1907 election, 296;

knighthood, 435

and negotiations with Russia, 298,

Moscow: VC visits, 175–176, 436

300; and The Times’ position on

Mubarak, Ali Pasha, 1

Indian policy, 312; and VC’s report

Mühlberg, Otto von, 152

on Persian Gulf, 421; and Steed’s

Mukden, 244

appointment to European division at

Murray, John (publisher), 189, 193–194

The Times, 434; and Balkan war

Muslim League (India), 467

(1913), 442; and VC’s wartime mission to Balkans, 455, 463

Mutsuhito, Emperor of Japan, 371–372

Nish, Serbia, 457–458, 460–461 Norddeutsch Allgemeine Zeitung, 79, 209,

Nanking, China, 91, 101–102

233, 299

Napoleon I (Bonaparte), Emperor of the

Nordenfeldt machine-gun, 36–37, 174

French, 19

North Africa: French actions in, 86; see

Napoleon III, Emperor of the French,

also Algeria; Morocco

7–8, 12

North-West Frontier (India): VC in, 181,

National Insurance Act (1911), 432

264; and arms traffic, 396

National Review, 261, 289, 331

Northcliffe, Alfred Charles William

Naval Prize Bill (1911), 416–417 navy (British): Fisher’s reforms, 305, 331,

Harmsworth, Viscount: and The

360; VC on importance of, 359–362;

Times’ offer to Garvin, 320; and

expansion programme, 360–364

Pearson’s taking over management of

559

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

The Times, 324, 327–329; acquires The

and China, 145–146, 149; letter from

Times, 329–330, 333, 342, 383–384;

VC in Persia, 177; and VC’s return

blocks Steed’s transfer to Berlin, 343;

from India (1903), 187; and building

and Garvin’s interest in naval

of Baghdad Railroad, 188; and Scott’s

matters, 363–364; intervenes in The

non-support for Braham, 191–192;

Times coverage, 364–365, 416–418; and

and Russian dispute with Turkey,

VC’s absence on trip to Far East, 366;

192–193; and Russo-Japanese War, 200;

letter from VC in Japan, 371–372;

VC asks for report on Baghdad

dissuades VC from returning by

Railroad, 240; and VC’s pessimism

Trans-Siberian railroad, 373; discusses

over Russo-Japanese peace conference,

reorganisation of The Times with VC,

246; and VC’s reaction to Blakiston’s

383–388; aims and policy at The

suicide, 268; and VC’s satisfaction with life, 313

Times, 384–387, 395, 427–428; character and manner, 384–386; takes

Oliphant, Alice, 34

Bell on trip to North America, 389,

Oliphant, Laurence: VC first meets in Paris,

397; VC writes to in USA, 394; loses

10–11; re-encounters VC in Middle

faith in Bell, 397–398, 405–406; VC

East, 24–27, 34; background, 25;

challenges unilateral decisions at The

recommends VC to Blackwood, 31;

Times, 398–400; and VC’s trip to India

reports for The Times, 44; influence on VC, 95

(1910), 404; and reorganisation of foreign department at Times, 405–406;

Omdurman, battle of (1898), 104

advises VC on health, 406; and

Orange Free State: proposed annexation, 132

Morrison’s quarrel with VC, 408–409;

Ottley, Rear-Admiral Sir Charles, 314

reduces Far Eastern telegraphic budget, 410; and VC’s trip to Gulf and India

Ottoman Empire see Turkey

(1911), 414–415; comprehensive

Oxford Movement, 4

reorganisation of The Times (1911), 415; opposes Declaration of London,

Pal, Chandra, 309

416–418; and Bell’s death, 420; and

Palestine, 477

VC’s role after resignation, 429; on

Pall Mall Gazette, 39

VC’s retirement, 433; and Steed’s

Pan-German League, 63, 296–297

position as head of European division

Panama Scandal, 48

at The Times, 434–435; VC believes

Pansa, Signor (Italian representative in Cairo), 70

out of control, 445; demands on VC, 472; and VC’s reports from Egypt

Panther (German warship), 424

(1919), 476

Paris: siege and surrender (1870–1871),

Norway, 111, 244

8–10, 472; revolt and Commune

Novi Bazar, 340

(1871), 10–12, 477; VC visits, 345–346,

Novikoff, Madam Olga de, 39

348, 396; peace conference (1919), 472–473, 477

Nubar Pasha (Egyptian statesman), 479

Parliament Bill (1911), 403, 413, 422–423

Observer, The (newspaper), 327, 361–363

Parnell, Charles Stewart, 42

O’Conor, Nicholas: shares views with VC, 47–48, 71–72, 89–91, 94, 96, 100, 108,

Pashitch , Nikola, 458, 461–462

110, 118, 131; VC reports to on Japan

Pavlovitch, General, 460

560

INDEX

Pearson, (Sir) Cyril Arthur: attempted

Prussia, 7–8, 10, 50–51, 57

takeover of The Times (1908),

Pryor, S.J. (of The Times), 389, 397

322–329, 333, 399

Pückler, Carl, Graf, 125–127

Peking: VC visits, 71, 146–147, 373; German machinations in, 90–91; and

Quetta, India, 178–179

Boxer rebellion, 139–143 Pershing, General John Joseph, 470

Radolin, Prince Hugo, 69, 220, 225

Persia: VC travels to (1884), 34–37, 174;

Rajputana, 262

Russian threat to, 137, 151, 199, 430,

Rawalpindi, 263

432; British policy on, 149, 297–301,

Reay, Sir Donald, 314

313; decline, 174, 297, 318; Russian

Redmond, John Edward, 403

influence in, 174, 177, 297–298,

Reform Bill (1867), 12

300–301; VC revisits (1902), 174–178;

Reinsurance Treaty (Germany-Russia), 53,

VC’s memo on British position in,

208

180–181; VC’s anxieties over, 249,

Repington, Colonel Charles à Court, 250,

252, 431–432; rise of nationalism in,

252, 255, 266, 268, 316, 334

280–281; popular party in, 292–293,

Rhodes, Cecil: and Jameson raid, 76, 118;

311; Spring-Rice supports aspirations,

resigns as governor of Cape Colony,

299–300, 311; Shiah majority in, 311;

78; The Times supports, 90

and Anglo-Russian agreement, 313;

Richards, Brinsley, 47

Prime Minister assassinated (1907),

Richthofen, Ferdinand, Baron von, 113,

313; and Shatt-ul-Arab, 419; Hardinge

171–172

visits with VC (1914), 451–452;

Roberts, General (later Field Marshal)

position in First World War, 465

Frederick Sleigh Roberts, 1st Earl

Persian Gulf: Russian ambitions in,

(‘Bobs’), 128, 201

178–179, 256; British position in,

Robinson, Geoffrey (later Dawson):

179–180, 188–189, 197, 256, 419, 426;

succeeds Buckle as editor of The

VC accompanies Curzon on cruise in,

Times, 438

194–198; Turks claim rights in, 414,

Rockhill, William W., 225, 373, 375

419, 436; VC visits (1911) and writes

Romania: war with Bulgaria (1913), 443;

on, 414–415, 418–419, 421–422

and outbreak of First World War, 448,

Peshawar, 263–264

450; position in First World War, 459;

Philippines, 223

VC’s wartime visit to, 461

Plehve, Vyacheslav Konstantinovich, 191

Roosevelt, Theodore: VC recommended to,

Port Arthur, 71, 145, 198, 202, 207, 227,

2; relations with Spring-Rice, 131, 171,

239

173; and VC’s part in Japanese alliance,

Portsmouth, New Hampshire, 244–247

169; presidency, 222–223; on Japanese

Portsmouth, Treaty of, 375

victory against Russia, 224; VC meets,

Portugal: and German proposed

225-226, 277; world view, 226;

intervention in southern Africa, 81–82;

brokers peace negotiations between

Anglo-German loan to, 104–105;

Japan and Russia, 241, 244–245, 247-

agreement with Britain during Boer

248; VC’s view of, 250, 279

War, 129

Rosebery, Archibald Philip Primrose, 5th

Power, Frank, 44

Earl of: told of Kotze scandal in Berlin,

Prinz Heinrich (German liner), 208

60; German suspicions of, 65–66; and

561

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

Kimberley, 69; O’Conor recommends

war with Japan (1904–1905), 198–202,

VC to, 89; and proposed alliance with

208, 210, 212, 224–225, 227, 230,

Germany, 102; VC praises, 132;

232, 238, 240, 250, 281; proposed

opposition to entente, 257; leaves

alliance with Britain, 201, 297–300;

Foreign Office, 283; by-election defeat

rumoured agreement with Germany,

(1907), 306

206–211, 215, 228–229; interferes

Rosen, Friedrich, 152–153

with British shipping in Far East,

Round Table Movement, 438

207–208; and Tibet, 212; Baltic fleet

Rouvier, Maurice, 243

sails for Far East and shells British

Royal Commission on Indian Public

fishing fleet in North Sea, 217–220;

Services (1912–1914), 439–443, 451,

civil unrest in and revolution (1905),

454

225, 227–228, 274; defeat by Japan,

Royal Institute of International Affairs,

238, 281; VC hopes for agreement

London, 481

with, 238, 283; Tsushima defeat,

Royal Navy see navy (British)

239–240; and Afghanistan, 241, 265,

Rozhdestvensky, Admiral Zinovi

313; weakened by Japanese war, 242;

Petrovich, 239

peace negotiations with Japan,

Rumbold, Sir Horace, 371

244–247; Duma established, 280, 297;

Russell, (Sir) William Howard, 43

British negotiations for agreement

Russia: provokes European powers, 22–23;

with, 281–282, 299–301, 311–312;

sets up puppet Bulgarian state, 22,

policy in Asia, 297; agreement with

32–33, 38; war against Ottomans

Britain signed (1907), 313, 318, 395,

(1877–1878), 22; expansion in Central

414, 436–437; opposes Austrian

Asia, 37, 117, 241, 264, 313; famine,

policy in Balkans, 341; policy in

48; Reinsurance Treaty with Germany

Balkans, 346; anti-German feelings

not renewed, 53–54, 208; agreement

in, 349; and impending war over

with France, 54; hostility to Germany,

Serbia, 356–358; VC upholds British

63; in Far East, 71–73, 91–92, 99, 102,

agreement with, 356; VC visits

112, 137, 145, 147, 205–207, 339, 381;

(1912), 436; Tyrrell’s antipathy to,

Germany seeks reconciliation with, 73;

442; and outbreak of First World War,

policy in Near East, 94; VC’s

447, 449; early successes in war, 451;

apprehensions over, 117, 206, 281; as

Germany repels in First World War,

threat to India, 126, 241, 256, 299,

454, 456; revolutions (1917), 466;

339; threat to Persia, 137, 151, 199,

post-war condition, 473–474

430, 432, 436; refuses cooperation against Boxers, 141; VC enquires

St Petersburg: VC visits (1908), 348–349,

about accommodation with, 151;

436

improved relations with Germany,

Sakhalin, 375

154; relations with Britain, 166; and

Salisbury, Robert Arthur Gascoyne-Cecil,

Anglo-Japanese treaty, 169; influence

3rd Marquess of: loses General Election

in Persia, 174, 177, 256, 280, 297,

(1892), 64; VC criticises, 72, 74, 105,

299–300; VC travels through (1902),

107, 113, 131, 136, 146, 275; and

176; expels Braham, 190–191,

Holstein’s hope of agreement with

204–206; hostility to The Times, 191,

Britain, 74; Holstein attacks, 75, 83;

204–206; and Macedonian crisis, 193;

and Kaiser’s Krüger telegram, 79, 82;

562

INDEX

and proposed Anglo-Russian

wartime territorial claims, 456, 458;

agreement, 94; and Far East, 97,

VC’s wartime visit to, 457–460;

99–100, 112; and Crete, 105; and

Austro-German army defeats in First World War, 464

Fashoda crisis, 105, 107; snubs Germany, 116; and Samoa dispute,

Shah of Persia (Ahmad Shah), 36–37

121; and wife’s death, 122;

Shatt-ul-Arab, 418–420, 422, 436, 451

acknowledges William II’s sentiments

Shaw, George Bernard: John Bull’s Other Island, 222

towards Britain, 135; anti-German policy, 151, 154; German mistrust of,

Shimonoseki, Treaty of, 71

156; meets Edward VII, 165; appoints

Shinano Maru, SS, 375

Lansdowne Foreign Secretary, 174,

Siam, 65

276; retires, 174; and Persian

Sikhs: unrest in army, 309

situation, 300

Slade, Admiral Sir Edmund, 418–419, 452

Salonika, 457–458

Smalley, George, 171, 225, 245

Samoa, 110, 112–113, 117, 119, 121

Sofia: VC visits, 350–352, 457, 459, 461

San Stefano, Treaty of (1878), 22

South Africa: German actions in, 73, 75–82, 118; Milner invites VC to, 111;

Sanderson, Thomas Henry, Baron, 13, 100,

unrest in, 118; Act of Immigration

165, 168, 188

restricts Asians, 444; see also Boer War

Sarajevo, 446

Spain: war with USA (1898), 99, 101, 118,

Satow, Sir Ernest, 146–147, 207, 212, 314

211, 222; claims to Morocco, 230

Saunders, George: as The Times correspondent in Berlin, 115, 129,

Spring-Rice, Sir Cecil: friendship and

133–135; and German hostility to

correspondence with VC, 94–95,

England, 122, 172; Pückler complains

97–98, 102, 108, 115, 138, 173,

about, 126; misjudges Bülow’s speech

192–193, 236, 239, 299, 412, 430,

in Reichstag, 163; Germans dislike,

467; marriage to Florence, 94; on

171; and Russian agreement with

German reaction to British view of

Germany, 206; translates Deutsche

retribution against China, 97; and

Revue article, 291; VC considers

death of Gladstone, 101; on Boer

inviting back to London, 319; leaves

War, 128–129; friendship with Teddy

Berlin, 342; posted to Paris, 343; as

Roosevelt, 131, 171, 173, 226; and

potential head of The Times foreign

Anglo-Japanese treaty, 168; discusses

department, 390; resists economies in

Persia with VC, 177–179, 311; and

Paris, 390–391; Clemenceau complains

VC’s visit to 1903 Delhi Durbar, 186;

to of British greed, 395; under threat

posted to St Petersburg, 192; and VC’s

of losing job, 398

cruise in Persian Gulf, 198; and

Sazonov, Sergei Dimitrievich, 437

Russo-Japanese War, 200; and VC’s

Scott, Sir Charles, 191–192

suspicion of Russo-German

Scott, Charles Prestwich, 480

agreement, 208; and Dogger Bank

Seistan, 313

incident, 219; gives VC letter of

Serbia and Serbs: revolt against Ottomans,

introduction to Roosevelt, 222; and

21; conflict with Bulgaria, 38–39;

VC’s campaign against Kitchener in

unrest, 353, 356–359; war with Turkey

India, 271; and VC’s interest in India,

(1912), 439; war with Bulgaria, 443;

272; and VC’s giving up night work,

Austria declares war on (1914), 447;

291; in Teheran, 292, 297, 299, 304,

563

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

313; VC criticises British government

Steed, Henry Wickham: VC writes to, 131,

to, 293; and Anglo-Russian

286–287; on German interests in

agreement, 299–300, 313; supports

Tibet, 212; and Russo-German

Persian aspirations, 299–300; VC

agreement, 215; and German policy

writes to on management change at

in Morocco, 242; in Vienna, 244, 294;

The Times, 325; VC visits in Yorkshire,

and Holstein’s fall, 286–287; on

340; and VC’s views on Serbian crisis,

balance of power, 298; VC rebukes,

357; VC writes to on trip to Far East

307–308; Bell proposes moving from

(1909), 369; and Northcliffe’s

Vienna to Berlin, 342–343; VC’s

discussions with VC, 386; interest in

strained relations with, 345, 347;

domestic politics, 391–392; and VC’s

Bourchier meets in Belgrade, 347;

anxieties over Lloyd George budget,

letters from Bourchier, 350–351;

394; and VC’s concerns over Indian

resigns from The Times, 350; on

unrest, 423; VC complains of Lloyd

Russian compromise over Bosnia-

George speech to, 425; and VC’s

Herzegovina, 358; and Serbian crisis

counter-propaganda work in First

(1909), 359; differences with VC, 387;

World War, 449; and VC’s wartime

welcomes Ralph Walter to The Times

mission to Balkans, 463; death, 469;

foreign department, 391; VC informs

VC writes Memoirs, 469

of visit to Paris, 396; complains of

Spring-Rice, Florence, Lady (née Lascelles):

mistreatment by VC, 406–407; and

marriage to Cecil, 94–95, 207; VC

reorganisation of The Times foreign

writes to about mother, 95; VC’s

department, 407; Morrison complains

attachment to, 195, 207; VC reports

of VC to, 410; congratulates VC on

seeing passage of Russian warships

knighthood, 433; offered headship of

through Channel, 218; musical

European division at The Times,

interests, 221; and VC’s visit to Shaw’s

433–435; takes charge of The Times foreign department, 446

John Bull’s Other Island, 222; and

Sternberg, Baron Speck von (German

Anglo-Russian relations, 282; in

ambassador in Washington), 225, 241

Teheran, 304; and VC’s boredom in London, 304; and VC’s self-criticism,

Stolypin, Petr Arkadievich, 348

305, 333, 468; and VC’s move in with

Strachey, St Loe, 271–272, 326, 331

Marillier family, 306; and changes at

Strathpeffer, Scotland, 106, 115, 143, 173

The Times, 320; and VC in

Sudan: rising in, 34, 38; Gordon in, 37; British-Italian interests in, 70, 90; and

Constantinople and Sofia, 351–352;

Fashoda crisis, 104–105

VC criticises Minto’s administration

Suez Canal: Disraeli buys shares, 16, 19–20;

to, 401; and VC’s stay in north of

strategic importance, 19

England, 404; and VC’s return from India, 430; and Balkan war,

Switzerland: VC holidays in, 295

443; and VC in India, 445, 467;

Syria, 23–26, 69, 240, 478

and VC’s wartime mission to Balkans, 456, 459, 463–464; and

Taillandier, St René, 233

husband’s death, 469; and Armistice

Tangier, 138, 230–237, 244, 252

(1918), 470

tariff reform, 190, 361

Standard (newspaper), 38–39

Teheran: VC visits (1902), 176; see also Persia

Stead, William Thomas, 39, 298

Tel-el-Kebir, battle of (1882), 34

564

INDEX

Tennant, Sir Edward, 327–328, 330, 428

stance, 277–278, 307; supports reform

Tewfik Pasha, Khedive of Egypt, 21, 33

in Congo, 288–289, 295; VC rebukes

Thursfield, Sir James, 416

foreign correspondents, 307–308; and

Tibet: German interference in, 212,

British policy in India, 312; criticises

215–216, 218, 220; Younghusband’s

Second Hague Peace Conference, 314;

mission to, 212–215, 251; VC’s

proposes reducing British forces in

anxieties over, 250–252, 256

India, 316; changes proposed (1907),

Tilak, Bal Gangadhar, 431, 465–468

320–321; Book Club, 321, 387–388;

Times, The: VC appointed to, 1–2, 44–45,

financial difficulties, 321, 385–387;

54–55; one hundredth anniversary

marketing and advertising enterprises,

(1885), 41; standing, 41–42;

322; proprietorship and management

management, 42–43; foreign

changes (1908), 322–332; Northcliffe’s

department established, 43–44; takes

interest in acquiring, 329–330;

over Dalziel’s News Agency, 45; on

Northcliffe acquires, 333, 342; foreign

Boer problem, 76; on German role in

department reorganised, 334; support

Transvaal crisis, 79, 81–83; supports

for Japan, 335, 337; and Ottomans in

Rhodes over Transvaal, 90; VC stands

Balkans, 343–344; supports naval

in for Wallace at, 90–91, 93; VC sets

expansion, 360; Northcliffe’s

up ‘Far Eastern Service’, 92; and affairs

interventions in, 364–365, 383,

in China, 97–98, 112, 149; hostility

416–418, 420–421; VC discusses with

to Germany, 103, 152–153, 158–159,

Northcliffe, 383, 387–388; Northcliffe’s

172–173, 175, 209–210; on situation

aims for, 384–387, 395, 427–428; VC

on Upper Nile, 104; VC appointed

reorganises foreign room, 389–392,

Foreign Editor, 108–110, 114;

405–406; on Lloyd George’s 1909

excellence of foreign correspondents,

budget, 393; Northcliffe’s unilateral

114; VC writes on German–British

decisions at, 398–399; weekly edition,

relations in, 123–124, 135–136; Bülow

398–399; Northcliffe reorganises

requests to repair rift in Anglo-German

(1911), 415, 421; on Naval Prize Bill

relations, 155; Russian hostility to,

and Declaration of London (1911),

191, 204–206; VC writes on Persian

416–418; VC retires from, 433, 472;

Gulf cruise in, 197; wireless

Steed offered headship of European

transmissions to in Russo-Japanese

division, 434–435; VC contributes to

War, 202–204; on Russo-Japanese War

after retirement, 438, 475;

and German rapprochement with

dissensions and disorder at, 445–446

Russia, 208; on supposed Russo-

Times Publishing Company, 333, 354, 383,

German agreement, 209; publishes

427–429

Harris’s report on Germany in

Tirpitz, Admiral Alfred, 219, 341

Moroccan crisis (1905), 230–231;

Togo Heihachiro, Admiral Koshaku,

reports Kaiser’s visit to Tangier,

239–241, 252

235–236; and Brodrick’s Tibet policy,

Tokyo, 371, 374; see also Japan

252; and Curzon–Kitchener conflict

Trans-Caspian railway, 37

over control of Indian army, 254–255,

Trans-Siberian Railroad, 117, 373

275; supports Kitchener as C.in C. in

Transvaal: Jameson’s raid in, 76–77, 118;

India, 258, 261; VC criticises

and Kaiser’s telegram to Krüger,

Kitchener in, 269, 271; political

79–80; proposed German

565

D I P L O M AT W I T H O U T P O R T F O L I O

intervention in, 81–82, 84; British

visits (1904–1905), 223–226, 277;

rights in, 84, 118; The Times view on,

financial crash (1907), 320; attitude

90; proposed annexation, 132

to Japan and China, 376–378; anti-

Trevelyan, Charles, 246

British sentiments, 378; enters war

Triple Alliance (Germany-Italy-Austria), 64,

(1917), 467–468, 470; VC advocates

73–74, 154, 161

association with in post-war Middle

Tripoli: Italy occupies, 430

East, 477–478; VC invited to (1924),

Tsushima, battle of (1905), 239–240, 244

478–479; see also Washington, DC

Turkey (and Ottoman Empire): Balkan revolts against, 19, 21, 187; and

Vancouver, 374

European powers, 19, 23; Russian war

Vaughan, Cardinal Herbert Alfred,

with (1877–1878), 22; reforms, 23; VC

Archbishop of Westminster, 120

reports on, 28–30; German interests in,

Venezuela: border dispute, 74

29, 64, 69–70, 75, 90, 95; VC’s book

Venice: VC visits, 308

on, 32; British policy on, 69; dispute

Venizelos, Eleutherios, 459, 462

with Greece over Crete, 93; war with

Victoria, Queen: welcomes purchase of

Greece in Balkans, 93, 95; and railway

Suez Canal shares, 20; and William

line to Baghdad and beyond, 187–188;

II’s unpopularity, 59; invites William

dispute with Russia (1903), 192;

II to visit, 116–117, 122

represses subject peoples, 192; and Balkan unrest, 315–316, 344; and rise

Waldersee, General Alfred, Graf von:

of ‘Young Turks’, 342, 352, 354; VC

commands combined force in China,

disagrees with Bourchier over,

142, 147, 151, 207

343–344; unrest in, 395; claims rights

Wallace, Donald Mackenzie: friendship with

in Persian Gulf, 414, 419–420,

VC, 41; as Foreign Editor of The Times,

425–426; negotiations with Britain

43–46; and VC’s position and reporting

(1911), 425; Italy declares war on

in Berlin, 52, 56, 61–62, 65–66, 74,

(1911), 430–431, 440; Bulgaria, Serbia

80–81, 84, 86; relations with

and Greece declare war on (1912),

government and officials, 55, 60; and

439; war with Bulgaria, 443; joins

VC’s anti-Bismarck views, 58–59; praises

Central Powers in First World War,

VC for intervention in Congo crisis, 68;

450, 475; and defence of Persian Gulf

and Kaiser’s telegram to Krüger, 79–80;

in First World War, 452; Germans

vetoes VC’s letters to Marschall and

supply in First World War, 465;

Holstein, 85–86; meets Marschall in

Ottoman Empire disintegrates, 473, 479

Berlin, 87; VC hopes to succeed, 89;

Tyrrell, William, 243, 277, 377, 402–403,

tours eastern Mediterranean, 93, 96;

422, 442–443

returns to The Times, 95, 110; absences

Tz’u-hsi, Dowager Empress of China, 107

from The Times, 101; works on Encyclopaedia Britannica, 108; resents

Unionist Party, 303, 307, 360, 423, 425

VC’s trips to mother in Brighton, 111;

United States of America: and Venezuela

and Holstein’s wish for reconciliation

border, 74; war with Spain (1898), 99,

with VC, 113; Holstein on, 121; on

101, 118, 211, 222; conflict with

Russo-Japanese War, 198; attends Russo-

Germany over Samoa, 112; British

Japanese peace conference, 245–246;

relations with, 154, 171, 474; VC

and negotiations with Russia, 298

566

INDEX

Walter family, 321

towards Germany, 124; Lascelles meets,

Walter, Arthur: meets Bell in Egypt, 42–43;

135–137, 162–163; and British reaction

and VC’s appointment to The Times,

to German hostility, 136; fear of

45; takes stand on Braham’s expulsion

‘Yellow Peril’, 147, 200–201; professes

from Russia, 205; VC sends memo

friendship towards Britain, 166, 349;

criticising Brodrick, 251; and

and The Times criticisms of Germany,

management changes at The Times

172; in Gibraltar, 200; and Russo-

(1908), 322–325, 327–330; made

Japanese War, 200, 208, 242; Edward

Chairman of The Times for life, 333;

VII meets at Kiel, 206; rumoured

VC covers for at The Times directors’

agreement with Tsar, 206, 209, 215,

meetings, 389

219, 228–229; foreign policy, 208, 299;

Walter, John III, 41–42

and fleet expansion, 220, 341; and

Walter, Ralph, 390–391, 408

revolution in Russia (1905), 228; seeks

Wantage, Robert James Lloyd-Lindsay, 1st

reconciliation with Britain, 228; visit to Tangier, 231–237, 244, 252, 284;

Baron, and Harriet, Lady, 222 War Office (British): VC’s criticisms of, 137

and Moroccan crisis, 242–243; abuses

Warrington, Thomas Rolls, Baron (Mr

Lascelles, 243; meets Nicholas II at

Justice Warrington), 322

Björkö, 245; and Algeciras Conference,

Warsaw: falls to Germans (1915), 461

284; Edward VII visits (1906), 291; and

Washington, DC: VC visits (1904–1905),

election of 1907, 296; talks with W.T.

222–223, 225–226, 277

Stead, 298; ambitions in Morocco, 318;

Wei-hai-wei, China, 101–102, 202

and Eulenburg scandal, 319; visits

West Africa, 99–100

Edward VII at Windsor (1907), 319,

West, (Dame) Rebecca, 128

395; and Balkan unrest, 347; interview

Westminster Gazette, 384

in Daily Telegraph, 349; intervention

Whitaker, Edward, 27, 46, 191

in Balkans, 358; meets Nicholas II at

William I, Kaiser of Germany: death, 50

Potsdam (1909), 413; visits London

William II, Kaiser of Germany: accession,

(1911), 422; and Turkish army, 442

47, 50; view of Holstein, 53–54; and

Williams College, Massachusetts, USA,

Holstein’s political aims, 56–58;

478–479

character and manner, 58–61;

Wiseman, Right Revd Nathan (later

intervenes in political matters, 58–59,

Cardinal), 5

61, 74; in Kotze scandal, 60; dismisses

Wolseley, General Sir Garnet, 33–34

Caprivi, 61; anti-British views, 62–63,

Woolf, Virginia, 474–475

134; racial attitudes, 62; and Anglo-

working class: VC’s view of, 278–279

Congolese Agreement, 67–68; sends telegram of support to Krüger, 78–81,

Yalu River, battle of (1904), 201

87, 103, 212; complains of British

Yangtze Agreement, 207

criticism over actions in southern

Young Turks, 342, 352, 354

Africa, 83; and war between Greeks

Younghusband, Sir Francis Edward, 186;

and Turks, 95; and German interests

mission to Tibet, 212–214, 251

in China, 98; tour of Near East (1898), 104–105; invited to visit by Victoria,

Zill-es-Sultan (Shah of Persia’s son,

116–117, 122, 133; and Samoa dispute,

Governor of Isfahan), 36

121; and Chamberlain’s friendliness

Zukunft, Die (journal), 286

567