Behind this reply to the Sultan lay a major, carefully planned German diplomatic offensive. At the time of the signing of the Anglo-French agreement assigning Morocco to France, Bülow had accepted it as a means of restoring “tranquillity and order” in the Sultan’s kingdom. First Counselor Holstein had disagreed, arguing that German commercial interests and German prestige both would be trampled by establishment of a French protectorate, but Bülow as Chancellor had prevailed. In the months that followed, Bülow had come around to Holstein’s view, Delcassé had acted hastily and arrogantly. Required by the Madrid treaty to consult all signatories before acting in Morocco, he had consulted all except Germany. Warned that he was trespassing on German rights and that Germany would not accept being pushed aside, the French Foreign Minister had blandly asserted that France had absolutely “nothing to fear from this [German] quarter.”
These slights were not the only, or the most serious, German concern. When Bülow had welcomed the Anglo-French agreement, he had not recognized its larger significance. With the passage of time, the implications of Delcassé’s achievement dawned: the French Foreign Minister was not simply attempting to remove points of colonial friction; he was trying to change the balance of power in Europe. His long-range objective was to create an Anglo-French-Russian Entente to confront the Triple Alliance of Germany, Austria, and Italy. Secretly, the Wilhelmstrasse believed, a policy of encirclement against Germany had been worked out; the authors were King Edward VII and Théophile Delcassé. Holstein was ready to admit that his belief that England would never join France had been mistaken. Now, in 1905, “when this danger was clear6 before my eyes, I became convinced that, before the ring of the Great Powers enclosed us, we ought to try with all our might to break through the ring, and we must not shrink from the most extreme measures.”
Circumstances favored a German diplomatic offensive. Imperial Russia, the ally on which France counted for military support against Germany, had suffered serious defeats in the Far East. Emboldened by Russia’s weakness and by the already overwhelming superiority of the German Army, Holstein and Bülow decided that the moment had come to humiliate France and demonstrate to Paris and the world that the Third Republic, despite its ties to Russia and Britain, remained essentially as it had been in Bismarck’s time: alone. British support would be shown to be, in Holstein’s word, “platonic,”7 and the Anglo-French Entente, unable to withstand the pressure from Berlin, would collapse.
Bülow’s first move was to push Germany forward as the champion of treaty rights, of the independence of small states, and of the principle of the Open Door. This principle—the equal right of all colonial powers to exploit what they perceived as backward, disintegrating kingdoms and empires—had already been established in China and enthusiastically supported by a new imperialist power, the United States. When Bülow demanded that the Open Door now be applied to Morocco, the German Ambassador in Washington passed along the comment of President Roosevelt: “That is just exactly8 what we also want.” Bülow triumphantly reported the President’s words to the Kaiser.
William supported Bülow’s position. France’s forward policy in Morocco seemed to treat the German Empire and the German Emperor alike as quantités négligeables in world affairs. Unveiling a statue of his father in Bremen on March 22, 1905, William announced that God had destined Germany for a great future and predicted “a world-wide dominion9 of the Hohenzollerns.” General Alfred von Schlieffen, Chief of the German General Staff, assured the government that France was unprepared for war in Europe; that Russia, overwhelmed by defeat in the Far East, was in no position to give support to her European ally; and that any aid Britain could give on land would be too small to make a difference. Schlieffen offered his opinion that “if the necessity of war10 with France should arise for us, the present moment would doubtless be favorable.” He urged “the earliest possible11 thorough cleaning up with France at arms. No waiting ten or twenty years for a world war, but so thorough a settlement that thereafter there should be no fear of a world war. France should be provoked until she had no course but to take up arms.”
Bülow did not seek war or intend to unleash Schlieffen. But the threat of war was a useful weapon; properly wielded, it could help him win almost as sweeping a triumph as could be achieved by war. Thus, when addressed by the Sultan of Morocco, Bülow’s answer was very different from the mellow acquiescence of ten months earlier. “In the face of this chain12 of aggressions,” Bülow said later, “it seemed to me necessary to remind Paris again of the German Empire. It was not only the extent of our economic and political interests in and about Morocco which decided me to advise the Kaiser to set his face against France, but also the conviction that in the interests of peace, we must no longer permit such provocations. I did not desire war with France either then or later. But I did not hesitate to confront France with the possibility of war because I had confidence in my own skill and caution. I felt that I could prevent matters coming to a head, cause Delcassé’s fall, break the continuity of aggressive French policy, knock the continental dagger out of the hands of Edward VII... and simultaneously preserve peace, preserve German honor, and improve German prestige.”
In preparing this challenge, Bülow decided that it must be dramatized in the most flamboyant possible way. The instrument he chose was Kaiser William.
Morocco had never interested William. He once told Eckardstein that “when, as Prince of Prussia,13 he had been attached to the Foreign Office for instruction, he had heard a lot of talk about Morocco, but he had never understood why so much importance was attached to it.” In March 1904, the Kaiser told King Alfonso of Spain that Germany had no special interest in Morocco and would concentrate solely on Europe. At the Kiel Regatta in June, William repeated to King Edward that Morocco had never interested him. After the signing of the Anglo-French Entente, the Emperor had told Bülow that “it was in Germany’s interest14 for France to engage and commit herself in Morocco. This would turn the eyes of Frenchmen away from the Vosges and they might, in time, forget Alsace-Lorraine.” To another diplomat he said that it would be “a good thing that France15 should have to pacify Morocco and work there to establish law and order. This pioneer work would cost [France] heavily in blood and treasure.”
William wanted to visit Tangier; “I have been to Asia16 [Jerusalem] and I would much like to set my foot on African soil [Tangier].” Bülow and Holstein decided to exploit this wish and use the Imperial traveler to assure the Sultan of German support for Moroccan independence. “Your Majesty’s visit17 will embarrass Delcassé, upset his plans, and foster our economic interests in Morocco,” Bülow wrote to the Kaiser. “Tant mieux!”18 (“So much the better”) noted the Kaiser in the margin, setting aside, in his eagerness to leap into the international limelight, his lack of interest in Morocco.
On March 28, 1905, the Kaiser embarked at Cuxhaven aboard the Hamburg-America steamer Hamburg. While he sailed down the Channel and around the coast of Spain, Europe heard rumors that he would land at Tangier. The Paris press rumbled that such a visit would be unfriendly to France. As he approached the Pillars of Hercules, William began to have doubts. He reflected that Bülow’s Moroccan policy was risky. He had been looking forward to visiting Gibraltar, where Queen Alexandra would be aboard her yacht and where there would be ceremonial occasions for him to wear his British admiral’s uniform. And there was the matter of his personal safety. Tangier had become a haven for many exiled European anarchists; an emperor—any emperor—made a tempting target. Perhaps, William wired to Bülow, a visit to Tangier would be undignified, even unsafe. Bülow quickly announced the impending landing to the German press and then telegraphed the Kaiser that it was too late; to back out now would give France a public victory and proclaim the German Emperor a coward.
Nevertheless, as the Hamburg lay off the port of Tangier on the morning of March 31, the Kaiser’s reluctance intensified. The ship was too big to dock in the harbor and a storm had churned up a heavy sea. Baron vo
n Richard Kühlmann, the German Chargé d’Affaires in Tangier, coming out in a small boat to greet his sovereign, had to leap from the boat onto a rope ladder snaking along the Hamburg’s hull. From there, Kühlmann, costumed in the full-dress uniform of the Bavarian Lancers complete with tchapka, high boots, and spurs, had to come up hand over hand, drenched by spray, and present himself on deck standing in a pool of water. William, who had no stomach for such athletics, announced that he would not go. Then, quite suddenly, the wind and sea died down and the Kaiser decided to proceed with the visit.
He arrived at the dock to find not the Sultan to welcome him, but an aged uncle sent as a substitute. William gave the speech Bülow had written for him: Germany continued to recognize the Sultan as an independent monarch. Presented to the diplomatic corps, he told the French Minister that Germany stood for equal rights and an Open Door for trade by all nations as guaranteed in the Madrid Treaty. “When the Minister tried to argue19 with me, I said ‘Good morning’ and left him standing.” A white Barbary stallion was led forward. The horse, strange to its rider, unprepared for the fireworks and gun salutes which welcomed the Emperor, bucked, and William nearly fell off. Clinging to the saddle, he wondered which faces in the crowd belonged to anarchists; he was not reassured to know that the Sultan had ordered that “all were to be exterminated20 if the Kaiser came to any harm.” Later, William listed his complaints for Bülow: “I landed because21 you wanted me to in the interests of the Fatherland, mounted a strange horse in spite of the impediment my crippled left arm causes to my riding, and the horse was within an inch of costing me my life. I had to ride between Spanish anarchists because you wished it and your policy was to profit by it.”
The Kaiser remained in Tangier only a few hours. He returned to the Hamburg and sailed immediately for Gibraltar, only to find that Queen Alexandra had left, leaving him no message. One of his escort vessels in the process of mooring managed to ram a British cruiser. “The British generals and admirals22 stood stiffly and coldly to receive me without a single word more than was necessary,” he grumbled. He sailed into the Mediterranean. In the Sicilian castle of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II, he observed, “It is wonderful to think23 what this great Emperor achieved. If I were able to have people beheaded as easily as he could, I could do more.” Back in Berlin, he found Bülow “trembling with emotion24 and showing in every word and gesture his devotion and affection.” Bülow assured the Kaiser how much he had worried. “When the news reached me25 that Your Majesty had come away alive out of Tangier, I broke down and sat weeping at my desk while I uttered a thanksgiving to Heaven.”
“But why did you send me there?” the Kaiser asked.
“It was necessary for my policy,” the Chancellor replied. “Through Your Majesty I threw down the gauntlet to the French. I wanted to see whether they would mobilize.”
The German press quickly blossomed with Morocco stories describing the trampling of foreign rights by a grasping France, while noble, disinterested Germany stood up alone to defend the rights of all other nations. Europe was not fooled. It was unclear, however, what profit the Wilhelmstrasse wished to make from its challenge. Bülow gave substance to the German challenge by sending the Sultan a message offering German diplomatic support in his refusal to accept French officers. The Chancellor also suggested that the Sultan invite all governments signatory to the Madrid Treaty to a new international conference to reconfirm Moroccan independence. “I emphasized again26 that Germany was not seeking her own advantage in Morocco but only desired the maintenance of a treaty which had been violated,” Bülow declared. German ambassadors in London, St. Petersburg, and Vienna were instructed to inform their host governments that Germany had acted as she did because she “could not recognize27 the right of France, England and Spain to settle the Moroccan affairs independently.” German rights were not to be disposed of by anyone without German participation and consent. If foreigners probed deeper “about the purpose28 of the [Kaiser’s] visit,” Bülow’s instructions continued, “do not answer them but keep a serious and impassive face. Emulate the sphinx who, surrounded by tourists, reveals nothing.”
Germany’s silence as to its ultimate goals in Morocco and the refusal of German diplomats to provide any explanation for the Emperor’s dramatic landing at Tangier left European foreign offices confused and alarmed. Why, if the Wilhelmstrasse had been unhappy with the Anglo-French Moroccan understanding, had no complaint been made in 1904? Why, if it was believed that German rights were about to be trampled, had the matter not been addressed to the French government through diplomatic channels? Gradually, the larger purpose began to reveal itself: the Kaiser’s landing, the future of Morocco, were only factors in a German attempt to humiliate France. The collapse of Russia had provided the opportunity; France’s moves in Morocco provided the pretext.
In Paris, from the day the Kaiser landed at Tangier, Delcassé told the Chambre des Députés that the Imperial visit would not affect France’s policy in Morocco. When the German-encouraged invitation to an international conference arrived in Paris, Delcassé declined on behalf of France. The rest of the French Cabinet, especially the new Premier, a financier named Maurice Rouvier, was uneasy. Behind the German demand for a conference lay the threat of war. While the Russian Army was unavailable, France was not ready for war with Germany. The Sultan of Morocco, assured of German support, refused to turn his army and customs over to French officials. Delcassé found he was attacked on all sides. In the Chambre des Députés, Delcassé was condemned by the right for having given away Egypt without acquiring Morocco, and by the left for pushing the Republic to the brink of war. President Loubet continued to support Delcassé, but Rouvier and the Cabinet clearly wished the Foreign Minister to resign. Isolated and shaken, Delcassé belatedly attempted to mollify the Germans. After a dinner at the German Embassy on April 13, he told his host, Prince Radolin, that he desired to eliminate the misunderstanding. Coldly, Radolin told him that he had no instructions from Berlin but that it was too late for bilateral negotiations. Soon after, Delcassé told Loubet that he would resign. Loubet requested him not to act in haste.
At this point, the beleaguered Delcassé found an unexpected champion. King Edward VII’s view of the crisis had focussed first on what he considered the deplorable, operatic behavior of his nephew at Tangier, a performance the King described as “the most mischievous29 and uncalled-for event which the German Emperor has been engaged in since he came to the throne. He is no more nor less than a political enfant terrible.... Can there be anything more perfidious and stupid than the present policy of the Kaiser?” As the scope of the German demarche and the difficulties of M. Delcassé became more pronounced, the King rallied to the French Foreign Minister. On April 23, as he cruised on his yacht in the Mediterranean, he took the unprecedented step of personally telegraphing the French Foreign Minister and urging him not to resign. Before returning to England, the King spent a week in Paris. He saw Delcassé twice. Although the British government insisted that the King’s visit was private, Bülow and Holstein could not help regarding it as a conspiratorial gathering of the two leading proponents of encirclement.
The King’s support of France and her Foreign Minister reflected the view of the British people, press, and government. Lord Lansdowne, who had not anticipated that his colonial agreement with France would lead within a year to a European crisis, was wholly sympathetic to Delcassé. He understood that the German challenge was not simply a defense of legitimate German economic and treaty interests, but an attempt to smash the Entente. With Cabinet support, he refused to back away from Britain’s commitment to France. There was another factor in British policy. By the spring of 1905, many Britons were worried about the growth of the German Navy. The new First Sea Lord, Sir John Arbuthnot Fisher, had proclaimed that Great Britain had only one enemy at sea: the German Empire. Fisher’s reaction to the Morocco crisis was typically impetuous. “This seems a golden opportunity30 for fighting the Germans in alliance with t
he French, so I earnestly hope you may be able to bring this about,” the First Sea Lord wrote to Lansdowne on May 22. “Of course I don’t pretend to be a diplomat, but it strikes me that the German Emperor will greatly injure the splendid and growing Anglo-French Entente if he is allowed to score now in any way—even if it is only getting rid of M. Delcassé.... All I hope is that you will send a telegram to Paris that the English and French fleets are one. We could have the German Fleet, the Kiel Canal, and Schleswig-Holstein within a fortnight.”
Fisher’s belligerence was not government policy. When President Theodore Roosevelt offered to mediate the dispute between Britain and Germany, Lansdowne coldly telegraphed to Washington: “We have not, and never had,31 any intention of attacking Germany; nor do we anticipate that she will be so foolish as to attack us.” But Lansdowne fully agreed with Fisher on one point: Germany must not, as a result of the crisis, be allowed to obtain a naval base, or even a coaling station, on Morocco’s Atlantic coast, from which she could threaten the sealanes to South Africa and around the Cape. On April 25, Lansdowne sent a message to Delcassé that, if the Germans asked for a port, the British government would join France in opposition. Lansdowne never diluted his offer; indeed, on May 25, he suggested that the two countries discuss in confidence all contingencies. Delcassé believed he was on the verge of an Anglo-French military alliance.
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