Meanwhile, German pressure on France was mounting. The Cipher Department of the Quai d’Orsay routinely intercepted and deciphered communications between the Wilhelmstrasse and the German Embassy in Paris. As the crisis intensified, the decoded messages on the desks of French foreign ministers were increasingly belligerent. In Berlin, Bülow called in the French ambassador and informed his guest “in a friendly manner”32 that “if he was convinced that England would come to France’s aid, I did not wish to question this surmise.... I also acknowledged that England could deal our industry a heavy blow and could also destroy the fleet that was in the course of construction. But, as things stood in the war which I desired to avoid as much as... [the French Ambassador] himself, France would be the unfortunate who would suffer most. It is you who will pay les pots cassés, not because of our méchanceté but by the force of circumstances.” Under this pressure, Rouvier crumbled.
At dinner with Prince Radolin on April 26, the French Premier pleaded that France would do her best to be a good neighbor and that war over Morocco would be a crime. Delcassé had exceeded his authority, the Premier claimed. On May 7, Radolin passed along to Rouvier a declaration from the Wilhelmstrasse: good relations were possible only with a French foreign minister whom the German government could trust.
Convinced that the Germans were bluffing—as he had been convinced that the English were not bluffing at Fashoda—Delcassé struggled to stay in office. Paul Cambon was brought from London to tell President Loubet and Premier Rouvier that Great Britain might consider extending the Entente into an actual alliance. Rouvier listened and then demanded that all such negotiations be stopped immediately. “If the Germans find out33 about them, they will declare war,” he said. On June 3, the Sultan, pushed by the Germans, formally rejected France’s proposal for internal reform. Instead, as suggested by Bülow, he invited eleven European powers and the United States to attend a conference on his country’s future. France immediately refused; Great Britain, Italy, and Spain declared that their acceptance would be conditional on that of France. By the first of June, German patience was at an end. Prince Radolin passed a further message from Berlin to M. Rouvier: “The Chancellor of the German Empire34 does not wish to have any further dealings with Monsieur Delcassé.” On June 5, Delcassé was summoned to the Elysée Palace to meet the President and the Premier. Delcassé suggested sending French cruisers to Tangier to enforce France’s demands to the Sultan. “That would mean war35 with Germany,” said Rouvier. “Do not believe it, it is all bluff,” Delcassé responded. “Tomorrow, I will ask the Cabinet to choose between his policy and mine,” Rouvier told the President. “Tomorrow one of us will resign.”
At ten A.M. on June 6, the French Cabinet met, but not until eleven did the President enter the room, followed by the Premier and the Foreign Minister, both pale. Delcassé stressed the possibilities of an English alliance and declared that, if war came, a British army of a hundred thousand men could be landed in Schleswig-Holstein to divert the Germans from France’s eastern frontier. Rouvier noted that “the British Navy36 does not run on wheels” and that he doubted that British battleships “would be much help in keeping the German Army from reaching Paris.” His voice filled with emotion: “Are we in a condition37 to sustain a war with Germany? No! No! Even with the aid of the British Fleet we should be in for a worse catastrophe than in 1870. We should be criminals to indulge in such an adventure. France would not recover.” Delcassé hoped that Loubet would speak on his behalf, but the President remained silent. Rouvier called for a vote and every minister voted against Delcassé. The Foreign Minister immediately resigned and returned in tears to the Quai d’Orsay. Sixty-six days had passed since the Kaiser had landed at Tangier.
That night in Berlin, Bülow was sitting on a terrace outside his study, cooling himself from the heat which had settled on the city. The telephone rang at midnight. It was the Kaiser “telling me that he had just38 received news of Delcassé’s fall.” The following morning—the wedding day of the Emperor’s eldest son, Crown Prince William, to Grand Duchess Cecile of Mecklenburg—the Kaiser arrived at Bülow’s office. “You can’t escape me39 this time,” William chuckled. On the spot, he promoted his Chancellor to the rank of Prince of the German Empire.
Delcassé’s resignation was a German diplomatic victory, but Bülow and Holstein wanted more. There were still the fruits of Delcassé’s work to be destroyed: Morocco must be internationalized and the Entente must be demolished. Rouvier, ironically, was the first to realize what lay ahead. Having assumed the role of Foreign Minister in addition to that of Premier, he received the German Ambassador four days after the climactic meeting of the French Cabinet. All smiles, Rouvier said that he assumed that with Delcassé removed, Berlin would drop its demand for an international conference on Morocco. Prince Radolin gave him a nasty shock. Germany “absolutely insisted”40 on the conference, the Prince announced. Further, Radolin continued, “it is my duty to declare to you that if France were to attempt to change in any way whatever the status of Morocco, Germany would stand behind the Sultan with all its forces.” Rouvier was stunned and outraged, but given the state of the French Army, he could not protest. France would attend the conference.
The British government was dismayed by Delcassé’s resignation. Lansdowne had believed that the Entente was a colonial agreement which contained nothing harmful to other powers, including Germany. When the German offensive was launched, he was surprised; when the Foreign Minister with whom he had negotiated the agreement was forced to leave the French government, he was appalled. “The fall of Delcassé41 is disgusting and has sent the Entente down any number of points in the market,” the Foreign Secretary said. On June 8, two days after the event, Balfour drew gloomy conclusions in a letter to the King: “Delcassé’s dismissal42 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. She could no longer be trusted not to yield to threats at the critical moment of a negotiation. If, therefore, Germany is really desirous of obtaining a port on the coast of Morocco, and if such a proceeding be a menace to our interests, it must be to other means than French assurance that we must look for our protection.” “Other means” meant, of course, the Royal Navy and, during the summer, measures were taken to display the navy’s strength and demonstrate Britain’s support of its Entente partner. In July, the British Atlantic Fleet was warmly welcomed when it visited Brest. The visit was returned in August when the French Northern Squadron called at Portsmouth. King Edward did everything possible to make the visit a success. He inspected the French flagship, reviewed the French squadron, invited the French admiral and his captains to dine aboard Victoria and Albert, gave a dinner at Windsor Castle, and saw to it that the French officers were given luncheons, first at the Guildhall and then by the Houses of Parliament.
On September 28, France and Germany agreed to the agenda of a conference which would open in mid-January 1906 in the Spanish town of Algeciras, across the bay from Gibraltar. The Germans could not hide their satisfaction. The Kaiser, unveiling a statue of Helmuth von Moltke, proclaimed, “You have seen43 in what position we found ourselves a few months ago before the world. Therefore, hurrah for dry powder and well-sharpened swords!” Bülow spoke of the superiority of the Teutonic character over the Gallic: “Peaceful, good-humored,44 rather naive, with little political insight in spite of otherwise great and splendid qualities, the German judges the Frenchman too much according to his own lights and underestimates the French ambition, the boundless French vanity, the French hardness and cruelty.”
As January approached, Bülow instructed Radolin to make sure that France understood that Germany expected French concessions at the conference. Bülow called in the French Ambassador in Berlin and advised France “not to linger45 on a road bordered by precipices and even abysses.” These constant threats hardened Rouvier. “I have had enough of Germa
n intrigues and recriminations,” he said. “If the Berlin people46 imagine they can intimidate me, they are mistaken. I will yield nothing more, come what may.”
The Algeciras Conference, the most important European diplomatic gathering since the Congress of Berlin twenty-eight years before, formally opened at Algeciras Town Hall on January 16, 1906. New red carpets had been laid in the corridors and on the stairways, and the long table at which the Municipal Council usually met was covered with fresh green baize. The diplomats representing the thirteen powers attending were senior ambassadors; at the suggestion of the German delegation, the Duke of Almodóvar, representing the host nation of Spain, was elected chairman. The Wilhelmstrasse had sent two senior diplomats, Herr von Radowitz, the German Ambassador in Madrid, and Count von Tattenbach, the former Minister to Morocco. Radowitz, appointed by Bülow, a man who—the Chancellor himself declared—“had a great future behind him,”47 was assigned to make certain that Germany remained at the head of the majority, and was not maneuvered by the French and British into a position of isolation. Tattenbach, appointed by Holstein, had a reputation as “the most violent48 of German diplomatists,” “a sergeant-major in face and voice, cracking rude jokes, waves of German national anger flushing the scalp under his upright, stubble hair.” His mission was to concentrate on the future of Morocco and to strip away France’s claim to exclusivity in the kingdom. M. Révoil, the French delegate, a small man with a waxed mustache, smiled at everyone except the Germans, whom he was determined to foil. The British delegate, Sir Arthur Nicolson, bent with arthritis, seemed even smaller than M. Révoil, until he began to speak. Then this shy, frail man, who had spent seven years as Minister to Morocco and was now British Ambassador to Spain, spoke with impressive authority.
Nicolson’s instructions were furnished by the new Liberal Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey, who had replaced Lord Lansdowne in December when Balfour’s Unionist government resigned. Lansdowne’s policy had been reconfirmed by the Liberal Cabinet: Nicolson was to support France as agreed in Article IX of the Anglo-French Convention. The Liberals, like the Unionists, meant to interpret this article generously. “Tell us what you wish,49 on each point, and we will support you without restriction or reserve,” King Edward VII had said to Paul Cambon in London. Grey also told the German Ambassador, Count Metternich, that England would honor its commitment to France.
When the conference opened, Count Tattenbach went on the offensive. He declared that France could be permitted some authority to restore order in those parts of Morocco near the Algerian frontier, but that France’s wish for a mandate to establish order throughout the country was inadmissible. He described German policy as an attempt “to secure full guarantees for the open door,”50 and tried to persuade Nicolson that Britain should be supportive. If Britain arranged for France and M. Révoil to make concessions, Tattenbach continued, the threat to peace would quickly disappear and the conference promptly and successfully end. Nicolson replied that his country had special treaty obligations to France and that “it was not for me51 to urge concessions on my French colleague.” After this meeting, Nicolson wrote to his wife, “I felt really insulted52 and really furious... so that I could eat nothing afterwards.... He [Tattenbach] is a horrid fellow, blustering, rude, and mendacious. The worst type of German I have ever met.”
The central dispute was control of the Moroccan police: “He who has the police53 has Morocco,” Metternich told Grey. Germany insisted that the police force be internationalized. M. Révoil replied that France would prefer a continuation of the status quo to an internationalized force. The status quo, of course, meant continued kidnappings and chaos. The Germans would not yield; neither would the French. Premier Rouvier had sacrificed Delcassé and agreed to attending the conference; he was in no mood to concede anything else. “We are close to a rupture,”54 Nicolson wrote to his wife. “The Germans have behaved in a most disgraceful way. Their mendacity has been beyond words. I would not have thought Radowitz capable of such unblushing lying and double dealing.” Nicolson was not always comfortable with his French colleague, whom he found “changeable—sometimes55 firm and positive, at other times, weak and vacillating.”
During the conference, Gibraltar was visible from Algeciras, the gray granite mass looming above the mimosas and orange trees. On March 1, the combined British Atlantic and Mediterranean fleets appeared in the harbor: twenty battleships, dozens of cruisers and destroyers, an immense display of naval power. At Nicolson’s suggestion, Admiral Lord Charles Beresford, the British Commander-in-Chief, invited all of the delegates to dinner on board his flagship, King Edward VII. To avoid difficulties of protocol, no national anthems were performed and the single toast of the evening was to “All Sovereignties and Republics.” The massed bands of the fleet played and, as the diplomats were being ferried back to Algeciras, one hundred and forty fleet searchlights beamed into the night sky. Thereafter, when the delegates looked towards Gibraltar and saw the ships lying beneath the towering rock, Count Tattenbach’s bad temper seemed less threatening.
German diplomacy fared poorly at the conference. On March 3, Nicolson outmaneuvered Radowitz on a procedural vote and the Germans were defeated 10–3. Holstein, furious, wanted to threaten war against France, but Bülow drew back. Worried that, because the conference was going badly, Holstein in frustration might push Germany and France over a precipice, the German Chancellor forbade Holstein from having anything further to do with Morocco and the Algeciras Conference. A few days later, the Germans had one more chance. On March 7, Rouvier was defeated on a domestic issue in the Chambre des Députés and the French government resigned. “Tattenbach is again56 talking of war,” Nicolson wrote, but this talk faded quickly. Nicolson had become exasperated by Révoil: “This is the third time57 that I have raised his banner and on each occasion he has hid behind a bush and only come out when the fighting was over. He is so dreadfully weak and irresolute that he puts me in a false position and gives ground for the charge that the Germans are always bringing against me that I am more French than the French.” By the beginning of April, Bülow wanted only to end the Conference as quickly as possible. It was agreed that France should have special responsibilities for preserving order along the Moroccan-Algerian frontier, and should share with Spain the supervision of the police with a Swiss inspector general in command. The document was signed on April 7 and the Conference ended.
At first, because outright French predominance in Morocco had been postponed, some considered the conference a German victory. President Roosevelt congratulated the German Ambassador in Washington on the Kaiser’s “epoch-making success,”58 and said that “His Majesty’s policy59 has been masterly from beginning to end.” The Ambassador, Hermann Speck von Sternburg, passed the President’s compliment along to Berlin, although he added cautiously that the view from the White House “did not appear to agree60 with the facts.” In time, it became obvious that the Algeciras Conference was a significant defeat for German diplomacy. While France had not won the clear predominance she had sought in Morocco, she had gained something more precious, something of which M. Delcassé had dreamed: the active diplomatic support of Great Britain.
At Algeciras, Germany achieved the opposite of what she intended. She meant to break the Entente before it took on meaning and strength. Instead, German bullying succeeded in driving France and England closer together. Metternich saw clearly what was happening and, in the middle of the conference, reported from London: “The Moroccan Question61 is regarded by everyone here as a trial of strength with the Anglo-French Entente and our Moroccan policy as an attempt to smash it. Hence the determined opposition.” When the Conference was over, Metternich forwarded unwelcome news to Berlin: “The Entente Cordiale has stood62 its diplomatic baptism of fire and emerged strengthened.” Bülow and Holstein were responsible for this defeat. Had they been content with the fall of Delcassé and willing to negotiate their grievances in Morocco with Rouvier, the Algeciras Conference would not have bee
n summoned and Article IX of the Convention never called into play. In the end, Delcassé had the final triumph: as a result of his policy, France acquired a second ally.
This was as clear in Germany as it was in the rest of Europe. Pan-Germans in the press and the Reichstag raised a storm over the meager results of Algeciras. Stung by this criticism, Bülow defended his policy in the Reichstag on April 5. “The treaty may not have given63 us all we wished,” he declared, “[but] it did represent the essentials of what we had striven to attain. It reaffirmed the sover-eighty of the Sultan.... France did not obtain the Protectorate at which she had aimed.... We had stood unshakeably by the great principle of the Open Door.... The attempt to exclude us from a great international decision had been successfully thwarted.” A number of other speakers followed Bülow to the rostrum and, during a violent attack on the Chancellor by the Socialist leader August Bebel, Bülow fainted. He was carried to his office, where he awoke to find his feet being rubbed and his fellow ministers discussing the question of his successor. The Kaiser hurried to the Reichstag, but was forbidden by Bülow’s doctor to see the Chancellor. Eventually, when it was determined that the cause was exhaustion and not a stroke, Bülow was sent home for three weeks to read French novels. “I got through a whole series64 of them,” he noted cheerfully. “Some of these seemed very well-written.”
The Chancellor’s collapse, later attributed to overwork, and sojourn at home proved the occasion for the political demise of First Counselor Friedrich von Holstein. Someone had to be blamed for the failure of the Bülow-Holstein Moroccan policy, and Bernhard von Bülow, having been made a Prince when success seemed to glitter, needed another to accept censure. Holstein was brought down by tactics he might have admired. The First Counselor throughout his career had gotten his way by threatening to resign. In January 1906, as the Algeciras Conference was convening, Secretary of State Oswald von Richthofen, Holstein’s nominal superior, died in office, and was replaced by Heinrich von Tschirschky. Holstein had approved Tschirschky’s appointment, but the two soon were at odds. At first, Holstein had continued to use the back door between his office and the State Secretary’s room. Then one day, he found that door locked. Tschirschky, Bülow explained, “was too emotional65 to be able to support with ease a continual threat of the sinister presence of Holstein discovered unexpectedly at his back. When, irritated by this exclusion, Holstein entered the room of the Secretary of State by the corridor, with a great bundle of documents under his arm, Tschirschky, in a cold discouraging voice, requested him to put them on the table and go outside and wait until he was called. With Holstein’s nature this could only lead to a breach. He at once handed in his resignation but was convinced I would prevent its being accepted.... Fritz von Holstein, though in the main his calculations were right, had forgotten one eventuality! that I might be taken ill and, by doctors’ orders, shut off from all enquiries and documents at the moment when his resignation was in the hands of Secretary of State Tschirschky who was now his enemy.” Tschirschky “in the most cold-blooded manner66 persuaded the Kaiser to accept the Privy Councilor’s resignation.” Bülow at a stroke had toppled a rival and provided a scapegoat. Enraged, Holstein left the Wilhelmstrasse, where he had worked for thirty years, and retreated to his rooms at the Grossbehrenstrasse to plot his revenge.
Dreadnought Page 50