The Kaiser, however, refused to be disheartened. Russia fought on despite her adversities, and William hoped that the situation might enable Berlin to detach her from France and draw her into the German net. This was the time to strike. Nicholas Ü should be made to see what an unworthy and feeble ally he had in France. If William could persuade him to sign a treaty with Germany, France would be bound to tag after him, as she would not dare to be left alone on the mainland, and the Dual Alliance would have to play the role of junior partner to the Triple Alliance. At last William would have the continental combine with which he had toyed so long, and the only isolated country would be the haughty Britain.
With this aim, the Kaiser offered to coal Russia’s Baltic fleet. Since Germany officially was neutral, Britain protested sharply, mindful of her treaty obligations to Japan. This gave William an opportunity. On October 27th he wired Nicholas: “It is not impossible that the Japanese and British Governments may launch protests against our coaling your ships, coupled with a summons to stop further work. The result would be the absolute immobility of your Fleet and the inability to proceed for want of fuel. This new danger would have to be faced in common by Russia and Germany together, who would both have to remind your ally France of the obligation she took over in the treaty of the Dual Alliance… In this way a powerful combination of the three strongest Continental Powers would be formed, which the Anglo-Saxon group would think twice before attacking.”[221]
A week before this letter was dispatched a curious incident inadvertently played into the Kaiser’s hands. The Russian Baltic fleet, on their way through the North Sea, mistook a few British trawlers fishing on Dogger Bank for Japanese torpedo boats and fired on them. One of the boats was sunk, two men were killed and others wounded. Even when the Russians saw their mistake they did not stop to rescue the wounded. The news caused consternation in London and although the Czar promptly wired the King his regrets, saying that he had received warnings that the Japanese “were lurking in fishing smacks for the purpose of destroying our squadron on the way out,” the King was incensed by Admiral Rozhdestvensky’s callous behaviour. Lord Lansdowne told the Russian Ambassador that England would demand a full apology, reparations, and the punishment of Rozhdestvensky if an inquiry proved negligence.
The Czar, greatly excited, replied to William’s letter: “I have no words to express my indignation with England’s conduct over the Dogger Bank incident… I agree fully with your complaints about England’s behaviour concerning the coaling of our ships by German steamers… it is certainly high time to put a stop to this. The only way, as you say, would be that Germany, Russia, and France should at once unite… Would you like to lay down and frame the outlines of such a Treaty? As soon as it is accepted by us France is bound to join her ally.”[222]
The very day of the Czar’s reply the Kaiser and Bülow drew up a draft treaty and sent it to Russia. The most important article stated: “In the event of the two Empires being attacked by a European Power its Ally will help it with all its land and sea forces. The two Allies, in case of need, will also act in concert in order to remind France of the obligations she has assumed by the terms of the Franco-Russian Treaty of Alliance.”
As soon as the draft was dispatched William began to waver. Perhaps the language was a little brusque; he wired alterations explaining that although the agreement was aimed against Britain it would not do to provoke her by speaking too bluntly. Meanwhile the Czar also had second thoughts, for the British Foreign Office, under pressure from King Edward, had suddenly modified its tone. The King, bearing in mind the future possibility of an entente with Russia, had suggested to Lord Lansdowne that he allow things to quiet down, for “perhaps we may be on a better footing with Russia later.”
So the Czar now wrote William that although he was confident that France would follow his lead, he could not sign the treaty without first submitting it to Paris. The Kaiser knew this would prove fatal, as the treaty was, in fact, incompatible with the spirit of the Franco-Russian Alliance. He refused flatly to give his consent. “My opinion about the agreement is still the same: it is impossible to take France into our confidence before we have come to a definite arrangement. Loubet and Delcasse are no doubt experienced statesmen. But they not being Princes or Emperors I am unable to place them — in a question of confidence like this one — on the same footing as you my equal, my cousin and friend.”[223] The Czar could not decide what to do, so he did nothing. For the next six months the matter lay in abeyance.
By this time, the end of 1904, Count Bülow and Baron Holstein were taking a serious view of the Anglo-French entente. Reports from the German Embassy in London persisted in suggesting that the British regarded the understanding with France as a stepping stone to a Russian agreement. Since Germany had failed to detach France by means of a special treaty with Russia Holstein decided that Germany must try and smash up the Anglo-French honeymoon by rougher methods; and Morocco appeared to offer the best opportunity. If Germany could block French expansion in Morocco, France might see that British support was worth very little, and turn towards Berlin.
Holstein worked out his Moroccan campaign on the argument that the Madrid Treaty of 1880, signed by all the major powers, guaranteed equal trading rights to all nations; France, on the other hand, always introduced a system of economic protection in her colonies so there was every reason to suppose she would try and do the same in Morocco; Germany had signed a commercial treaty with the Sultan in 1890 which gave her a special position; and although she did not do as large a business with Morocco as Great Britain, her trade was greater than France’s which certainly gave her the right to be consulted before deals were made behind her back.
William II proved an embarrassment, for he did not fall in with Holstein’s plan as the Wilhelmstrasse had hoped. In the first place he still believed that the more deeply France became committed in Morocco the less trouble she would prove in Europe. “In His Majesty’s opinion,” wrote Bülow, “all this would turn the eyes of Frenchmen away from the Vosges, and they might in time forget and forgive Alsace-Lorraine. Moreover, the conquest would weaken them militarily…”[224] The Kaiser also believed that a French occupation would benefit German trade, for conditions in the interior were still so lawless that it was difficult to do business. Even Bülow, in 1902, had told the French Ambassador in Berlin, M. Bilhourd, that “Germany had practically speaking no interest in Morocco, so slight and insignificant is it up to the present time.”[225]
But prodded by Holstein, the Chancellor now changed his mind, and decided to transform Morocco into a major issue in an effort to drive a wedge between Paris and London. Despite the Kaiser’s desire to improve relations with France, despite M. Delcasse’s assurance that the free trade principle of the Madrid Treaty would be upheld, the Chancellor began to concoct a devious plan. In February an episode occurred which played into his hands. A French emissary arrived in Fez from Paris and pressed the Sultan to place his customs in French hands and to allow French officers to organise his troops. Instead of stating Germany’s objections openly, Bülow asked the Kaiser, who was about to depart on a southern cruise, if His Majesty would pay a visit to Tangier.
William II was horrified. A visit by the German Emperor to the Sultan of Morocco would cause a sensation; not only would it show the world that Germany intended to thwart France and to challenge England, but it would be regarded by all foreign conservative elements as an act of treachery. That a ruler who aspired to a colonial empire should throw his weight on the side of Arabs against his European neighbours would be condemned in England as “outrageously caddish.” Finally, besides hotly disapproving of this policy William II shrank from repeating the Kruger telegram episode and allowing himself to become a personal target of abuse. He flatly refused to consider it. Bülow pleaded eloquently but he remained adamant. Then the Chancellor dazzled him with a vision of the diplomatic triumph that might ensue, and William said he would “think about it.” But on his way to Lisbon he ha
rdened once more against it. “I had several talks with Freiherr von Schoen, who accompanied me as representative of the Foreign Office,” he wrote in his memoirs, “as to the advisability of the visit. We agreed that it would be better to drop it.” So after paying his respects to the King of Portugal at Lisbon, William II wired that Tangier was said to be full of anarchists and he could not possibly call there. Bülow replied emphatically, wrote the Kaiser, “that I must take into consideration the view of the German people and of the Reichstag, which had become interested in the project, and that it was necessary that I should call at Tangier. I gave in, with a heavy heart…”
The Emperor’s ship dropped anchor off the Moroccan coast in a heavy sea with a stiff east wind blowing, and he hoped that his suite would consider it too rough for him to land; but his equerry did a trial journey and reported, with irritating assurance, that it was not difficult at all. The episode was just as nasty as William had imagined with the street lined with “Italian and South-French anarchists, swindlers and adventurers.” The Sultan’s black uncle was waiting to receive him with a white Arab stallion, so high-spirited that it was difficult for the Kaiser to manage the beast with only one arm. The ride was a nightmare, for the horse reacted to the seething mass of people “who displayed their enthusiasm by rending the air with deafening shouts, and shooting wildly in every direction,” wrote Baron Schoen, a member of the Kaiser’s suite. “A military band sent by the Sultan, which vainly tried to drown the uproar made by the people, added to the confusion. The horse became so restive that I asked a French officer who seemed to be in command whether he could not put a stop to the firing. He replied gloomily that he had some influence over the handful of regular troops which had been entrusted to him, but none whatever over the half savage Kabyles.”[226] The Kaiser did not remain long. He advised the Sultan’s uncle “not to give way blindly to French pressure;” told the French representative that he had come to preserve the independence of Morocco and the principle of the “open door” policy for all nations; called at the German Legation and emphasised that Germany’s commercial interests would be safeguarded; then, with considerable relief, departed.
He had not under-rated the sensation the visit would create. At first, however, the European powers were not only shocked but bewildered. What was Germany after? Until now she had raised no protest over Morocco. King Edward regarded it as “a mischievous prank” and President Loubet as “a downright insult.” The pattern did not become clear until the Sultan turned down France’s administrative proposals and backed Germany, who now demanded a conference of all the powers who had signed the Madrid Pact of 1880.
M. Delcasse angrily rejected the proposal and Germany countered by hinting that she was prepared to use force if France persisted in her uncompromising attitude. So here was the show-down; the Sultan backed by Germany, and France backed by Britain. But was France backed by Britain? What help could Britain give, if Germany’s twenty-two army corps marched into Paris? And Russia was even less to be counted upon. Her troops had suffered an ignominious defeat at Mukden and only the week before, on May 27th, Japan had virtually annihilated the Russian Baltic fleet — the last of the Czar’s navy — in the greatest naval battle since Trafalgar. Peace terms were now being negotiated.
France went into a panic, split between defiance and appeasement, with a majority on the side of peace at any price. President Loubet and M. Delcasse led the “stand firm” group while the Prime Minister, M. Rouvier, representing the mass of the people, begged the Cabinet to come to terms with Germany, pointing out that the British Navy did not “run on wheels” and there was nothing to stop the German Army from reaching Paris.
The British Government no longer regarded Germany’s game as obscure. Morocco had little to do with the quarrel; Berlin was trying to bring about M. Delcasse’s fall, and to secure a new Foreign Minister who would put an end to the Anglo-French entente. “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,” wrote Bülow in his memoirs. “I felt that I could prevent matters coming to a head, cause Delcasse’s fall, break the continuity of aggressive French policy, knock the continental dagger out of the hands of Edward VII and the war group in England; and simultaneously, ensure peace, preserve German honour, and improve German prestige.”[227]
So German threats grew more menacing, and special emissaries from Berlin made it clear that neither M. Delcasse nor his policy could be tolerated any longer. On June 6th Prime Minister Rouvier informed President Loubet that the Cabinet would have to choose between himself or Delcasse. President Loubet’s chief secretary recorded part of the conversation in his diary. “This morning M. Rouvier came to the President’s study gravely upset,” he wrote. “He had received the most startling news of the state of mind of William II. War is hanging over our heads; the Emperor can invade France within twenty-four hours; the worst eventualities are to be feared; if war breaks out, it will mean within a couple of days the outbreak of revolution in Paris and the great cities.”
A cabinet meeting was held that same day, and the majority voted against Delcasse’s policy. Delcasse resigned; France announced her acceptance of the conference proposed by Germany,[228] and Arthur Balfour pointed out grimly to Edward VII that the French Foreign Secretary’s “dismissal or resignation under pressure from the German Government displayed a weakness on the part of France which indicated that she could not at present be counted on as an effective force in international politics…”[229]
King Edward was so annoyed that when he went abroad in the summer he took pains to avoid meeting his nephew. A German comic paper showed the King leaning over a map of Europe planning a journey. “How can I reach Marienbad without running into my dear nephew?” he mused. “Flushing, Antwerp, Calais, Rouen, Madrid, Lisbon, Nice, Monaco? No… Very dangerous… Ah well, I’ll just go by way of Berlin; there I’m sure not to find him. All right!”
The Kaiser was in a state of high excitement. He was so thrilled by Germany’s triumph that he poured out his gratitude to the Wilhelmstrasse, and rewarded Bülow with the title of prince. The victory over France and England had fired him with confidence and his imagination was teeming with new ideas. He secretly resolved that while he was on his annual summer cruise in the North Sea in July he would seek a rendezvous with the Czar and push through the treaty that had nearly been signed the year before. Bülow suspected his intentions and was nettled to learn that his sovereign did not wish him to accompany him, despite his recent masterstroke. Instead, the Kaiser took with him the subservient Count Tschirschky, who was soon to become Foreign Secretary. The truth was that William II believed he could do more with the Czar alone than with prominent officials around — particularly a prima donna like Bülow who only seemed to make Nicholas ill at ease.
The Kaiser believed that he was approaching Nicholas at a psychological moment. Not only had Russia lost its entire fleet in the disastrous Japanese war, but the country was disturbed by revolutionary acts. Some months earlier the peasants had declared a general strike and in January thousands had gathered outside the Winter Palace to present a petition to the Czar; the guards had fired upon them and although the massacre had cowed the nation groups of anarchists were still committing outrages. Nicholas was not likely to reject a strong, friendly hand at such a difficult moment. Apart from all this, he surely must be grateful for William’s unwavering loyalty throughout his ill-starred war. When Admiral Togo had achieved his spectacular victory in May, William had written consolingly that even Frederick the Great and Napoleon had suffered defeats.
So he set out on his North Sea cruise with high hopes. He was aware that Germany was moving towards a new crisis, for only seven months earlier, in December 1904, Count Schulenburg, the German Military Attache in London, had written that Britain’s “further policy is a union with Russia which would leave Germany isolated… It is altogether improbable that friendly re
lations will again be established between England and Germany. The only remedy against conflict with England lies in a union with Russia.”[230] England and Germany were competing for Russia just as they were competing for France, and the fate of both nations depended on the outcome. That was how William saw it; and when he allowed his mind to contemplate the prospect of success he grew deeply emotional. If Russia could be persuaded to sign the treaty, France would be forced into the combine, then perhaps other continental nations would join, and in the end even America might enter. Not Germany, but haughty Britain, would be isolated; and William II would be leader of the strongest combine in the history of the world.
The Kaiser played his hand carefully. He wired the Czar casually, suggesting a friendly meeting somewhere in the Baltic; and Nicholas wired back, just as casually, naming the Bay of Bjorko off the coast of Finland. William then telegraphed Bülow and asked for a copy of the draft treaty which had been shelved for the past six months. He sat up that night copying the contents in his own hand. Next day, on July 23rd, the Hohenzollern slid into Bjorko and dropped anchor near the Czar’s Polar Star.
It was very remote: “no human dwelling as far as the eye could reach, grey sky, grey water and an infinite loneliness.” Among the members of the Kaiser’s suite was General von Moltke who was amazed at how quickly the shy and reserved Nicholas succumbed to the Kaiser’s rather boisterous charm. “The longer we sat at the table,” he wrote, “the more he unbent; finally he was all pleasure, laughed and talked vivaciously; it was plain to see that he was happy in surroundings where he was safe. He and all his suite were of the most studied amiability; they were all suddenly able to speak German, we scarcely could recognise them.”[231]
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