Bismarck kept negotiations with Spain’s rulers going anyway, assuring them that the obstacles could be overcome, but by mid-May it looked as if Wilhelm’s objections had brought the matter to an end. On 13 May Bismarck, wracked by bouts of illness, lamented, ‘The Spanish business has taken a wretched turn. Unquestionable raison d’état has been subordinated to the private inclinations of the princes … The ill-feeling caused by it has weighed heavily on my nerves for weeks.’11 Within a fortnight, however, his persistence bore fruit. His agents were busy both in Spain and at persuading Karl Anton and Leopold to change their minds and to seize the opportunity that might soon be lost. For years afterwards Bismarck would maintain the fiction that he had had no interest in the candidacy, that there had been no March meeting, and that the matter was purely dynastic rather than the concern of the Prussian government. Yet in the spring of 1870 he worked to convince the reluctant dynasts concerned that Germany’s vital interests required Leopold’s acceptance. Such arguments, mingled with family pride and ambition, won over Karl Anton by the beginning of June. Leopold, obedient to his father, became convinced that national interests required him to sacrifice his personal inclinations.
King Wilhelm, cross to discover that a matter he had thought closed had been pursued behind his back, gave the candidacy his consent on 21 June ‘with a very heavy heart’.12 A coded telegram sent from Berlin that day by the Spanish negotiator, Salazar, announced that he would return to Madrid on 26 June with news, indicating that the Spanish parliament – the Cortes – should be kept in session so that the candidate could be elected. The telegram was wrongly decoded: perhaps deliberately by an opponent of the candidacy in the German embassy at Madrid. As deciphered, it said that Salazar would not return until 9 July: too long to keep the Cortes waiting in the intense heat. Marshal Prim, head of the government, prorogued it and retired to the country. When Salazar returned to Madrid and found neither Prim nor the Cortes waiting for him, he could not resist telling people about the success of his mission. When Prim returned to Madrid on 1 July he was horrified to learn at the railway station that the secret of the Hohenzollern candidature had become common knowledge. He had intended to broach the subject with Napoleon III during July, once the Cortes had voted the election. Now he realized he must act quickly. On 2 July he called in the French ambassador, opening with the words, ‘I have to talk to you about something that I fear will not please the Emperor, and you must help me to keep him from taking it in too bad part.’13 It was thus that the news reached Paris officially next day.
Because the Hohenzollern candidacy led to the Franco-Prussian War and because, despite his denials, Bismarck was a prime mover in promoting the candidacy between February and June 1870, argument over his intentions has been intense. Can the strategic and dynastic reasons he gave in March be taken at face value, as his admirers urge? Or did he aim from the beginning at provoking war, as the French always believed? Although documents captured in Berlin after the Second World War proved that Bismarck’s professions of not being involved in the candidacy were disingenuous – to use no stronger term – there is no conclusive proof of his motive. There is almost no mention in official documents of likely French reaction, though this aspect of the matter concerned Karl Anton, who predicted in February that a Hohenzollern on the Spanish throne ‘would give rise to a wild outcry in anti-Prussian Europe’.14 That Bismarck did not see this at least as clearly as Karl Anton is improbable, even if he could not foresee the exact timing and sequence of a confrontation with France. In his memoirs Bismarck, doubtless tongue in cheek, affected surprise that Napoleon should object to having one of his relatives on the Spanish throne.15 Yet from the outset German strategic interest in Spain was aimed at countering French interests. Bismarck had commented in October 1868 that ‘a solution agreeable to Napoleon would hardly be the useful one for us.’16 In June 1870 Karl Anton raised further concerns with Bismarck’s agent and friend, Major Max von Versen of the General Staff, about his son’s candidacy giving rise to ‘complications’ with France. Versen replied, ‘Bismarck says that is just what he is looking for.’ Karl Anton rejoined, ‘Yes, Count Bismarck may want it, but is it really in the interests of the State?’17
What did ‘complications’ mean? War? Another confrontation with France like the one over Luxembourg, that would reawaken the national movement in South Germany? A resulting revolution in France that might topple Napoleon and bring a regime more disposed to accept German unity? No one can say with certainty. In any event, the flexible Bismarck could exploit the situation to Germany’s advantage and, crucially, he operated in the confidence that Germany was militarily prepared and France relatively weak. As he told the Russian ambassador in March 1868, ‘We believe ourselves equal to a war against France alone.’18 However peaceful Bismarck’s utterances to politicians at home, in February 1869 he had speculated to the Russian ambassador that, in the event of a war involving Russia in Eastern Europe, ‘complications might lead to a war between us and France.’ ‘Nothing would be easier,’ he said, ‘than to compel the French government to mobilize to avoid the consequences and the effect on public opinion in France of measures he had in mind to take in Germany.’ France would thus have to ‘assume the role of aggressor against Germany’. Bismarck stressed to the Russian that this would be the option of last resort, and that he would prefer that the South German question were further advanced.19 In his own record of the conversation, Bismarck wrote that in such a scenario ‘we would try to create a situation which would force France to attack or, at least, threaten Germany. Troop movements, national manifestations in Germany and Italy, our relations with Belgium or even with Spain, would give us the opportunity of a diversion which would bring about our intervention without giving the appearance of an aggressive Cabinet war.’20
This specimen of Bismarck’s thinking in 1869 is not proof of his motives in 1870, but it shows that he had ruminated on how war with France might be provoked without Germany being the aggressor, something he preferred to avoid. That he was tempted to advance German unity by somehow exploiting the Hohenzollern candidature is probable. That he did not foresee a strong French reaction once the candidature was announced strains credulity. He may have calculated that the French would back down once more, but his own analysis of French politics was that the French Right was awaiting its opportunity where Germany was concerned.21 In the conditions of nineteenth century diplomacy, particularly given recent tensions between France and Germany and the state of armaments, any confrontation carried a high risk of war. At the very least, Bismarck accepted that risk when he secretly promoted the Spanish project. It has become customary to stress his skill at keeping his options open, but by June, and perhaps much earlier, the option of conciliation with France had evidently ceased to be useful or attractive to him. He would demonstrate this beyond doubt during the coming crisis.
‘The Devil is Loose at Paris’
The term ‘media frenzy’ had not been coined in 1870, yet those momentous thirteen days between news of the Hohenzollern candidature spreading around Paris on 3 July and the effective French declaration of war on Prussia on 15 July were a disastrous instance of that phenomenon. The crisis that escalated with astonishing speed over those sultry days was primarily a Parisian event, with newspapers fuelling popular hysteria in the capital. Voices of moderation certainly existed but were soon drowned out, or found themselves drawn into the vortex. Initially rational demands for satisfaction built to a pitch where war was imperatively demanded as the only conceivable release from an intolerable situation.
Leading the pack in violence, though not in circulation, was Paul de Cassagnac, editor of Le Pays, son of the authoritarian Bonapartist Deputy Adolphe Granier de Cassagnac and like him a ferocious duellist. He boasted on 21 July, ‘The press has preached a crusade. From the pulpit of our editorials we called the people to arms, and the people came.’22 Prominent also were the war cries of Émile de Girardin, pioneer of the cheap press in France and an influential press baron. Alre
ady by 5 July an overwhelming chorus of voices in the capital insisted that France could not accept Leopold’s nomination, which was seen as a deliberate provocation by Prussia. All the pent-up fears of Prussian aggrandizement since 1866, the failure of the government to reassert France’s position, and the insouciance with which Bismarck was seen to have inflicted successive humiliations on France, now came to a head. Injured vanity at seeing a parvenu power initiating changes in Europe without French permission played its part, but France had cause for grievance. There was widespread shock at the sudden revelation of the Spanish succession intrigue, for by diplomatic convention France might have expected to be consulted by Spain. As the London Times put it in considering the intense excitement in France, nobody liked being tricked. Such proceedings were ‘grossly discourteous to foreign Powers. The whole transaction too has the air of a vulgar and impudent coup d’état of a kind that is sure not to be successful.’23 In the view of Prime Minister Gladstone, the strict secrecy of proceedings was ‘inconsistent with the spirit of friendship or the rules of comity between nations’.24
The outrage felt in France deepened when, in response to the French enquiry as to what the Prussian government knew of the affair, the Foreign Office in Berlin coolly replied that it knew nothing of the matter, which did not exist officially so far as it was concerned. This flat refusal to negotiate only increased the impression that Germany was bent on provocation. On 5 July the Duc de Gramont told the British ambassador, Lord Lyons, that the Hohenzollern candidature was ‘nothing less than an insult to France’ and the government ‘would not endure it’.25 Next morning the Prussian ambassador told a colleague, ‘The Devil is loose at Paris: it looks very much like war.’26
After the war ended so disastrously for France, her leaders in the crisis, Napoleon III, Gramont and Ollivier, all strove to show that they had been helpless in the face of public opinion. Ministers felt that they had a tiger by the tail. Gramont wired ambassador Benedetti on 10 July, ‘You can’t imagine how excited public opinion is. We are overwhelmed by it, and are counting the hours.’27 Later republican myths that street demonstrations were whipped up by the imperial police were merely a convenient way of making a scapegoat of the fallen regime.
Nevertheless, for all the ink spilled in later denials, the imperial regime rushed towards the brink of war, and would have enjoyed the accolades had the conflict ended victoriously. The handsome, haughty and excitable Gramont demonstrated none of the restraint shown by the deceased Moustier during the Luxembourg crisis. Gramont rightly suspected that Bismarck was behind the Spanish scheme and believed he was the man to stand up to him at last. Both he and Napoleon took a number of initiatives to persuade other European governments and monarchs to intercede with Spain, King Wilhelm and the Sigmaringens to withdraw the candidacy, but, rather than give these efforts time to succeed, raised the stakes by publicly threatening war almost immediately. If the Cabinet became the victim of popular passions in the capital, it could largely thank its own reckless efforts to court and outbid them. It was the Minister of the Interior who on 4 July dined with Girardin and invited him to write an article making the case for war with Prussia.
A marked escalation came on 6 July, when the Cabinet met to discuss the statement Gramont would make to the Legislature. The first draft was restrained, but was given a cutting edge by a strong final paragraph drafted by Ollivier, endorsed by Napoleon and unanimously adopted. Ollivier’s respect for German nationality had never been unqualified: ‘One rebuff [from Prussia] means war,’ he had said before the crisis.28 He was as sensitive to national honour as Gramont, and wished his Liberal administration to be seen to be as firm in foreign affairs as in domestic. Proud of his eloquence, he seemed unable to gauge the effect of his words on foreign powers. Gramont read the amended declaration to the Chamber that afternoon. After a dutiful bow to Spanish sovereignty, he continued:
‘But we do not believe that respect for the rights of a neighbouring people obliges us to suffer that a foreign power, by placing one of its princes on the throne of Charles V, may disturb to our disadvantage the present balance of power in Europe … (Loud and enthusiastic applause) … and place in jeopardy the interests and honour of France. (Fresh applause and bravos.)
‘We firmly hope that this eventuality will not be realized.
‘To prevent it, we count both on the wisdom of the German and the friendship of the Spanish peoples.’
[Adolphe de] Cassagnac: ‘And on our resolve!’ …
Gramont: ‘If it should be otherwise, gentlemen, strong in your support and in that of the nation’ …
Laroche-Joubert: ‘You won’t find it lacking!’
Gramont: … ‘We shall know how to fulfil our duty without hesitation or weakness.’ (Long applause. Repeated cheering.)29
Protests from the Left were shouted down and the session was soon adjourned. A troubled deputy reproached Gramont, ‘But this means war! You’ve thrown down the gauntlet to Prussia!’ Gramont replied, ‘It is peace if it’s still possible; it’s war if it’s unavoidable.’30 Yet in the language of the day his words were clearly understood as a threat. A majority of Paris newspapers approved Gramont’s firm line, but both North and South Germans now feared that France was bent on war on any pretext. Imperious and hasty, Gramont was burning his diplomatic bridges and had dangerously reduced the space for compromise. To the Austrian ambassador’s suggestion that he was seizing his opportunity for either a diplomatic success over Prussia or a war against her on grounds unconnected with German national issues, Gramont replied, ‘That expresses it perfectly.’31 Next day he wrote to ambassador Benedetti that unless the candidacy were withdrawn, ‘it’s war’, and spoke of immediate mobilization. Gramont instructed Benedetti to accept no prevarication from the King of Prussia.32
King Wilhelm was at his residence at the spa town of Ems, taking the waters like any wealthy German in summer. Bismarck stayed far away on his estate at Varzin, maintaining that this was a purely dynastic and Spanish matter. This gave the French a promising opportunity to approach Wilhelm directly, and at first it bore fruit. Wilhelm found the furore caused by Leopold’s candidacy disagreeable: ‘I have to thank Bismarck for this; he made light of it, just as he did in many another case,’ he complained.33 Over the following days he had talks with Benedetti, who had the sense to moderate Gramont’s instructions, but Wilhelm held to the line that, as he had not ordered the candidacy, he could not countermand it. Nor, after Gramont’s speech, would he be seen to give in to French threats of war. Privately though, influenced by foreign monarchs and by Queen Augusta, Wilhelm pressed the Sigmaringens to withdraw the candidacy. After it became clear that the Spanish had had a change of heart in the face of such uproar, Karl Anton reluctantly agreed. On behalf of his son Leopold, who was on a walking holiday in the Alps blissfully unaware that his name was about to start a major war, Karl Anton withdrew the candidacy on 12 July. To get the news to Paris as quickly as possible, he wired it to the Spanish ambassador there.
The first reaction of both Napoleon and Ollivier was that this was enough to save the peace. Foreign diplomats shared the judgement of veteran French ministers that this was a major triumph for France. Ollivier started spreading the news in the lobbies, only to discover that the Right was in no mood to take such an optimistic view. Bonapartists saw war with Prussia as a means of simultaneously restoring French prestige and the authoritarian Empire, and of bringing down the despised Ollivier ministry. A Deputy named Clément Duvernois, who had once been close to the Emperor and blamed Ollivier for his fall from favour, tabled a question asking the Cabinet what guarantees it planned to demand ‘to avoid the recurrence of further complications with Prussia’.34
Gramont was adamant that notification from Spain of the withdrawal of Leopold’s candidacy was no substitute for the public statement from the Prussian king that he aimed at. Recent history, including the seizure of the Rumanian throne by Leopold’s brother Charles, showed that indirect disavowals were of little v
alue. Now Gramont wanted a guarantee from Prussia that the candidacy would never be renewed. Majority opinion in the capital backed Gramont in believing that Karl Anton’s gesture on its own was derisory. That afternoon, without consulting the Cabinet, Gramont went to see the Emperor to argue for demanding guarantees. Napoleon backed him and later, having met with his cousin Jerome David and Adolphe de Cassagnac, sent a note to Gramont strengthening the points to be demanded of Wilhelm. Gramont telegraphed instructions that evening to Benedetti, who attempted to carry them out early next morning.
So on 13 July occurred the famous scene in the Kurgarten at Ems. Wilhelm, out for his morning walk with his attendants, was relieved to see that news of the withdrawal was in the newspapers, and sent a copy over to Benedetti with his compliments, believing the incident closed. Benedetti, seeking to carry out his new instructions, intercepted the king as he went to leave the park. The ambassador pressed the demand for a guarantee almost to the point of impertinence, Wilhelm felt. Irritated by this importunity and breach of protocol, the king remained courteous but would give no guarantee. Only later in the day did Wilhelm send Benedetti messages putting off a further audience but confirming his approval of the withdrawal – news that would have been crucial a week earlier, but which was almost lost sight of in what followed.
Wilhelm also told Privy Counsellor Heinrich Abeken to send a report of the day’s events to Bismarck, with authorization to publish it. Abeken wired an account from Ems that was accurate but quite sharply worded, betraying the annoyance of Wilhelm and his entourage at the further French demands.
Bismarck had now arrived in Berlin. He had from the start seen French demands as ‘insolent’, and after Gramont’s declaration of 6 July he contemplated summoning the Reichstag to demand ‘explanations’ from France – a euphemism for an ultimatum from which war might follow. He had wanted to persist with the candidacy, was downcast at its withdrawal, and later confessed that he thought of resigning at the greatest Prussian humiliation since Olmütz. In view of ‘the growing exasperation of public opinion over the presumptuous conduct of France’ – exasperation Bismarck had vigorously stoked with press stories from the start of the crisis – he wired Wilhelm on 13 July on behalf of himself, Moltke and Roon advocating a ‘summons’ to France, and requesting Wilhelm to return to Berlin.35
Sedan 1870- The Eclipse of France Page 10