Dreadnought

by Robert K. Massie

  Bülow’s departure cleared the way for Kiderlen’s permanent return to Berlin. By 1909, the Chancellor, far more than the exiled Minister in Bucharest, was the object of the Kaiser’s displeasure. When Bethmann-Hollweg, who knew nothing of foreign affairs, was chosen to succeed Bülow, the outgoing Chancellor advised the Kaiser that the Foreign Ministry would have to be given to someone of greater ability than the amiable Schoen. William did not think so. “Just leave foreign policy to me,”8 he said to Bülow. “I’ve learned something from you. It will work out fine.” Bethmann was aware of his own limitations, however, and as soon as he took office, an urgent summons went to Kiderlen in Bucharest: “The new Chief9 is extremely anxious to meet you.” Schoen did not mind being replaced. “Bethmann is a soft nature,”10 he observed, “and I am also rather flabby. With us two a strong policy is impossible.” Nevertheless, it required almost a year and a rising chorus of voices, including that of the Crown Prince, to overcome the Kaiser’s opposition. In June 1910, when Kiderlen at last was appointed State Secretary, William warned Bethmann, “You are putting a louse in the pelt.”11

  In office, Kiderlen took charge in a manner which brooked no opposition. Subordinates were soon referring to him as Bismarck II. He ignored his own ambassadors in foreign capitals, including two former State Secretaries, Marschall in Constantinople and Schoen, who had been sent to Paris; he himself handled all negotiations with the foreign ambassadors posted in Berlin. When he discovered that the Kaiser was communicating privately with Metternich in London, he stormed and threatened to resign. William’s habit of calling at the Wilhelmstrasse every day to see what was going on vexed Kiderlen, and he parcelled out information to the sovereign only in the briefest form. He had left neither his gruff manner nor his tactlessness behind in Bucharest. Once, he announced that he had never set foot beyond the European continent. “Really?” said the American Ambassador. “No, thank God, never!”12 replied the State Secretary. Kiderlen’s relationship with Bethmann began with mutual respect, then eroded as the State Secretary decided that the Chancellor’s grasp of foreign affairs would never be more than amateurish. Bethmann referred to Kiderlen as “Dickkopf” (“Thick Head”) and Kiderlen to the Chancellor as “Regenwurm”13 (“Earthworm”). At times, Kiderlen treated Bethmann like a subordinate, saying that he could not give details of foreign-policy issues to the Chancellor because Bethmann simply would not understand them. When Bethmann fussed, Kiderlen offered to resign. When foreign ambassadors complained that Kiderlen told them nothing, the Chancellor replied, “So. Do you think he tells me more?”14 Nor could Bethmann find sympathy for his troubles with Kiderlen by turning to the Kaiser; William was quick to remind that he had warned against putting eine Laus in den Pelz.

  Morocco, which had brought Europe close to the precipice in 1905, was a source of permanent turmoil in international affairs. On paper, the Act of Algeciras had endorsed the independence of the Sultan’s realm and guaranteed an open door for the commerce of all nations. In fact, France had assumed a primary political role, although not the full protectorate which she desired, while Germany had been guaranteed commercial rights and access. Great Britain, whose trade in Morocco was larger than that of either France or Germany, was content to remain generally mute while giving support to her Entente partner. Despite this agreement, friction between France and Germany continued. In 1908, German consular officials helped German deserters to escape from the French Foreign Legion through Casablanca; the French found out and dealt roughly with the offending diplomats. Berlin was enraged and there was talk of war. In January 1909, Kiderlen, then substituting in Berlin for Schoen, negotiated a new bilateral treaty with Jules Cambon, the French Ambassador. In a declaration signed February 8, 1909, the German government recognized “the special political interests15 of France in Morocco” and declared itself “resolved not to thwart those interests.” In return, the French government promised “to safeguard the principle of economic equality and consequently not to obstruct German commercial and industrial interests in the country.” Both parties were momentarily happy. Kiderlen was rewarded with a Sèvres dinner service to take back to Bucharest.

  The détente in Morocco was short-lived. As France moved confidently ahead in the political sphere, assuming that the phrase “special political interests” gave her a free hand to deal with the Sultan, Germans complained that their businesses were not receiving the increased commercial concessions they felt were due. Southern Morocco, for example, was believed in Germany to be “exceedingly fertile”16 and “highly suitable for European settlement.” Treasures of iron and other ores were said to he beneath the surface, and these supposed riches had attracted the attention of major German firms. In 1909, the Düsseldorf metallurgical company of Mannesmann Brothers established a subsidiary, Marokko-Mannesmann, to explore and exploit the ores of southern Morocco. About the same time, Max Warburg created Hamburg-Marokko Gesellschaft to investigate the same opportunities. Although the region was closed by the Act of Algeciras to all international commerce, the German firms assumed that, with French cooperation, these limitations could be overcome. The French refused to cooperate. In December 1910, Bethmann rose in the Reichstag to warn, “Do not doubt17 that we will energetically defend the rights and interests of German merchants.” It did no good. Two months later a German diplomat reported that “in Casablanca,18 one can no longer escape the feeling of living in a purely French colony.”

  Meanwhile, Sultan Abdul-Aziz, who had progressed from Gatling guns and bicycles to photography and collecting expensive watches, was overthrown in 1908 by his brother Mulai Hafid in a civil war which bankrupted the state treasury. In 1909, the new Sultan confronted claims, primarily French and Spanish, for damages during the fighting. The claims totalled sixteen times the Sultan’s annual revenue. To pay the debts, Mulai Hafid imposed new taxes; these stirred fresh discontent. In January 1911, a French officer was murdered. In April, the tribes near Fez, the capital, revolted and still another brother of Abdul-Aziz proclaimed himself Sultan. The French Consul in Fez reported that the situation was perilous and that the Europeans in the city were threatened with massacre. Under the Act of Algeciras, each of the Great Powers was permitted to intervene if the lives or property of its citizens were in danger. Accordingly, France informed the other powers that a French military column would be dispatched from Casablanca to Fez.

  Always sensitive to any pretext the French might employ to enhance their political control of Morocco, Kiderlen warned Cambon on March 13 that complications would arise from French military action. On April 4, informed by Cambon that the Europeans of Fez were in danger, the State Secretary retorted that reports from the German Consul in that city gave no cause for alarm. On April 28, when Cambon announced that the situation was now so ominous that the Sultan had appealed for help, that France must rescue the Europeans but would quit the city as soon as order was ensured, Kiderlen told him soberly, “If you go to Fez,19 you will not depart. If French troops remain in Fez so that the Sultan rules only with the aid of French bayonets, Germany will regard the Act of Algeciras as no longer in force and will resume complete liberty of action.”

  Kiderlen’s position was strong: Germany had commercial interests and treaty rights in Morocco; France clearly intended to alter the basis of her position in the country; France knew that Germany was entitled to consideration and compensation based on France’s action; yet no offer of compensation had been forthcoming. Kiderlen could, of course, simply continue to register complaints with Cambon and hope that, sooner or later, France would take cognizance of Germany’s appeals. The Wilhelmstrasse did not see this as the way great states responded when their interests were challenged. Nor was this course likely to appeal to the vociferous nationalists in the Reichstag and in the press. A solution was proposed in a memorandum, dated May 30, from Baron Langwerth von Simmern, whose Foreign Office responsibilities included Morocco: northern Morocco would soon be French in defiance of the Act of Algeciras, and France was legitimizing
this action by claiming that its citizens were in danger in Fez. Why should Germany not use the same argument in southern Morocco? There were no German soldiers in the country, but the same effect could be achieved by sending one or several warships to protect the lives and property of German citizens in southern Morocco. A suitable port, Simmern suggested, was Agadir. Eventually, France and Germany would compromise and there would be a new division of Moroccan spoils, or France would compensate Germany by ceding a slice of the French Congo adjacent to the German colony of Cameroons. In the meantime, the warship’s presence would underscore Germany’s right to be heard. The memorandum was circulated and discussed. Bethmann had misgivings. He did not like the idea of sending ships. “And yet it will not work20 without them,” he admitted. Ultimately, he stepped back from accountability and left “full liberty of action21 and entire responsibility” to Kiderlen.

  The German move was political, but it had to seem to be a protection of commercial interests. Accordingly, on June 19, Dr. Wilhelm Regendanz, the new managing director of Max Warburg’s Hamburg-Marokko Gesellschaft, was summoned to the Wilhelmstrasse and told to draw up a petition from German firms active in southern Morocco, appealing to the government for help from marauding natives. Regendanz was to collect signatures from as many firms as possible. His task was particularly delicate and arduous because he was not permitted to show the signers the document they were signing; the Foreign Ministry considered this a necessary precaution against leaks. In spite of this hindrance, Dr. Regendanz successfully collected the backing of eleven firms.

  There was a snag in working out the scheme: at that moment there were no German citizens or commercial interests in southern Morocco. Despite the grandiose talk by the Mannesmann Brothers and the Hamburg-Marokko Gesellschaft, no German explorers had yet traveled to see the “exceedingly fertile”22 valley of the Sus or to test-bore the imagined ore deposits of the southern Atlas Mountains. Dr. Regendanz considered this only a temporary embarrassment. When the warship arrived at Agadir, he promised, endangered Germans would be there to welcome it.

  Meanwhile, negotiations were proceeding with France. On June 11, Kiderlen having retreated to Kissingen for his annual cure, Cambon called on the Chancellor in Berlin. The Ambassador found Bethmann unusually agitated and talking of “extremely grave difficulties.”23 Cambon said jauntily that “no one can prevent Morocco24 falling under our influence one day,” but for the first time he spoke of compensation, something “which would allow German opinion to watch developments without anxieties.” Bethmann, nervously aware of the developing plan to send ships to Agadir, advised Cambon to “Go and see Kiderlen25 at Kissingen.” Cambon went, and at the spa on June 21 he told the State Secretary that he hoped the German Empire would not insist on a partition of Morocco because “French opinion would not stand for it.26 But,” he added significantly, “one could look elsewhere.”27 Kiderlen declared himself ready to listen to “offers.” Cambon replied that he was on his way to Paris and would discuss it with his government. On parting, Kiderlen said to the Ambassador, “Bring something back28 with you.”

  The Cabinet to which M. Cambon was on his way to report was in exceptional confusion. There had been a frightful accident. At dawn on May 20, M. Ernest Monis, the Prime Minister, had been standing at the edge of a small airfield at Issy-les-Moulineaux, watching the start of a Paris-to-Madrid air race. One of the planes developed engine trouble on takeoff, barely rose from the ground, swerved, and plunged into the crowd of spectators. The Premier was struck in the face and chest by the propeller and rendered unconscious; the War Minister, standing next to him, was killed. For several days, M. Monis’s life was in danger, then, partially recovered but maimed, he attempted to direct the nation’s affairs from his bed. On June 27, he resigned and M. Joseph Caillaux, the Minister of Finance, stepped up to the Premiership. Caillaux, considered able but unscrupulous, was one of a group of international French financiers with close ties to Berlin, and it was expected that his foreign policy would be Franco-German rapprochement. As Foreign Minister, Caillaux chose M. de Selves, a local government official with no experience of foreign or even national affairs. Observers took this to mean that the Prime Minister meant to conduct foreign affairs himself.

  Aware that the French government was in turmoil, State Secretary Kiderlen made up his mind. On June 24, after Cambon had departed for Paris, Kiderlen traveled to Kiel to report to the Kaiser and persuade William to dispatch the warship.

  William sensed more acutely than Kiderlen or Bethmann that a new adventure in Morocco was likely once again to embroil Germany with England. The Kaiser had no wish to do this; now that his sinister uncle, “Edward the Encircler,” was gone, William felt cozily comfortable with his cousin “Georgie,” whom he could hector and intimidate as he did the Tsar. He accepted eagerly King George’s invitation to witness the unveiling of a statue of their mutual grandmother, Queen Victoria, in front of Buckingham Palace. On May 16, the Kaiser arrived with the Kaiserin and their nineteen-year-old daughter, Princess Victoria Louise. As always, William was exhilarated by British military pageantry: “The big space29 in front of Buckingham Palace was surrounded by grandstands... filled to overflowing. In front of them were files of soldiers of all arms and all regiments of the British Army... the Guards... the Highlanders.... The march past was carried out on the circular space, with all the troops constantly wheeling; the outer wing had to step out, the inner to hold back, a most difficult task for the troops. The evolution was carried out brilliantly; not one man made a mistake.” The public caught the good mood between the cousins. One night, the King took his guests to a play at the Drury Lane Theatre. Between acts a curtain was lowered which depicted a life-size King and Kaiser mounted on horseback, riding toward each other, saluting. The audience rose and cheered. Haldane, who had suggested giving a lunch for the German generals in the Kaiser’s party, was told that the Emperor himself would like to come. Haldane arranged an eclectic guest list including Lord Kitchener; the First Sea Lord, Sir Arthur Wilson; Lord Morley; Lord Curzon; Ramsay MacDonald, leader of the Labour Party; and the painter John Singer Sargent. William enjoyed himself, although he could scarcely believe that a British Minister of War could live in a house so small that the Emperor dubbed it the “Dolls’ House.”30

  The Kaiser had been asked by Bethmann to bring up Morocco with his British cousin. Obediently, William asked whether King George did not agree that France’s policies seemed incompatible with the Algeciras Convention. The King’s reply was candid. “To tell the truth,”31 he said, “the Algeciras Convention is no longer in force and the best thing everyone can do is to forget it. Besides, the French are doing nothing in Morocco that we haven’t already done in Egypt. Therefore we will place no obstacles in France’s path. The best thing Germany can do is to recognize the fait accompli of French occupation of Morocco and make arrangements with France for protection of Germany’s commercial interests.” William listened and promised the King that, at least, “We will never make war32 over Morocco.” Returning home, he reported this conversation to the Chancellor, concluding that England would not oppose French occupation of Morocco and that if Germany meant to do so, she would have to do it on her own.

  A month later, on June 21, when plans to send a ship had long been hatched, and Dr. Regendanz was gathering signatures from German firms appealing for help for their endangered interests, the Kaiser still was not aware of his Foreign Minister’s plans. William continued to say that he had no objection to greater French involvement in Morocco because “France would bleed33 to death there.” Constitutionally, the command to send a ship had to come from the Kaiser, the supreme warlord. Somehow, he would have to be told and persuaded. On June 26, William was on board the Hohenzollern attending the Lower Elbe Regatta, with Bethmann also on board and Kiderlen expected. When Kiderlen arrived, the two men tackled the Emperor. William balked; he was willing to accept expansion of the German Empire but had little stomach for a direct military challenge to France.
He protested that sending a ship was too big a risk, that no one could predict the consequences, and that a step of such far-reaching importance should not be taken without consulting the nation. The Chancellor and the State Secretary persisted. “We will have to take34 a firm stand in order to reach a favorable result,” Kiderlen insisted. “We cannot leave Morocco35 to the French.... [Otherwise] our credit in the world will suffer unbearably, not only for the present, but for all future diplomatic actions.” In the end, the monarch who boasted to his relatives and in his marginalia that he, not his ministers, was the sole master of German foreign policy, reluctantly consented. In his memoirs, he disavows responsibility: “During the Kiel Regatta Week,36 the Foreign Office informed me of its intention to send the Panther to Agadir. I gave expression to strong misgivings as to this step, but had to drop them in view of the urgent representations of the Foreign Office.” From the Hohenzollern’s radio room, Kiderlen crisply telegraphed Berlin: “Ships approved.”37

  A signal flashed from the German Admiralty to the gunboat Panther, then proceeding north off the West African coast, bound for home after a voyage around the Cape. Built for colonial service a decade before, the light-gray, two-stack Panther was not the ship the Kaiser would have chosen to advertise his powerful fleet. She was short, fat, and lightly armedfn1; her crew of 130 included a brass band; and her primary mission was impressing natives or bombarding mud villages rather than fighting other ships at sea. Suitable or not, Panther had been tapped and she entered the historical limelight on July 1, 1911, when she steamed slowly into the Bay of Agadir and dropped her anchor a few hundred yards from the beach.