Kaiser Wilhelm II

by Christopher Clark

  The other diplomatic option pursued during these years focused on the Entente recently agreed between Britain and France. Here again, Wilhelm played a highly exposed role, though he was much less involved in the formulation of policy; indeed, as we shall see, he was unenthusiastic about the part allotted to him by the policy-makers in Berlin. The events of the ‘First Moroccan crisis’ have often been recounted and they need only be sketched in outline here. As part of the comprehensive settlement of outstanding colonial disputes negotiated through the Entente Cordiale in 1904, the British had agreed to recognize Morocco as standing within the French sphere of influence, in return for French recognition of British primacy in Egypt. Determined to capitalize on this arrangement while the British commitment was still fresh, the French government sent a diplomatic mission to Fez with a view to negotiating the consolidation of French control in Morocco in January 1905. The German Foreign Office had long been watching French moves in Morocco with suspicion and was determined not to allow the French government to act unilaterally in a manner that would damage German interests in the area.

  The German viewpoint had a certain legitimacy in international law: an international agreement of 1881 had formally recognized Morocco as an area that could be dealt with only by international treaty. The ultimate objective of German policy, however, was simply to test the strength of the Entente. Reports from London gave reason to suppose that the British would not feel bound to intervene in a dispute over Morocco between France and a third power.65 This in turn would remind the French – in Wilhelm’s quaint formulation – that ‘a navy has no wheels’, and thereby soften their opposition to an understanding of some kind with Germany.66 In this sense, the Moroccan initiative can be seen as a ‘western’ version of the approaches made to Russia during 1904–5.

  Wilhelm had never taken a serious political interest in Morocco.67 He was thus unenthusiastic when Holstein and Bülow hit upon the idea that the Kaiser should use a Mediterranean cruise planned for March 1905 to make a demonstrative official visit to the Moroccan authorities in Tangier, and thereby convey German determination to uphold the sovereignty of the country and defend German commercial interests there. His chief concern may well have been that the risk of war with France was simply too high. On 22 March 1905, shortly before his embarkation for Tangier (via Portugal), Wilhelm gave a widely publicized speech in Bremen which sent unequivocally conciliatory signals to France (and thereby blunted the edge of the official German policy):

  I have sworn to myself on the basis of my experience never to strive for an empty dominance over the world. […] The world empire [Weltreich] which I have dreamed of should be such that above all the newly fashioned German empire may enjoy the most absolute trust as a peaceful, honest neighbour.68

  Even after he had left Lisbon and was steaming towards northern Africa, Wilhelm remained uncertain about whether he would actually go ashore at Tangier. Once again, Bülow’s skilful handling of the emperor helped to resolve the issue. In repeated telegrams to Wilhelm’s ship, the chancellor painted the consequences of an official visit in heroic colours. Nevertheless, it was only when his ship had actually dropped anchor off the port that Wilhelm finally decided to disembark and enter the city.69

  In the short term, the landing appeared to have been a great success. It prompted outrage in Britain and France, but the British showed no interest in intervening and the French government was intent upon achieving a peaceful resolution. The French foreign minister, Théophile Delcassé, was dismissed; his responsibilities were assumed by the new and inexperienced French premier Maurice Rouvier, who proposed bilateral negotiations over the future of Morocco. But Bülow pressed on, turning down Rouvier’s proposal and insisting instead that the dispute be resolved at an international conference, as required under the terms of the treaty of 1881. This request was eventually granted. For the German Foreign Office, it was, as US president Theodore Roosevelt observed, ‘a diplomatic triumph of the first magnitude’.70 It was also, as we have seen, the zenith of Bülow’s career. But the Moroccan triumph was to prove shortlived: at the conference that convened in the Spanish port town of Algeciras in January 1906, the quasi-independence of Morocco was confirmed, but the Germans failed to gain any support for their further proposals (except from the Austrians). On 5 April 1906 Bülow turned white and collapsed in the Reichstag shortly after making a brief speech on the outcome of Algeciras. He was to remain in convalescence until the following October.71

  The efforts of the Bülow government to probe eastern and western options as a means of overcoming German isolation were a resounding failure. The German challenge over Morocco strengthened, rather than weakened, the Entente. It also brought the Entente’s military dimension into sharper focus. One unhappy consequence of German pressure on France in 1905, as Paul Kennedy has shown, was a firming up of the British military commitment to France: British strategists now envisaged the trans-shipment of British troops to France in the event of a German attack. The Anglo-Franco-Belgian General Staff talks of 1905 were a further sign that the front in the west had hardened.72 As for the eastern option, its plausibility was substantially undermined in the summer of 1907, when Britain and Russia signed a convention resolving their disputes over Persia, Afghanistan and Tibet. A crucial precondition for Germany’s freedom of movement in continental affairs was thus withdrawn.

  Isolation (1911)

  In the spring of 1911 Morocco once again became the focus of an international crisis. In April of that year the French occupied Fez, the capital city, on a flimsy pretext and renewed their efforts to transform Morocco into a French protectorate. The new state secretary of foreign affairs, Alfred von Kiderlen-Wächter, was determined not to let this manoeuvre pass and planned an aggressive German counter-demonstration. German gunboats were to be sent to the port town of Agadir in western Morocco, with the avowed aim of protecting German business interests there. The objective was to press France either to respect the settlement of 1906 and permanently renounce its ambitions in Morocco, or, preferably, to concede territory in central Africa to Germany in return for the establishment of a French protectorate in the sultanate. At the same time, it was hoped – in 1911 as in 1905 – that the British would think better of intervening directly in support of the French and would thus compromise the credibility of the Entente. Whether Kiderlen’s policy over Morocco at any time encompassed the possibility of a war with France, and whether he enjoyed Bethmann’s support in taking this risk, has been controversial among historians.73 While it is clear that Kiderlen preferred a territorial to a military solution, there is little doubt that he saw the deterrent effect of the (perceived) risk of war as a precondition for German success. In any case, the policy was a failure: far from backing away, the British government sent clear signals of its readiness to stand by its Entente partner. The crisis was ended with a treaty that confirmed French superiority in Morocco. In return, the Germans had to make do with large but economically worthless tracts of the French Congo.

  Wilhelm was no more closely involved in the decisions that produced this crisis than he had been in 1905. Indeed, he had initially welcomed the French intervention in Fez, because he believed that it would help to stabilize the sultanate. During the weeks following the occupation, Wilhelm, always a keen hobby archaeologist, was involved in excavations on the island of Corfu: the most important event of April 1911, for him, was the unearthing of an ancient stone Gorgon’s head. He showed no interest whatsoever in shaping a governmental response to events in Morocco.74 By presenting their plans in a manner calculated to appeal to the emperor’s disposition, however, Bethmann and Kiderlen succeeded in bringing him around to the view that more pressure ought to be put on France. At the end of June, after negotiations between Kiderlen and the French ambassador in Berlin had failed to yield tangible results, Wilhelm authorized Bethmann to send a German gunboat to Agadir. The Panther, an unimpressive craft that was two years overdue for scrapping, anchored off the southern Moroccan coast on 1 J
uly 1911.

  Was Wilhelm willing at any time to risk war over Morocco? All the evidence suggests that he was not: in May, during a visit to London, he told King George V that Germany had no intention of going to war. The sending of the warship was intended to convey the impression of a ‘calm but forceful [German] presence’ in the sultanate, as he himself later put it.75 The view that the Agadir demonstration was conceived as a political signal, rather than as an act of aggression, seems borne out by the fact that Wilhelm chose not to consult Admiral Tirpitz or the other naval chiefs. When the chief of the naval cabinet voiced objections, Wilhelm informed him that it was ‘better not to ask the army and the navy for their opinion in political questions’.76 When the crisis began to escalate after the arrival of the Panther and threats and warnings were heard from Britain, Wilhelm quickly got cold feet. Only by threatening to resign could Kiderlen secure permission to continue pressing France for concessions. Wilhelm agreed, but warned him that German demands should be moderate enough to avoid the danger of a conflict. Wilhelm fulminated periodically at various interlocutors on the intransigence of the French, but he played virtually no role in the negotiations over a compensation deal that dragged on into the autumn of 1911. He responded to news that agreement had been reached – despite the modesty of the territorial compensation on offer – with undisguised relief.

  The ‘Second Moroccan crisis’ revealed that Wilhelm’s capacity to shape the agenda in foreign policy remained narrowly limited. We have seen that he had to be briefed by his senior advisers before he could perceive the French occupation of Fez in a light that would serve the aims of German policy. As on so many previous occasions, Wilhelm found himself in the hands of a powerful and independent subordinate: Kiderlen had originally been appointed to the state secretaryship for foreign affairs by Bethmann-Hollweg, against the will of the Kaiser.77 He turned out to be an autocratic, strong-willed politician, who rarely deferred to the chancellor and exploited the weak central leadership in the Reich to become something of a ‘Swabian Bismarck’. Perhaps the most striking aspect of Kiderlen’s handling of the crisis in the summer of 1911 was his willingness to mobilize public opinion in support of his programme. The foreign secretary used his contacts in the ultra-nationalist Pan-German Association to agitate for a more assertive Moroccan policy, thereby helping to prompt a concerted chauvinist campaign in the German right-wing press. This tended further to narrow the emperor’s freedom of action, since he was almost as reluctant to disappoint German public opinion as he was to provoke France.

  In the longer term, Kiderlen’s collaboration with the chauvinist press damaged the reputation both of the government and of the monarch. With expectations wound up to such a high pitch, it was difficult to justify the modest territorial compensation the government ultimately settled for. As a result, Wilhelm came in for personal vilification from the nationalist right. On 4 August the Berlin newspaper Die Post declared that the ‘entire essence’ of the government’s Moroccan policy reflected ‘fearfulness, weakness of character [and] cowardice’.

  Is Prussia no longer itself ? Are we become a nation of women? […] What has become of the Hohenzollern, from whom sprang once a Great Elector, a Friedrich Wilhelm I, a Friedrich the Great, a Kaiser Wilhelm I? The Kaiser appears to be the strongest pillar of French and British policy. […] Guillaume le timide, le valeureux poltron!78

  This article did not command unanimous support, indeed it was widely condemned for its irreverence, but similar views were heard within the senior ranks of the military, where there was contemptuous talk of the ‘peace-Kaiser’ who had failed to defend the honour of his fatherland.79 In August 1911 the gifted young officer Erich von Falkenhayn, commander of a Guards regiment and a personal favourite of the Kaiser, observed in a letter to a friend that nothing would change in Germany as long as the Kaiser continued to be ‘determined to avoid the most extreme action’.80 In March of the following year, during the quiet spell that set in after resolution of the Moroccan crisis, he noted that the emperor remained ‘quite determined to maintain peace under any circumstances’, and added regretfully that ‘in his entire milieu there is not one individual who is capable of dissuading him from this decision’.81

  Wilhelm’s impact

  To what extent can Wilhelm be held responsible for Germany’s drift into deepening isolation during this era? In addressing this question we need to distinguish between the influence he could wield over the policy-making processes of the German government, and his influence on the wider international environment within which German policy had to operate. We shall consider each in turn.

  The primary difficulty in assessing Wilhelm’s influence on German policy lies in the fact that his intentions seem to have been far from consistent. Had Wilhelm pursued a clear and consistent policy vision throughout his reign, we could simply measure intentions against outcomes. But Wilhelm’s intentions were always equivocal. He was periodically drawn to the idea of a continental league excluding Britain, but also anxious to avoid making commitments that might entangle Germany in a conflict with Britain. Hence his insistence – against Foreign Office advice – on adding the phrase ‘in Europe’ to the text of the draft treaty of Björkö. He was willing to follow Bülow’s lead over the Moroccan issue, and even came to enjoy his part, but he was also concerned to minimize the likelihood of an escalation into war, even if this meant pulling the rug out from under the brinkmanship policy of the Foreign Office. This was the true meaning of the speech he gave in Bremen before embarking on the journey that was to take him to Tangier. It was not lost on the more hawkish elements of the German military, who recognized the Bremen ‘Peace Address’ as an attempt to subvert the Foreign Office’s efforts to use the Morocco issue as a means of blackmailing France.82 Unlike many of his subordinates in the Foreign Office, Wilhelm was reluctant (or unable) to acknowledge that the pursuit of one option might imply the renunciation of another. His chronic underestimation of the constraints upon Germany’s freedom of manoeuvre lent his interventions in foreign policy an air of naivety and unreality. His conversations and marginal comments, as Eulenburg observed in 1897, at a time when Wilhelm was showing a renewed interest in a rapprochement with France, were ‘speculative melodies’ (Zukunftsmusik). They concerned themselves with a ‘remote future’ that ‘might never actually eventuate’. ‘And what harm, in the final analysis, has the restlessness of His Majesty actually done?’83

  6. Wilhelm was painfully aware that Edward VII held him in low regard; he was also deeply envious of Edward’s ability to play a positive part in British foreign policy – notably in preparing the ground for the Anglo-French Entente. In later years he came to view the now-deceased British king as Germany’s nemesis and the author of all his misfortunes.

  Wilhelm’s influence on policy thus had less to do with his capacity to shape the decisions taken by the Foreign Office than with his willingness to send out diplomatic signals of his own. Sometimes these signals supported or amplified the messages coming from the Wilhelmstrasse, sometimes they offered dissenting glosses on official policy and sometimes they contradicted it outright. In this sense, Wilhelm was a kind of unsackable rogue ambassador whose unpredictable interventions called for constant vigilance and frequent damage limitation exercises on the part of the responsible authorities. But as we have seen, the initiative in conceiving policy and planning its implementation remained with the Foreign Office.

  This brings us to the question of Wilhelm’s broader impact on the international scene. Historians have often commented on Wilhelm’s insensitive handling of foreign political figures, and especially of foreign dynasts. John Röhl has highlighted Wilhelm’s crude behaviour in this context, citing the cases of King Ferdinand of Bulgaria, who left Berlin ‘white-hot with hatred’ in 1910, after Wilhelm had slapped him on the bottom in public, and of Grand Duke Vladimir of Russia, whom Wilhelm is said to have struck across the back with a field-marshal’s baton in 1904.84 Needless to say, these anecdotes come to us via the
gossip that circulated at court and tell us little about the broader significance of the reported incidents. More important is the claim that Wilhelm’s relationships with his fellow dynasts and with the statesmen of foreign powers contributed to the climate of distrust that ultimately united the European peripheral powers against the German empire. Roderick McLean, for example, has argued that the breakdown in relations between Wilhelm and his uncle, King Edward VII of Great Britain, from 1905 onwards ‘removed one of the few mechanisms which bound Britain and Germany together’ and transformed the dynastic connection into a ‘political liability’.85 Lamar Cecil has suggested that Wilhelm’s ‘unpopularity in almost every capital significantly increased Germany’s diplomatic liability’ and thus contributed to the failure of the German initiative at the conference of Algeciras.86 It is certainly true that a compilation of the derogatory remarks uttered about Wilhelm by statesmen and journalists – to the effect that he was duplicitous, bellicose, unreliable, an intriguer, a warmonger, insane and so on – would fill a substantial volume. The political and diplomatic historiography of this era draws on a vast range of memoirs, correspondence, diaries and private papers, sources in which personal asides and character judgements loom large.