The Trial of the Kaiser

William A Schabas

Oxford University Press £25

Review by Hugh MacDonald

FIRST, there has to be what the boxset binge generation would call a spoiler alert. There is an inherent flaw in The Trail of the Kaiser. It can best be summarised by the observation that there was no trial of the Kaiser.

It is a tribute to the doggedness of William A Schabas, a professor of international law at Middlesex University, that by the end of his labours this matters but little. His intention, perhaps mischievously disguised by the title, is to chart the formation of what would have been the first international criminal tribunal. He does so successfully with the help of new sources and a relentless energy.

At the end of the First World War, Britain, France and Italy agreed to put Kaiser Wilhelm II on trial. The USA reluctantly came on board. Any future trial was rendered somewhat redundant by the absence of the Kaiser who had fled to the Netherlands after the defeat of Germany where authorities refused to deport him. Schabas, then, is left with the political manoeuvring over how to prosecute, the formulation of the charges and the attempts to bring them to court.

PG Wodehouse would struggle to bring a sparkle to this material but Schabas largely avoids dullness in a fluid, clear writing style. The book has, of course, a historical significance. The prosecution of the Kaiser would precede and lay foundations for future war trials, most notably that of his countrymen in Nuremburg after the Second World War. Incidentally, East West Street by Philippe Sands is one of the great works of non-fiction and centres on the formulation of genocide as a war crime that formed part of the background to those trials.

But in the wake of the First World War, the Kaiser would have faced charges in three categories: waging a war of aggression, violating the treaties of neutrality, and unlawful conduct during the conflict. The march in Belgium would seem to have made the first two unarguable. The third has been subject to much debate over the years. Germany was accused at the time of awful war crimes. In later years, historical revisionism suggested many of these allegations were overplayed. The contemporary revisionism of this revisionism is that many of the charges are true.

It does leave, however, two points of inquiry. In the hellish catastrophe of modern war is it possible to draw up a set of enforceable rules? And should the commander in chief be responsible for every individual outrage by soldiers in field?

The winners never considered the first question fully, perhaps because its truth might land with a significant detonation close to home. But the second was resolved after much debate. The Kaiser would be put in the dock.

But what would be done with him if he was found guilty? Schabas quotes Sir Henry Wilson, Chief of the Imperial General Staff, that: “Lloyd George wants to shoot the Kaiser. FE Smith agrees. Winston [Churchill] does not.” The author adds drily: “We do not know at what stage of the evening’s revelry this discussion occurred, but it is likely that drink was taken previously.’’ Nevertheless, Lloyd George did campaign in the general election on the slogan Hang the Kaiser, though he later said he only meant the “electoral gallows”, a statement so lacking in authenticity that it would have been better left unsaid.

The matter is moot because of the resilience of the Netherlands who challenged the precision and fairness of the charges. The book is thus left without a strong finish, though Schabas does point to the importance of the procedure in effecting the later prosecutions of war crimes. It is sustained, though, by the author’s scrupulous reporting and by the odd, diverting observation.

It never fails to jolt this correspondent that the Kaiser was the grandson of Queen Victoria, prompting the thought that the First World War was a family rammy in the manner of events at a Ferguslie Park christening. The figure of the Kaiser, too, is riveting. His arrival in the Netherlands is perfectly described as he has to hang around a train station desperately seeking someone who will let him in.

The mad, unsuccessful attempt to kidnap the Kaiser is also recreated with its sombre tones highlighting the jolly japes of a feckless crew who missed out on grabbing a former leader but did manage to return with one of his ashtrays.

These moments alleviate the weight of the serious purpose of The Trial of the Kaiser. It seeks and succeeds in charting a historic process. It picks its way delicately through the issues and the motivations of various countries. It is assured in place and time, with contemporary issues explained briskly and satisfactorily.

In all this, it is a work of serious historic merit. But it lacks the dramatic arc that a trial would have given it though its purpose is worthy in that much of what came later would have been impossible without the events described therein.

The Kaiser flits though the pages: pompous, arrogant, unapologetic, depressed and finally unchallenged in court. Great figures such as Lloyd George, Clemenceau, Churchill and Woodrow Wilson make telling cameo appearances. There are, too, the list of horrors of the First World War where routine massacre by bullet or bomb was complemented by poison gas, the poisoning of wells, the regular murder of hostages.

There is also the reminder of the vicious anti-Semitism of the Kaiser who blamed the ‘tribe of Juda’ for his country’s catastrophic defeat. This diatribe of course, was adopted to awful effect by Adolf Hitler and endures to this day.

However, The Trial of the Kaiser remains a niche project, unlikely to capture the general reader. It is factual, coherent and interesting but its appeal may be limited to academics in the field. There is no disgrace in that but it is a spoiler alert that must given to the unwary.