The land is groaning now. More than a million of her sons—the half of her youth—lie prostrate, rotting in alien soil. Hark to the mothers’ tears, the fathers’ execrations; see this brave famished people cower to the victor’s lash!
Are these the glorious days you vowed to bring your people? Which of your promises have you kept? Though Nature and upbringing wronged you, what have you done with your many gifts in that festival you made of life? In the service of your phrases, your pretensions, this great people has been led astray; and when for once it warned you, you derided it.
After four inactive years—four years of sacrifice for all but you—you have refused your people the last service which, in history’s eyes, might still have saved you; and for scurvy life are breaking now the soldier’s oath you swore before you grandsire—the oath inviolate; you dinned that in their ears a thousand times. Now, in their direst need, you wash your hands of them—wife, children, subjects; in your craven fear you cast away the honor of your fathers. Chaos is upon your land; and while millions stare privation and slavery in the face, one man, the man who stands for all, steps into his luxurious car and rolls away to ease and comfort in a neutral country.

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When Lyncker at about this time took over the Military Cabinet, the Emperor said to him in a pathetically pleading tone: “But, dear Lyncker, you won’t bring me nothing but musty papers, will you? Now and again some funny little story or another!” This is a shocking example of his aversion from anything practical, for the speaker was a man of fifty, who still was called the young Emperor.

When Erzberger, coming from Rome in March 1915, was about to inform the Emperor whether Italy would take the field or not, the aide-de-camp said pleadingly: “you won’t tell His Majesty anything but good news, will you?” His own librarian’s book, Der Kaiser im Felde, which told of nothing but motor-drives, luncheon-parties, addresses, decorations, and beaming looks, all in a tone of unpleasing adulation, the Emperor presented to Count Czernin and others, with his own inscription.

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“I know of only two political parties—that which is for me, and that which is against me!” The motto of an absolute ruler. These words, spoken at the age of thirty, at a time when good intentions were at their highest and infatuation was at its lowest, introduce the theme which for three decades he was to vary by alienation from all parties in turn.

[H]e commanded over a hundred of his armed adherents to make an open attack on the armed police force. The latter met the rebel's attack... Shots were fired. Fourteen men lay dead on the Munich pavement. ...Hitler vanished ...The fourteen heroes of the Nazi movement were later eulogized... by the leader who had abandoned them in danger.

Hitler's aim was to attract attention to himself. ...[H]e personally arranged all the lighting effects and spotlights, as well as his entry into a hall with fanfares. He trained crowds to salute with the right arm, taught them his songs, and transformed the audience from an apathetic mass into active collaborators in his festivities.

When so markedly egotistic a nature dominates a realm, the consequences can be nothing but catastrophic; and we are heading straight for a period which will decide whether the age or the Emperor is the stronger. I am afraid it will not be he.