Ken Follett: Fall of Giants

Walter answered: “If talking about war can make it happen, then yes, we will fight, for everyone is getting ready for it. But is there a real reason? I don’t see it.”

Gus Dewar raised a tentative hand. Fitz liked Dewar, despite his liberal politics. Americans were supposed to be brash, but this one was well-mannered and a bit shy. He was also startlingly well-informed. Now he said: “Britain and Germany have many reasons to quarrel.”

Walter turned to him. “Would you give me an example?”

Gus blew out cigar smoke. “Naval rivalry.”

Walter nodded. “My kaiser does not believe there is a God-given law that the German navy should remain smaller than the British forever.”

Fitz glanced nervously at the king. He loved the Royal Navy and might easily be offended. On the other hand, Kaiser Wilhelm was his cousin. George’s father and Willy’s mother had been brother and sister, both children of Queen Victoria. Fitz was relieved to see that His Majesty was smiling indulgently.

Walter went on: “This has caused friction in the past, but for two years now we have been in agreement, informally, about the relative size of our navies.”

Dewar said: “How about economic rivalry?”

“It is true that Germany is daily growing more prosperous, and may soon catch up with Britain and the United States in economic production. But why should this be a problem? Germany is one of Britain’s biggest customers. The more we have to spend, the more we buy. Our economic strength is good for British manufacturers!”

Dewar tried again. “It’s said that Germany wants more colonies.”

Fitz glanced at the king again, wondering if he minded the conversation being dominated by these two; but His Majesty appeared fascinated.

Walter said: “There have been wars over colonies, notably in your home country, Mr. Dewar. But nowadays we seem able to decide such squabbles without firing our guns. Three years ago Germany, Great Britain, and France quarreled about Morocco, but the argument was settled without war. More recently, Britain and Germany have reached agreement about the thorny issue of the Baghdad Railway. If we simply carry on as we are, we will not go to war.”

Dewar said: “Would you forgive me if I used the term German militarism?”

That was a bit strong, and Fitz winced. Walter colored, but he spoke smoothly. “I appreciate your frankness. The German Empire is dominated by Prussians, who play something of the role of the English in Your Majesty’s United Kingdom.”

It was daring to compare Britain with Germany, and England with Prussia. Walter was right on the edge of what was permissible in a polite conversation, Fitz thought uneasily.

Walter went on: “The Prussians have a strong military tradition, but do not go to war for no reason.”

Dewar said skeptically: “So Germany is not aggressive.”

“On the contrary,” said Walter. “I put it to you that Germany is the only major power on mainland Europe that is not aggressive.”

There was a murmur of surprise around the table, and Fitz saw the king raise his eyebrows. Dewar sat back, startled, and said: “How do you figure that?”

Walter’s perfect manners and amiable tone took the edge off his provocative words. “First, consider Austria,” he went on. “My Viennese cousin Robert will not deny that the Austro-Hungarian Empire would like to extend its borders to the southeast.”

“Not without reason,” Robert protested. “That part of the world, which the British call the Balkans, has been part of the Ottoman domain for hundreds of years; but Ottoman rule has crumbled, and now the Balkans are unstable. The Austrian emperor believes it is his holy duty to maintain order and the Christian religion there.”

“Quite so,” said Walter. “But Russia, too, wants territory in the Balkans.”

Fitz felt it was his job to defend the Russian government, perhaps because of Bea. “They, too, have good reasons,” he said. “Half their foreign trade crosses the Black Sea, and passes from there through the straits to the Mediterranean Sea. Russia cannot allow any other great power to dominate the straits by acquiring territory in the eastern Balkans. It would be like a noose around the neck of the Russian economy.”

“Exactly so,” said Walter. “Turning to the western end of Europe, France has ambitions to take from Germany the territories of Alsace and Lorraine.”

At this point the French guest, Jean-Pierre Charlois, bridled. “Stolen from France forty-three years ago!”

“I will not argue about that,” Walter said smoothly. “Let us say that Alsace-Lorraine was joined to the German Empire in 1871, after the defeat of France in the Franco-Prussian War. Whether stolen or not, you allow, Monsieur le Comte, that France wants those lands back.”

“Naturally.” The Frenchman sat back and sipped his port.

Walter said: “Even Italy would like to take, from Austria, the territories of Trentino-”

“Where most people speak Italian!” cried Signor Falli.

“-plus much of the Dalmatian coast-”

“Full of Venetian lions, Catholic churches, and Roman columns!”

“-and Tyrol, a province with a long history of self-government, where most people speak German.”

“Strategic necessity.”

“Of course.”

Fitz realized how clever Walter had been. Not rude, but discreetly provocative, he had stung the representatives of each nation into confirming, in more or less belligerent language, their territorial ambitions.

Now Walter said: “But what new territory is Germany asking for?” He looked around the table, but no one spoke. “None,” he said triumphantly. “And the only other major country in Europe that can say the same is Britain!”

Gus Dewar passed the port and said in his American drawl: “I guess that’s right.”

Walter said: “So why, my old friend Fitz, should we ever go to war?”

On Sunday morning before breakfast Lady Maud sent for Ethel.

Ethel had to suppress an exasperated sigh. She was terribly busy. It was early, but the staff were already hard at work. Before the guests got up all the fireplaces had to be cleaned, the fires relit, and the scuttles filled with coal. The principal rooms-dining room, morning room, library, smoking room, and the smaller public rooms-had to be cleaned and tidied. Ethel was checking the flowers in the billiard room, replacing those that were fading, when she was summoned. Much as she liked Fitz’s radical sister, she hoped Maud did not have some elaborate commission for her.

When Ethel had come to work at Tŷ Gwyn, at the age of thirteen, the Fitzherbert family and their guests were hardly real to her: they seemed like people in a story, or strange tribes in the Bible, Hittites perhaps, and they terrified her. She was frightened that she would do something wrong and lose her job, but also deeply curious to see these strange creatures close up.

One day a kitchen maid had told her to go upstairs to the billiard room and bring down the tantalus. She had been too nervous to ask what a tantalus was. She had gone to the room and looked around, hoping it would be something obvious like a tray of dirty dishes, but she could see nothing that belonged downstairs. She had been in tears when Maud walked in.

Maud was then a gangly fifteen-year-old, a woman in girl’s clothes, unhappy and rebellious. It was not until later that she made sense of her life by turning her discontent into a crusade. But even at fifteen she had had the quick compassion that made her sensitive to injustice and oppression.

She had asked Ethel what was the matter. The tantalus turned out to be a silver container with decanters of brandy and whisky. It tantalized, because it had a locking mechanism to prevent servants stealing sips, she explained. Ethel thanked her emotionally. It was the first of many kindnesses and, over the years, Ethel had come to worship the older girl.