Dreadnought, Britain, Germany and the Coming of the Great War

by Robert K. Massie

  On August 14, 1910, the British government made a partial shift in its position. Previously, Grey and Goschen had shown no interest in the German offer to slow the tempo. Britain had wanted an outright reduction in the number of ships; the Germans had refused. Now, Goschen reported to Bethmann, England was willing to negotiate the original German offer: a reduction in the tempo without alteration of the basic Navy Law.

  Grey made an additional suggestion. It would lessen anxiety, he contended, if the two navies could make periodic exchanges of technical information: the dimensions of ships being built, their armament, armor, speed, and completion dates. To verify this information, he suggested that the naval attaches of the two powers be permitted periodic visits to the shipbuilding yards to examine the building. Two months later, on October 14, Bethmann formally accepted this proposal, but reiterated that a political agreement was "an indispensable preliminary condition for any naval agreement."

  The British General Election in January 1911 delayed negotiations, but in February, Goschen was instructed to open discussions on an exchange of information. The German government was coolly receptive. The Kaiser disliked the idea and, on March 3, announced publicly that an exchange of naval information would have no value; a political understanding was crucial: "England and Germany together would ensure the peace of the world." Bethmann-Hollweg refused to abandon his own objective. "He reminded me," Goschen told Grey, "that he had always said that the atmosphere must be thoroughly cleared and a good understanding secured before any reduction in naval armaments could be made." On March 30, Bethmann gave a pessimistic speech in the Reichstag: "I consider any control of armaments as absolutely impracticable… Who would be content to weaken his means of defense without the absolute certainty that his neighbor was not secretly exceeding the proportion allowed to him?… No, gentlemen, any one who seriously considers the question… must inevitably come to the conclusion that it is insoluble so long as men are men and states are states."

  Despite the Chancellor's pessimism, talks continued on the subject of an exchange of naval information. On July 1,1911, the British Embassy in Berlin telegraphed London that the German government had agreed to exchange information on the number of ships to be laid down in the coming year and to provide additional technical data on each ship when its keel was laid.

  That same day, another message reached the Foreign Office in

  London. The German gunboat Panther had appeared and dropped anchor in the harbor of the Moroccan port of Agadir. France protested the Panther's presence and, by the terms of Britain's 1904 agreement with France, the British government was bound to support France's position in Morocco. Before the month was over, British and German statesmen were talking of war.

  PART V THE ROAD TO ARMAGEDDON

  CHAPTER 39 Agadir

  Alfred von Kiderlen-Waechter, Germany's most significant Imperial State Secretary for Foreign Affairs after Bernhard von Bulow, was born in Stuttgart in 1852. His father, a banker, became a senior official at the Wurttemberg Court and was about to be ennobled when he died unexpectedly; the honor was given posthumously and Kiderlen, his mother, and his siblings acquired the "von." At eighteen, Alfred volunteered for service in the Franco-Prussian War. After the war, he finished University and law school and entered the Foreign Service. His first foreign assignment was to St. Petersburg, where he arrived in 1881. A large, florid, fair-haired young man whose face was slashed with student duelling scars, he became known as a heavy drinker and troublemaker. Young bachelors from the embassies of several European nations gathered nightly at a regular table in a French restaurant to gossip, laugh, and carouse. Much ribbing passed back and forth, but none of it! in Kiderlen's direction. Any teasing pointed at him was likely to provoke growls and perhaps a threat of swords or pistols.

  Kiderlen spent four years in St. Petersburg, two in Paris, and two in Constantinople. He attracted Holstein's attention. Holstein's first impression was that Kiderlen was "a typical Wurttemberger with a gauche exterior and a crafty mind," but in time the suspicious older man came to trust and value the younger. Bulow, who always disliked other men of talent in the diplomatic service, declared that Kiderlen was "a tool of Holstein," but he admitted that Kiderlen had useful qualities. "Kiderlen was to Holstein what Sancho Panza was to Don Quixote," Bulow announced. "He was incapable of enthusiasm and of any idealistic conceptions. His feet were always firmly on the ground but he had a very strong feeling for the prestige and advantages of the firm and he watched the competitors with great vigilance." During the Caprivi Chancellorship, when the inexperience of both the Chancellor and State Secretary Marschall left Holstein supreme at the Wilhelmstrasse, Kiderlen flourished as head of the Near Eastern Section. By 1894, his prominence and his close ties to Holstein had been noted by Kladderadatsch, a satirical journal favorable to Bismarck and hostile to his enemies. When the paper attacked Holstein, Eulenburg, and Kiderlen, bestowing on each an unfavorable nickname (Holstein was the "Oyster-fiend," Eulenburg the "Troubadour," and Kiderlen "Spatzle"-Dumpling -after the South German dish of which the Wurttemberger was fond), Kiderlen challenged the editor to a duel, pinked him in the right shoulder, and was sentenced to four months in the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. He was released after two weeks, his career undamaged. In 1895, as Ambassador to Denmark, he artfully deflected a riot from the German Embassy. Slipping out into the crowd, he pointed to a harmless storehouse, shouted at the top of his lungs, and began hurling stones at the storehouse windows.

  In 1888, Bismarck selected Kiderlen to accompany the Kaiser as the Foreign Ministry representative on board the Hohenzollern cruises to Norway. William liked the rough, intelligent Wurttemberger, who told good jokes and seemed to enjoy the exuberant pranks and crude horseplay that characterized those nautical holidays; the invitation to Kiderlen was renewed every year for a decade. Then, in 1898, his participation in the Imperial cruises-and very nearly his career-terminated. In fact, Kiderlen had been appalled by the false heartiness and schoolboy intrigue practiced on board the yacht and he wrote of his feelings, privately, to State Secretary Marschall. When Marschall departed Berlin for Constantinople in 1897, he failed to clean out his office and the new State Secretary, Bulow, discovered the letters in the files. They found their way to the Emperor, who read Kiderlen's biting descriptions of behavior on board the yacht, of rudeness to the Prince of Wales, of boorishness at the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes. Kiderlen was banned from the yacht and the Kaiser's presence and, as soon as a place could be found for him, exiled from Berlin. For the next ten

  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, 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 responsibili
ties 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 work without them," he admitted. Ultimately, he stepped back from accountability and left "full liberty of action 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" 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." Cambon said jauntily that "no one can prevent Morocco 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 Kiderlen 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. But," he added significantly, "one could look elsewhere." 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 back 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 space 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."

  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," 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 war 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 bleed 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 take a firm stand in order to reach a favorable result,"

  Kiderlen insisted. "We cannot leave Morocco 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, 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."

  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 armed*; 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.