Fragile Rise

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series is edited at the Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs
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 Fragile Rise

Grand Strategy and the Fate of Imperial Germany,

1871–1914

Xu Qiyu

Foreword by Graham Allison

Translated by Joshua Hill

Belfer Center Studies in International Security

The MIT Press
Cambridge, Massachusetts
London, England
 © 2017 Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs
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This volume was originally published in Chinese

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Cover illustration: Draner [Jules Jean Georges Renard], "L'homme a la

boule." Collection de caricatures et de charges pour servir à l'histoire de
la guerre et de la révolution de 1870-1871, [s.l.], [ca. 1872], Bd. 3, S. 140.
Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg. Reproduced under Creative Commons
license CC BY-SA 3.0 DE.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Qiyu Xu, 1974- author. | Hill, Joshua, (historian), translator.

Title: Fragile rise : grand strategy and the fate of Imperial Germany,
1871-1914 / Xu Qiyu ; foreword by Graham Allison ; translated by Joshua
Hill.
Other titles: Grand strategy and the fate of Imperial Germany, 1871-1914
Description: Cambridge, MA : The MIT Press, [2016] | Series: Belfer Center
studies in international security | Includes bibliographical references
and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016041048 | ISBN 9780262036054 (hardcover : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Germany--Foreign relations--1871- | Europe--Politics and
government--1871-1918. | Germany--Politics and government--1871-1918. |
Geopolitics--Germany--History. | Germany--Strategic aspects. | Balance of
power--Case studies. | Strategy--Case studies.
Classification: LCC DD221.5 .X83 2016 | DDC 355/.03354309034--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016041048

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 Contents

Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii
Graham Allison

Translator’s Note. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi
Joshua Hill

Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii
Xu Qiyu

1. A Low-Posture Rise . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
2. “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Staretegy. . . . . .33
3. Working to Maintain the Grand Strategy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .67
4. Entering the Post-Bismarckian Era . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
5. Institutions, Society, Popular Opinion, and Grand Strategy. . . . . 127
6. From Weltpolitik to Encirclement. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
7. An Obsession with Command of the Seas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
8. The Schlieffen Plan and the Retreat of Grand Strategy. . . . . . . . 227
9. Crisis Management on the Path to World War, 1908–1914 . . . . . . . 259

Notes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293
About the Author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 329
Contributors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333
Belfer Center Studies in International Security . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343
About the Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs. . . . . . . 346
 Foreword
Graham Allison

E ight years before the outbreak of World War I in Europe, Britain’s

King Edward VII asked his prime minister why the British government
was becoming so unfriendly to his nephew Kaiser Wilhelm II’s Germany rather
than keeping its eye on the United States, which he saw as the greater threat.
The prime minister instructed the Foreign Office’s chief Germany watcher,
Eyre Crowe, to write a memo answering this question. Crowe delivered his
memorandum on New Year’s Day, 1907. The document is a gem in the annals
of diplomacy.
The logic of Crowe’s analysis echoed Thucydides’s insight about the Pelo-
ponnesian War in ancient Greece. About the cause of the war, Thucydides
wrote: “it was the rise of Athens, and the fear that this inspired in Sparta, that
made war inevitable.” As Henry Kissinger’s On China paraphrased Crowe’s
central question about Germany: Did increasing hostility between Britain
and Germany stem more from German capabilities or German conduct? In
Crowe’s words, did Germany’s pursuit of “political hegemony and maritime
ascendancy” inevitably pose an existential threat to “the independence of her
neighbors and ultimately the existence of England?”
Crowe’s answer was unambiguous—capability was key. As Germany’s
economy surpassed Britain’s, it would not only develop the strongest army on
the continent but also “build as powerful a navy as she can afford.” To quote
Kissinger again, German naval supremacy “would be an objective threat to
Britain, and incompatible with the existence of the British Empire,” whatever
German intentions. In Crowe’s summary: “a vigorous nation cannot allow its
growth to be hampered by blind adherence to the status quo.” It was with
Crowe’s memo in 1907, Xu Qiyu contends in Fragile Rise, that the British
policy of containing Germany began to come into focus.
In 1910, three years after reading Crowe’s memo, Edward VII died.
Attendees at his funeral included two “chief mourners”—the new king of
Great Britain, George V, and his cousin, Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm. Theodore
Roosevelt represented the United States. At one point, Roosevelt—an avid
Fragile Rise

student of naval power and leading champion of the buildup of the U.S.
Navy—asked the kaiser whether he would consider a moratorium in the
budding German-British naval arms race. Wilhelm replied that Germany
was unalterably committed to having a powerful navy. But he asserted that
this would not be a problem because war between Germany and Britain was
simply unthinkable. “I was brought up in England,” he said, “I feel myself
partly an Englishman. Next to Germany I care more for England than for any
other country.” He then added, with emphasis, “I ADORE ENGLAND!”
World War I provides many lessons for statesmen today. None is more
relevant for current leaders than the stark reminder that however unimagi-
nable conflict seems, however catastrophic the consequences for all would-be
actors, however deep the cultural empathy among leaders, and however
economically interdependent states may be—none of these factors was suffi-
cient to prevent war in 1914. Nor would they be today.
The centennial of World War I has inspired a spirited discussion in the
West about lessons to be learned from Germany’s rise and the reactions of
other powers, especially Great Britain. In China, too, historians have been
called on to help illuminate the present. Indeed, in 2003, the Chinese Politburo
commissioned a lengthy study on the trajectories of the nine nations that had
become great powers in modern history (Portugal, Spain, the Netherlands,
Great Britain, France, Germany, Japan, Russia, and the United States). This
study, entitled The Rise of the Great Powers, was later presented in the form
of a twelve-part television series which was broadcast on China’s leading
channel, China Central Television (CCTV), with a companion eight-volume
book series. Both enjoyed considerable popularity and sparked a national
conversation. This book can be seen as a further extension of that debate.
Unfortunately, much of that conversation in China has failed to reach the
West. In sponsoring the translation of a new book which has been praised by
Chinese scholars as the best account by a Chinese historian of Germany’s rise,
The Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs hopes to make this
Chinese perspective available to a broader audience.
Xu begins his account of Germany’s rise with the unification of the
German Empire in 1871. He argues that since unification meant the
emergence of Germany as a great power, it also created the central paradox
that came to define German foreign policy: As Germany’s power grew, so too
did its neighbors’ apprehensions. To address this paradox, Germany initially
adopted a low profile in foreign affairs. By 1878, however, Otto von Bismarck,
the guiding hand behind German foreign policy, had become active and
visible in shaping European politics. The objective of his grand strategy was

viii
 Foreword

to sustain Germany’s rise. In Xu’s view, despite severe pressure from abroad as
well as within the country, his combination of strategic and diplomatic skills
allowed him to overcome opponents or keep them off balance.
Bismarck’s successors, Xu argues, were not up to the challenge he left
them. A preeminent land power by the mid-1890s, Germany’s pursuit of a
commanding navy brought it into predictable, unavoidable, but unnecessary
conflict with Britain. Germany’s obsession with naval preeminence became
a major strand in the recklessness of “Weltpolitik.” This increasing German
aggressiveness, according to Xu, was the primary cause of the world war that
destroyed Germany’s “fragile” rise.
Xu’s analysis of German policy and emphasis on the naval race and the
Schlieffen Plan as significant contributors to the war complements one of the
mainstream schools of Western thought about World War I, alongside authors
like Fritz Fischer, Margaret MacMillan, and Paul Kennedy. Unlike Fischer,
however, he does not argue that the Great War stemmed from deliberate and
strategically coherent German aggression. Nor does he argue that Germany’s
growing material capabilities inevitably led to war, as some Western scholars
have claimed. Rather, Xu’s nuanced analysis finds that while Germany’s rise
created structural stresses that moved the actors toward war, those stresses
could have been negotiated by good strategy and statesmanship (as Bismarck
had demonstrated). It was the absence of such strategy and statesmanship in
Bismarck’s successors that allowed inconsequential events in the Balkans to
spark war throughout Europe. In this respect, Xu’s analysis can be compared
to Henry Kissinger’s in Diplomacy.
Although Xu refrains from stating them explicitly, Fragile Rise holds a
number of important lessons for the rise of China in our own time. First,
China’s rapidly growing economic and military power will inevitably create
structural stress between China and the United States—a phenomenon that
I have labeled the “Thucydides Trap.” Whatever the intentions of leaders of
both nations, they will have to recognize and manage the risks that inevitably
accompany changes in the international balance of power.
Second, this structural stress does not mean that war is inevitable. As Xu
notes, prudent diplomacy and astute statesmanship can meet this challenge,
as Bismarck demonstrated. Significantly, while compromises will be needed
on both sides, Xu’s emphasis on the “fragility” of the rising power suggests the
burden may fall disproportionately on Chinese leaders.
The defining question for this generation is whether these Chinese leaders
and their counterparts in the United States will be up to the challenge. In this
regard, Fragile Rise provides an important clue for Chinese leaders hoping to

ix
Fragile Rise

negotiate the structural stress created by their country’s ascendance. As noted

above, Germany’s growing capabilities after unification in 1871 led it to turn
its attentions to the sea. Under Bismarck’s successors, that ambition turned
into an obsession that eclipsed all other strategic imperatives and put it on a
collision course with the dominant sea power of the era, Great Britain.
Today, the rise of another traditional land power, China, is propelling
its leaders to build military capabilities proportionate to its economic power:
on land, at sea, and in every other domain. This potentially puts China on
a collision course with the world’s reigning power, the United States. The
strategic imperative for both Washington and Beijing must be to avoid the
mistakes made a century ago that led to a war that destroyed not only the
fragile rising power, but proved catastrophic for the whole of Europe.

x
 Translator’s Note
Joshua Hill

A s Xu Qiyu wrote on the original cover of his Fragile Rise: Grand Strategy
and the Fate of Imperial Germany, “When it is difficult to see clearly into
the future, looking back to history, even the history of other peoples, might
be the right choice.” Although he does not repeat those words inside his book,
their spirit is present throughout his text. Xu’s Fragile Rise is implicit policy
advice in the form of an extended historical analogy. This approach has a long
tradition in Chinese scholarship—nearly fifteen hundred years ago, a Tang
dynasty emperor praised a counsellor adept at using “antiquity as a mirror to
understand the rise and fall of states [yi gu wei jing, ke yi jian xing ti]” and the
metaphor of “history as a mirror” remains part of the Chinese language even
today—and represents a profound cultural inclination toward using history as
a tool for thinking about the present.1
For that emperor, history primarily consisted of canonical tales of
Chinese dynasties, both actual and mythical. That purely domestic history
still remains a powerful source of insight and inspiration for Chinese leaders.
Some analysts, indeed, argue that an awareness of this tradition holds the
key to understanding contemporary policymaking.2 Xu Qiyu participates
in an expansive descendant of this longstanding predisposition that seeks
value in the histories of other nations beyond China. This was radical when
first proposed by early twentieth-century journalist and political theorist
Liang Qichao, who saw the histories of various “lost nations,” from India to
Poland, as relevant for a China beset by Western and Japanese imperialism.
It has long since entered the intellectual mainstream. At various points in the
twentieth century, Japanese, Soviet, and Singaporean historical experiences
have been seen to have special relevance for China. Cosmopolitan reasoning
of this sort is common enough to be unremarkable today. The prevalence of
these ecumenical discussions in a country convinced of its own uniqueness
perhaps should inspire emulation in other nations that pride themselves on
the “exceptional” nature of their histories.
German history, too, has served as a “mirror” for Chinese intellectuals
and political leaders to reflect on their country’s situation. Over a century
ago, many viewed Germany as a model for China’s future. In 1905, officials
Fragile Rise

appointed by the Qing, China’s final dynasty, visited Germany to study its
constitutional monarchy, with an eye toward adopting a similar system at
home. A second scholarly mission followed in 1908, and substantial aspects
of late Qing political reform, including the laws used in China’s first autho-
rized legislative elections, bore the mark of German influence. A decade later,
after a republican revolution in China and Germany’s defeat in the Great War,
Chinese observers saw Germany’s post-war recovery as an inspiration for
their own reconstruction. Chiang Kai-shek, who governed China after 1927,
admired Germany enough that he sent his adopted son there for military
training in the late 1930s, explaining to him that “Germany is the only country
from which we can learn something. They can give us the base from which to
develop our own style: firm and solid.”3 Chiang looked to Germany for more
than mere spiritual sustenance, however. German military advisors helped
train his army in the 1920s and 1930s, while trade in strategic minerals linked
the economies of the two nations.
Xu Qiyu, working within the very different geopolitical context of the
early twenty-first century, discerns within German history a warning for
contemporary China. Like many others eager to think through the implica-
tions of China’s rise in the twenty-first century, he has drawn a comparison
with Wilhelmine Germany between 1871 and 1914. The parallels between the
two seem irresistible—then, as now, the emergence of a new power, fueled by
a dynamic, fast-growing economy, dramatically reshaped the global strategic
balance. Wilhelmine Germany also serves as a cautionary tale of an emerging
power that failed to find a place within the existing international order; its
rise ultimately resulted in a total war that imposed ruinous consequences for
all combatants, victors and defeated alike. The analogy is deeply imperfect,
as virtually all who explore it admit, yet it is so powerfully frightening that it
compels serious attention.
In recent years, the parallel drawn between contemporary China and
Wilhelmine Germany (along with its corollary, the equation of today’s United
States and the pre-1914 British Empire) has become enmeshed with, and cited
as an example of, Graham Allison’s notion of a “Thucydides Trap.” Named for
Thucydides’s contention in The History of the Peloponnesian War that Sparta’s
fear of Athens’s rapid growth led to a destructive confrontation between the
two Greek city-states, it has become a metaphor for the cycle of fear and antag-
onism that emerges between rising and established powers. It is a trap that can
produce grim results: “in 12 of 16 [such] cases over the past 500 years,” Allison
argues, “the outcome was war.”4 The 2014 centennial of the July Crisis that
sparked World War I has further inspired scholars to examine this analogy in

xii
 Translator's Note

greater detail. Some of the most significant contributions to this discussion

can be found in The Next Great War?—a collection of essays sponsored by
Harvard University’s Belfer Center for Science and International Affairs, in
which prominent thinkers specifically focused on Europe in 1914, U.S.-China
relations today, and the applicability of the “Thucydides Trap” to both.5
Less often, however, are Chinese voices heard at length in this scholarly
discussion; for example, there were no Chinese contributors to The Next Great
War? Yet, given the intellectual comfort with the use of historical analogies in
China, several variants of this conversation are active there. Most prominently,
Chinese president Xi Jinping has specifically addressed the “Thucydides
Trap” in public remarks.6 As a result, the phrase is now a staple of official
discourse and openly discussed in Chinese Communist Party–supported
newspapers such as the Global Times [Huanqiu shibao]. Yet these are simply
references to, rather than explorations of, this historical analogy; much may
be implied by such utterances, but little is explained directly. In this vacuum,
overseas analysts have taken to reading between the lines. Sheena Chestnut
Greitens, for instance, suggests that the Chinese leadership sees another
trap, different from Allison’s, in Thucydides: entangling alliances that can
allow minor powers to draw great powers into unanticipated and unwanted
wars.7 This “trap” could only ensnare the United States, with its complex web
of Asian allies, rather than a mainland China that has a nominal alliance
with only a single other nation, North Korea. Similarly, as Andrew Erikson
has pointedly suggested, official Chinese use of “Thucydides Trap” rhetoric
sometimes carries the insinuation that the “trap” can only be avoided through
U.S. restraint and concessions.8 At the level of authoritative state discourse
in China, there is little evident recognition that this historical analogy has
anything to teach a rising power like China. Rather, it functions only as a
warning to fearful, declining hegemons.
Beneath this official discourse, however, a much richer and more nuanced
discussion is taking place. Xu’s Fragile Rise, though it never directly addresses
the “Thucydides Trap” thesis, is one of the most substantive and influential
Chinese contributions to the global conversation that the concept has engen-
dered.9 Xu, though an officer in the People’s Liberation Army, ultimately
speaks for himself, rather than for his government, in this work; Fragile Rise
represents only what one very serious, committed scholar thinks about the
lessons of history. The wide circulation his book has enjoyed inside China,
however, suggests that his interpretation is one worth taking seriously by
anyone interested in contemporary Chinese strategic thought. Fragile Rise is
unique, as well, in its place in the Chinese scholarly landscape. Although he

xiii
Fragile Rise

modestly claims not to be a historian, Xu combines primary source research

in both English and German with an interpretation of the voluminous existing
secondary literature on European diplomatic history. No other scholarly work
in mainland China (other than works translated from other languages into
Chinese) covers this same ground.
Unlike foreign scholars or Chinese political figures who focus, either
implicitly or explicitly, on what the historical analogy between Europe before
1914 and East Asia in the twenty-first century suggests for U.S. policymaking,
Xu argues there is much for present-day China to learn from Wilhelmine
Germany’s historical experiences. His specific interest is German “grand
strategy”—the coordination of diplomatic and military power in order to
balance national capacity with national interests—from national unification
in 1871 to the outbreak of war in 1914. Xu argues that Germany had an
effective grand strategy during the chancellorship of Otto von Bismarck, but
after Bismarck’s 1890 dismissal from office, this grand strategy was abandoned
and not replaced. The policy drift that ensued contributed directly to war. Xu,
however, refrained from writing a conclusion that extends his thesis beyond
August 1914. Neither China nor the twenty-first-century world are mentioned
in anything more than a few brief asides.
Yet make no mistake—Fragile Rise is profoundly about contemporary
China. Xu hints at this on the cover of the Chinese version in the quote
that begins this note. He also suggests it in his own preface, and implicitly
organizes his book in such a manner that the parallels are inescapable. Read
with twenty-first-century China in mind, as his Chinese audience certainly
does, the implicitly comparative aspects of Xu’s Fragile Rise become evident.
Examples of this abound. The attention lavished on the “pressures” that rapid
economic growth created in German political, social, and intellectual life have
a visible counterpart in a China that has experienced over a generation of
rapid economic growth. The suggestive discussion of the role of an increas-
ingly nationalistic public opinion in late Wilhelmine Germany, too, seems
paralleled by the rising importance of Chinese public opinion on politics,
particularly as filtered through new platforms provided by the Internet. The
portrayal of a German political system struggling to find a role for sectors of
society newly empowered by rapid industrialization seems mirrored in the rise
of a substantial middle class and a smaller, but influential, stratum of wealthy
entrepreneurs in contemporary China. The focus on the imbalance between
Germany’s technological capacity to construct a world-class battle fleet and
the inability of that navy to improve Germany’s security environment invites
comparisons with contemporary debates over Chinese military modern-

xiv
 Translator's Note

ization. Xu never directly suggests these linkages, yet carefully and subtly
draws the reader’s attention to them.
As Xu portrays it, the path that German history followed after 1890 was
not foreordained. Poor leadership—characterized by the abandonment of not
only grand strategy itself, but even the belief that grand strategy was possible—
accounted for its fate. The drift from crisis to crisis and the increasing polar-
ization of the European state system that led to war in August 1914 did not
result from a German plan, but the lack of one. Although Xu does not char-
acterize it as such, this is a claim that the decades before 1914 were essen-
tially a “lost chance.” Better leadership, coupled with strategic planning, could
have allowed Wilhelmine Germany to continue its (relatively) peaceful rise
well into the twentieth century. The persistence of that Germany—an indus-
trial powerhouse with a territory larger and more populous than the current
German Republic, possessed of one of the world’s most formidable militaries,
and spared the physical and psychological devastation of defeat in two world
wars—would surely have changed the course of world history to an incalcu-
lable degree.
Following Xu’s logic, it stands to reason that if grand strategy could have
allowed Germany to sidestep catastrophe in 1914, it will also help China avoid
a similar fate in the twenty-first century. The precise elements of such a grand
strategy he leaves unstated, but his portrayal of Bismarck’s policies suggests
several of its foundations. The first of these is psychological. Policymakers
should be flexible, dynamic, appreciative of the emotional aspects of interstate
diplomacy, and sensitive to the limits of power. Xu’s Bismarck grasped the
value of such insights; his successors did not. The next foundation is institu-
tional. The policymaking organs of government—particularly those engaged
in diplomatic or military affairs—need effective coordination from a central
authority. Bismarck, generally, accomplished this; under his successors, intra-
bureaucratic links (particularly those that bound the military and diplo-
matic establishments) disintegrated, and agencies pursued independent, and
contradictory, policies. The final aspect is philosophical. History, Xu argues,
provides “gaps” or opportunities that a skilled leader can use to reshape
unfavorable situations. Bismarck sought these out, while Germany’s post-
Bismarckian leadership overlooked their existence. Instead, his successors
fatalistically came to believe that they were helpless pawns buffeted by forces
that were both powerful and inevitable. Believing that events were beyond
their control, they designed short-term plans that ensured that, one day, a
local crisis would snowball into a continental war.

xv
Fragile Rise

There is an optimistic element in Xu’s history: Germany’s leaders failed to

find a grand strategy for themselves, but China need not fall into this same
trap. While this assessment might reflect the sense of relative optimism that
pervades Chinese society in the early twenty-first century, it is certainly also
an artifact of Xu’s exclusive focus on Germany. Recent histories that focus on
the broader European scene, epitomized by Christopher Clark’s The Sleep-
walkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914, offer much bleaker appraisals
of the continent on the brink of war.10 Clark portrays a world of complex,
contradictory, and poorly understood events navigated by overwhelmed and
second-rate national leaders themselves preoccupied with thorny domestic
political crises. A more pessimistic observer reading Xu and Clark in tandem
might wonder if strategists such as Bismarck are the exceptions, rather than
the norm, or if some situations are so thorny that even a Bismarck could not
ensure a favorable outcome.
The quotation that begins this note emphasizes the importance of history,
“even the history of other people,” in shedding light on potential futures. The
Belfer Center’s decision to have his book translated takes this commitment
one step further. Rather than being limited to a Chinese audience, Xu’s inter-
pretation of German history can now be analyzed by readers of English inter-
ested in contemporary Chinese strategic thought. This, admittedly, may be of
limited practical assistance to those tasked with the difficult work of crafting
U.S. policy toward China during this moment of transition. At the very least,
however, it will hopefully contribute to a trans-Pacific dialogue that takes
history seriously both as a field of academic research and as a tool for talking
about hopes and fears for the future. Such a conversation may prove to have a
value all its own in solidifying lasting intellectual links between China and the
United States.

A Final Note on Translation: Citations to English-language originals have been substi-

tuted for the original text’s citations to Chinese translations of English-language books.
When appropriate, citations to German-language texts that the author had translated
into Chinese have been replaced by citations to existing English-language transla-
tions. In a few instances, source material quoted in the Chinese edition could not be
located; similar quotations have been used. Some errors in the Chinese edition were
corrected—but, almost certainly, new (and different) errors have been introduced.

Joshua Hill
Changsha, Hunan and Athens, Ohio
September 2015

xvi
 Preface

Xu Qiyu

I have long been interested in using the concept of “grand strategy” to

examine pre–World War I Germany’s rise as a great power.
As a scholar of contemporary strategic issues, I came to this rather
unlikely topic only by chance. Yet, as my research progressed, I found myself
increasingly fascinated by it. I also realized that much of what I thought I
knew about this topic turned out to be, at best, unreliable and, at worst, wholly
inaccurate. Some of my knowledge was based on the “authoritative” assess-
ments of that era’s politicians and intellectuals. Such people, reacting to the
immediate demands of their times, drew conclusions that later generations
have simply accepted as received wisdom. Gradually, these assessments came
to be taken as fixed judgments about the past. Likewise, attempts originating
in U.S. international relations scholarship to combine greatly simplified theo-
retical models and contemporary frameworks have provided only unsat-
isfactory understandings of the past. The process of historical research, I
learned, does not result in the confirmation of existing conclusions as often as
it leads to the endless overturning of established arguments and conceptual
frameworks.
Many aspects of the pre–World War I German Empire, also referred
to as Wilhelmine Germany, are worthy of investigation. In contrast to the
bottom-up extremist ideology and top-down political restructuring of the
Nazi period, social tolerance and political conflict characterized Wilhelmine
Germany. It was a rapidly growing power, yet also had to contend with a
fragile and extremely complex security environment. Material life improved
dramatically, but spiritual life became shallow and uneasy. Intellectuals,
stimulated by the growth of national power, embraced irrationality. This
ultimately gave rise to a mass irrationality that carried the respectable tint of
scientific rationality. Wilhelmine Germany illustrates the notion that nation-
states can reflect the flaws of human nature. The experiences of Wilhelmine
Germany—a classic example of a rising great power that failed—are worthy
of reflection and analysis.
Fragile Rise

I decided to use the notion of “grand strategy” to examine the rise and
fall of Wilhelmine Germany for two particular reasons. First, it gave me a
thread to follow through the enormous mass of historical materials. Second,
it allowed me to resolve a series of deeper doubts and concerns. One of these
concerns is the balance between inevitability and chance as causal factors in
international disputes. Are conflicts, particularly direct clashes between great
powers, inevitable? Are there deep-rooted elements that “determine” the
outbreak of an “inevitable” conflict? This question is ultimately philosophical
in nature, as it impinges on humanity’s understanding of itself and its place in
the world. Most people accept that both chance and inevitability exist, yet the
notion of chance often leaves many uncomfortable. As a result, it is often seen
as secondary in importance to inevitability, or as some sort of an “exception.”
In fact, the “laws of history” leave “gaps” that are large enough to allow people
to take an active, dynamic role. Chance plays an important part too, but the
task of grand strategy is to adapt to these laws of history while, as much as
possible, simultaneously exploiting the “gaps” in history.
In Wilhelmine Germany, Chancellor Otto von Bismarck understood this
well and, as a result, was always ready to accept imperfect or uncertain results.
His successors, however, were the exact opposite. They sought certainty in
all things and placed an excessive emphasis on the concept of “inevitability.”
These philosophical differences were an important element in the quick disin-
tegration of German grand strategy after Bismarck’s forced retirement. Ulti-
mately, the emphasis that German leaders placed on “inevitability” developed
into an obsession. They became ever more firm in their belief that a major war
was “unavoidable.” This led them to engage in a series of “inevitable” prepara-
tions that, ultimately, did make war truly “unavoidable.”
Researching pre–World War I Germany from the perspective of grand
strategy also touches upon the issue of rationality and irrationality. While
reading the ancient Greek historian Thucydides as a graduate student, I was
struck by one of his observations of political culture in wartime Athens:
“Prudent hesitation [came to be seen as] specious cowardice...the advocate
of extreme measures was always trustworthy; his opponent, a man to be
suspected.”1 Later, after I began working at the Institute for Strategic Studies at
National Defense University and had the opportunity to interact with many
officials and scholars (both Chinese and foreign), I came to recognize that
this phenomenon has been replicated in many other times and places. The
irrational assault on policymaking and grand strategy that this phenomenon
leads to was readily apparent in Wilhelmine Germany.

xviii
 Preface

Arguably, some of Germany’s policies might not have been so extreme in

the absence of pressure from a bellicose public. World War I itself might even
have been avoided. What were the origins of this mass irrationality? What was
the connection between it and the rapid growth of the nation and of society?
Why did the tide of public opinion always favor hard-line policy positions?
Would it have been possible for anyone to control this irrationality? These
problems constitute an important aspect of my research. All of the chapters in
this book, particularly the analysis of this specific topic presented in Chapter
5, concentrate to a greater or lesser extent on these pivotal “internal factors.”
During the course of my research, it was a special pleasure for me, as
someone who is not a professional historian, to immerse myself in primary
source materials. I particularly enjoyed reading the correspondence between
Bismarck and the German ambassadors stationed abroad. Bismarck’s instruc-
tions and memoranda contained a profound yet flexible grand strategic
vision. In these documents, I saw a balance between attention to detail and
an understanding of the overall situation. Throughout, Bismarck’s writings
are characterized by his deep ability to observe the human condition.
German diplomatic documents after Bismarck, however, fell far short of the
standards he set. Their assessments often flowed from wishful thinking, while
their strategic thought and even their style of writing became increasingly
formulaic. Sometimes, the obviousness of their errors and the rigidness of
their logic frustrates those who read them today.
By contrast, this discrepancy did not exist in British diplomatic
documents. While none of Great Britain’s senior policymakers were grand
masters on the level of a Bismarck, overall they were quite talented. Essentially
all of their documents reflected decent strategic analysis, clear appraisals,
and a consistent style. Some could even be used today as a model for writing
strategic reports. This difference reflected disparities in the grand strategies of
the two nations. The question remains, however: How was Great Britain able
to train cohort after cohort of highly skilled practitioners, while Germany was
not? Nanjing University’s Wang Shengzu proposed the concept of “diplomatic
properties” as a means of encapsulating the essential character of a nation’s
diplomacy. Wang argued that the British Empire could best be represented as
“a lion and a fox.” How was this maintained for generation after generation?
Some perhaps will point to institutions, but there are other intangible attri-
butes such as culture and tradition that are deserving of attention too. Such
things became part of the accustomed thinking and actions of people through
long periods of education and training. These invisible factors, perhaps,

xix
Fragile Rise

were ultimately stronger and more enduring than any tangible institution.
An investigation of this issue is not the task of this book, but this idea has
informed my research and writing processes.
I would like to express heartfelt thanks to the teachers and friends
who have given me their unwavering support. Then-director of National
Defense University’s strategy teaching division, Major General Zhu Chenghu,
provided me with significant support, without which this book might never
have been completed. My former supervisors—the former director of the
National Defense University’s Institute for Strategic Studies, Rear Admiral
Yang Yi, and my doctoral dissertation advisor, the former vice director of the
Chinese Academy of Social Sciences World History Institute, Professor Zhou
Rongyao—gave me great support during the writing process. Mei Zhaorong,
former chairman of the Chinese People’s Institute of Foreign Affairs and
former ambassador to Germany, Wang Jisi, former dean of the School of
International Studies, Peking University, and Zheng Yongnian, director of the
East Asian Institute, National University of Singapore all provided valuable
advice and encouragement. The former rector of Sweden’s National Defense
College, Major General (ret.) Karlis Neretnieks generously offered source
materials and suggestions. Bundeswehr Lieutenant Colonel Olaf Wiedenfeld
greatly helped with translations from German, for which I am truly thankful.
Finally, I wish to express thanks to the China Foundation for International
and Strategic Studies for its support of this book’s publication.
I must admit that, as a researcher of strategy who focuses primarily
on contemporary issues, I lack a historian’s professional training and was
somewhat over-ambitious in terms of managing the vast amount of materials.
My German-language skills were self-taught in order to research this period
of history. I depended on brute force to examine and translate the primary
source materials that form the basis of this book. Even with the aid of friends,
however, errors are unavoidable. I hope that readers will not hesitate to offer
their advice and criticisms.

Xu Qiyu
Beijing
February 2011

xx
Fragile Rise
 1

A Low-Posture Rise
“Bismarck had been in politics long enough to know that
conspicuous success invites suspicion and hostility.”
Gordon A. Craig

O n January 18, 1871, a unified German Empire was proclaimed from

the halls of France’s Versailles Palace. This marked a revolutionary
reconfiguration of Europe’s geopolitical map—a previously splintered conti-
nental heartland had become a unitary, powerful country; what had once
been a periphery for great-power conflict was now a powerful core that could
exert influence over its neighbors. During the previous two centuries, France
had been the contender for continental hegemony, but no longer. To cite a
contemporary witticism, “Europe had lost a mistress and gained a master.”1
From the German perspective, unification was a clear sign of Germany’s
rise as a great power. At the same time, however, it also marked the point
at which Germany had to begin to bear new burdens and responsibilities.
Germany soon found that it had fallen into the famous paradox that has
confronted rising great powers throughout history: as its power grew, so too
did the apprehensions of other great powers, leading to ceaseless increases of
diplomatic and security pressures. In order to respond to the dangers brought
by its newfound strength, the newly unified Germany initially sought to keep
a low profile by adhering to a policy of “hiding strength and biding time.”2 In
terms of grand strategy, this was a period of cautious exploration.

A New Empire’s Fragility

The 1871 unification of Germany was accomplished by Prussia during the

course of three dynastic wars. Historians agree that this Germany was essen-
tially an enlarged Prussian kingdom. The actual strengths of Prussia and the
new Germany, however, were quite different: Prussia had been militarily strong,
but the unified Germany became a great power that inspired nervousness in
its neighbors. After unification, its national territory nearly doubled, and its
population increased from 19.3 million to 34.6 million people.3 More signifi-
Fragile Rise

cantly, however, unification prompted dramatic economic expansion. One

historian has commented that “after 1871 German industry advanced in such
great strides that all the other economies of Europe, including that of Britain,
were left behind.”4
This rapidly growing great power, however, also had problems and weak-
nesses. Most significantly, these included structural issues that made the
development of a German grand strategy, or any other form of comprehensive
planning, very difficult. Outstanding manifestations of this could be found in
Germany’s political, social, and strategic decision-making systems.

The Political System

From the perspective of domestic politics, the establishment of the German
Empire was entirely the result of compromise and balance. Such compromise
was embodied in the balance between the ideologies of liberalism and monar-
chism, and between the demands of German nationalism and the tradition of
local sovereignty. As a result, the post-unification German state had a consti-
tution, but was far from being a truly modern constitutional state. Its political
system was essentially “mixed”: it was a combination of a monarchy and a
democratic representative system; it was a combination of a federal system
and a centralized system.
The Reichstag’s position in German political life was an outstanding
example of this phenomenon. At the time of the empire’s establishment in
1871, a national representative assembly based on universal, equal, and direct
elections had been written into the new imperial constitution. This was an
important result of the political cooperation between Bismarck and bourgeois
liberals. The Reichstag, made up of 397 representatives who would be elected
by all German men over the age of 25, had as its principal power the right
to approve executive orders, including the military budget. This does not,
however, imply that Germany had a modern, representative government.
Compared with Britain, France, and other Western European countries, there
were notable limits on the power of the German Reichstag. It could pass or
reject various executive orders and budgets, but it did not itself possess the
power to set law, nor could it make motions of “no confidence” against the
government. In theory, the chancellor of the empire was responsible to the
Reichstag; in actuality, however, chancellors answered to the kaiser and served
at the kaiser’s pleasure. Beyond this, representatives of the monarchs of each
of the German states made up the Bundesrat, the upper chamber created by
the constitution. This body had power over legislation, thus further reducing
the authority of the Reichstag.

2
 A Low-Posture Rise

By contrast, the German Empire preserved the traditional powers of the

monarchy to the greatest degree. The monarch and Germany’s representative
institutions (both at the imperial and state levels) were linked according to the
principles of constitutional monarchy. The monarch himself, however, was the
sole possessor of sovereignty, wielded vast powers (especially in military and
diplomatic affairs), and had the power of arbitrary rule. In terms of military
affairs, the kaiser carried on the Prussian tradition of the “soldier king,”
and military personnel swore loyalty to him, rather than the government,
as command of the military was entirely vested in the monarch. In foreign
policy, except for issues concerning trade, communications, and customs
taxation—all of which required the approval of the Reichstag—international
treaties, including those that established alliances with other countries, were
concluded at the sole discretion of the monarch. Declarations of war, too, only
required the approval of the upper house, rather than the Reichstag. In fact, at
the outbreak of World War I, Kaiser Wilhelm II did not even seek the approval
of the Bundesrat before issuing his own declaration of war, which was then
only retroactively authorized by the upper house.
The relationship between the imperial government and the empire’s
constituent states was also a mixed system of federalism and centralized
rule. On one hand, few factors contributed to the empire’s unity, and this
fact was expressed in the form of a loose federalism. For example, in terms
of sovereign power, the ruling families of the various constituent states
jointly shared national sovereignty; the kaiser was the sole representative of
German sovereign power only with respect to foreign policy. This can even
be discerned from the kaiser’s formal title. When the empire was proclaimed
in 1871, Wilhelm I planned to use the title “Kaiser of Germany [Kaiser von
Deutschland],” but this was rejected by the kings of Bavaria and Württemberg
as impinging on the sovereignty of the constituent states. The title finally
selected—“Kaiser of the Germans [deutscher Kaiser]”—only signified nation-
ality.5 The German military system gave primacy to the army, which itself
comprised the armies of the various constituent states, yet these armies were
ordinarily responsible to the rulers of those states. Only in wartime would
they form a united German Army under the command of the kaiser.
A number of important military institutions also belonged to the
constituent states. An example of this was the so-called German General
Staff; in actuality, this organization was simply the Prussian General Staff. In
terms of structure and position, only the Reichstag and the chancellor repre-
sented the empire as a whole. Ministries were not established for the empire,
and the chancellor’s office took responsibility for the administrative functions

3
Fragile Rise

of the empire. It was only in 1878 that the chancellor’s office was expanded
and divided into eight imperial offices that were respectively responsible for
foreign affairs, finance, internal affairs, the navy, the postal system, railroads,
justice, and matters related to Alsace-Lorraine. The heads of these offices were
known as “State Secretaries.”6 Thus, the German Empire lacked cabinet secre-
taries and, in fact, did not have imperial-level ministers other than the chan-
cellor.
On the other hand, however, Germany did not have a truly federal
system. The principal reason for this was that Prussia had an outsized role in
managing imperial affairs. It constituted two-thirds of the empire’s territory
and made up 60 percent of its population; additionally, the empire’s most
important natural resources and industrial bases lay within its borders.
Imperial and constituent state tax revenues, moreover, were kept separate;
Prussia’s tax revenues typically exceeded those of the German Empire itself—
as late as 1913, Prussia’s annual revenues of 120 million marks were greater
than that of the central government.7 Even more importantly, Prussia held a
special position in political decision-making—its king was the German kaiser,
and the imperial chancellor (except for brief intervals in 1873 and 1892–1894)
concurrently served as the prime minister of Prussia. Prussia also held 17 of
the Bundesrat’s 58 seats, enough to veto any proposal that it did not agree
with. It could truly be said that whoever controlled Prussia also controlled the
fate of the entire German Empire.

The Social System

Post-unification German society was rife with tensions and stresses. The most
significant of these included the traditional tension between the individual
German states and the unified nation as a whole, as well as the strife between
social classes, especially the bourgeois and the Junker landlord class.
The first of these conflicts was very apparent during the early years
after the 1871 unification. That unification had been accomplished through
Prussian force, so the wounds of defeat lingered in those states (Hanover
and Saxony among them) that had originally opposed Prussia. Furthermore,
separatism based on different royal houses had deep roots in German history,
thus loyalty to a particular dynasty had always been a stronger bond than
nationalism. As Bismarck himself noted in his memoirs, Thoughts and Remi-
niscences:

The particular nationalities, which among us have shaped themselves

on the bases of dynastic family and possession, include in most cases

4
 A Low-Posture Rise

heterogeneous elements, whose cohesion rest neither on identity of

stock nor on similarity of historical development, but exclusively on
the fact of some (in the most cases questionable) acquisition by the
dynasty whether by the right of the strong, or hereditary succession
by affinity or compact of inheritance, or by some reversionary grant
obtained from the imperial Court as the price of a vote. Whatever
may be the origin of this factitious union of particularist elements,
its result is that the individual German readily obeys the command
of a dynasty to harry with fire and sword, and with his own hands to
slaughter his German neighbors and kinsfolk as a result of quarrels
unintelligible to himself.8

The legacy of this separatism even affected issues relating to Polish

and other minorities in the empire. The unified Germany was supposed to
be a nation-state, based on a shared sense of ethno-national identification,
rather than loyalty to a dynasty. This produced a serious problem, however:
what would be the status of non-German minority groups living on German
territory, especially the Poles living in the eastern portions of the country? In
the past, Poland had been partitioned between Russia, Prussia, and Austria.
The Poles in Prussia owed loyalty only to the Hohenzollern ruling house of
that state, while still retaining their Polish ethnic identity. Thus, under Prussian
rule, the “Polish Question” was not particularly disruptive. The situation
changed dramatically with the unification of the German Empire, however.
The construction of a state based on German ethnic identity inspired an
awareness of Polish ethnicity, too. Many Polish nobles proclaimed that while
they could be Prussians, they never could be Germans.9
Religious issues were intertwined with the ethnic problem. Following the
Protestant Reformation, Germany was split between Catholics and Protes-
tants. The devastating Thirty Years’ War, which had been particularly disas-
trous for Germany, was partially a result of these religious tensions. German
unification did not extinguish these tensions; instead, it breathed new life
into them (at least to some extent). In Germany—and particularly among
the Prussian people—the 1871 victory and subsequent establishment of the
empire was understood as a victory of Protestants over Catholics (which
included, but were not limited to, the French). Although Protestantism was
dominant across Germany as a whole, there were regions of Catholic predom-
inance in the south and the west. Some of these areas, which included the
kingdoms of Bavaria and Württemberg, had both political and religious
reasons for separatist inclinations toward Prussia and its Protestant majority.

5
Fragile Rise

Furthermore, most Poles were Catholic, and this generated endless tensions
with the Protestant-based German state. From the perspective of German
policymakers and the German government, validating the leading role of
Protestantism was vital to maintaining domestic stability and the unity of
the empire. In 1906, German Chancellor Bernhard von Bülow worried about
the potential repercussions caused by the addition of the Austro-Hungarian
Empire’s German-speaking regions (which were majority Catholic), in the
event of that empire’s collapse: “We shall thereby receive an increase of about
fifteen million Catholics so that the Protestants would become a minority…
the proportion of strength between the Protestants and the Catholics would
become similar to that which at the time led to the Thirty Years’ War, i.e., a
virtual dissolution of the German empire.”10
The second type of conflict existed primarily between social classes.
Traditional German society had been primarily agricultural. Government
officials, and especially the army officer corps, tended to hail from the Junker
landlord class. This class both controlled the land and held a dominant
position in the country’s political life. By the time of unification, however,
industrialization was already comparatively advanced and agriculture’s share
of the national economy was rapidly declining. For the period 1850–1854,
the agricultural, forestry, and fishing sectors produced 45.2 percent of the
country’s net economic output, while the industrial and handicraft sectors
accounted for only 20.4 percent. By 1870–1874, however, those proportions
had shifted to 37.9 percent and 29.7 percent, respectively.11 Thus, traditional
domestic power structures grew increasingly separated from the country’s new
economic base. The rising industrial and commercial capitalist classes actively
began to demand political power consummate with their enhanced economic
position. The post-1871 German Empire, however, had been founded and led
by Prussia’s feudal aristocracy, allowing the Junker landlord class to maintain
the pre-existing distribution of political power. The coincidence of Germany’s
relatively brief experience as a politically unified nation with its era of super-
heated industrialization allowed a feudal, militarized elite to form a “hard
core” of power at the center of this industrial society. This contrasts with the
experiences of Britain and France, whose slower paces of industrial devel-
opment provided enough time either to sweep away traditional elites or to
absorb them into the new social and economic structures.12 This resulted in a
uniquely German social phenomenon: the coexistence of two evenly matched
interest groups—industrial capitalists and Junker landlords—each of which
could influence the government through its own channels. Social conflict in
the newly-unified Germany thus assumed a bipolar nature.

6
 A Low-Posture Rise

It should be pointed out that as time went on, national unity grew
stronger and identity-based domestic conflict abated somewhat. Class-based
social conflict, however, grew increasingly prominent. The increasing might
of the working class both expanded the nature of this conflict and made it
more complex.

The System of Strategic Decision-making

Germany’s system of strategic decision-making can be analyzed primarily
from two perspectives—foreign policy and military policy. The chancellor,
who was directly accountable to the kaiser, managed both ordinary policy-
making and diplomacy. Before 1878, the chancellor’s office was responsible for
determining and managing foreign policy, and the entire diplomatic apparatus
(including Germany’s diplomats stationed abroad) were directly managed by
Bismarck. After the 1878 expansion of the Chancellory, an Office of Foreign
Affairs was established, with a State Secretary for Foreign Affairs in charge.
This position was similar to the foreign minister of other countries, but with
limited power. Incumbents in this position, in fact, merely assisted the chan-
cellor in his management of foreign policy. The general process for enacting
foreign policy at the time could be summarized as: embassies gathered diplo-
matic information, which the Office of Foreign Affairs aggregated with other
information from a variety of sources, and the resulting product was reported
to the chancellor. The chancellor made decisions and guided policy, with the
final prerogative resting in the hands of the kaiser. In the administration of
policy, once the chancellor gave concrete orders, either diplomats stationed
abroad were tasked with carrying them out or the chancellor himself would
personally work directly with foreign ambassadors in Germany.
In practice, this process often broke down. Germany’s diplomatic
corps was populated by aristocrats. At times, they would use their special
connection to the monarchy to report directly to the emperor. This would
lead to conflict between the chancellor and the diplomats. Soon after unifi-
cation, the German ambassador to France, Count Harry von Arnim, disagreed
with Bismarck’s policies toward France and proposed instead that Germany
proactively seek to stabilize France’s domestic situation and aid a monar-
chical restoration. Bismarck, however, believed that an unstable, republican
France was in Germany’s best interests, because that situation would be an
important impediment to any alliance between France and Russia. A stable,
monarchical France, by contrast, would be a “possible and appropriate ally”
for czarist Russia.13 Arnim, rather than accepting Bismarck’s disapproval of
his plan, wrote directly to the kaiser and thus challenged the chancellor’s role

7
Fragile Rise

in managing foreign policy. Bismarck could not accept this. Tensions between
the two escalated until, in the end, Arnim was stripped of his position on
charges of “improper handling of public documents.” After the conclusion of
this incident, foreign policy decision-making was completely centralized in
Bismarck’s hands. Except for instances when the kaiser himself intervened,
foreign policy proceeded according to Bismarck’s ideas.
In military affairs, however, the chancellor’s power was much more
restricted. The German military system was essentially the Prussian system
writ large. It had formed under an absolute monarchy and was carefully main-
tained in order to avoid any interference by civil officials or elected repre-
sentatives. Germany adopted a system in which military administration and
military orders were separated, with the Prussian Army primarily respon-
sible for the management of the entire German Army (with the exceptions
of Bavaria, Saxony, and Württemberg). The chancellor was limited to a small
and symbolic role. Military appropriations, for instance, required his coun-
tersignature on the emperor’s approval. Military orders, however—including
military planning, the organization and training of the army, mobilization, and
deployment—were entirely within the kaiser’s purview. The Prussian General
Staff (which acted as the General Staff of the entire German Army) wielded
enormous power; it was responsible for devising war plans during peacetime
and implementing the kaiser’s orders during wartime. Additionally, a small
number of army and navy senior officers formed a military cabinet that made
daily reports to the kaiser and deliberated on military issues. This body was,
in fact, parallel to the Prussian military command and the General Staff as a
group of military officials directly responsible only to the kaiser. These three
military command organizations had no substantial linkages among them;
Germany’s armed forces lacked a single command center other than the
kaiser himself. Thus, the army (mainly the Prussian Army) had a special place
in German strategic decision-making which even the chancellor, the empire’s
political leader, could not influence. The German strategic decision-making
process was bifurcated between the political and the military systems, and it
was only at the very top—in the person of the kaiser himself—that these two
systems linked together.
In summary, the institutional preparations of the newly established
German Empire were inherently insufficient. Its decision-making system,
political structures, and social structures all contained significant flaws. Each
of the many interest groups and institutions sought to expand its own power
but, in an environment lacking established rules and regulations, this soon
degenerated into a war of all against all. This situation was not beneficial to the

8
 A Low-Posture Rise

formation of a balanced grand strategy and made the execution of compre-

hensive and continuous planning difficult. Arguably, German grand strategy
during the Bismarckian era developed only with great difficulty and, to a
significant extent, this development relied solely on Bismarck’s own wisdom
and actions.

Managing Crises Sparked by Germany’s New Strength

The Crises
The newly formed German Empire faced substantial external challenges. First,
Germany suffered from a distinctly unfavorable geographic position. Located
at the center of Europe, it had long and complex land boundaries. It also
bordered the ocean as well, and shared the classic characteristics of both land
and sea powers. Thus, it was easy for the nation’s power to be split between
these two different aspects. At the same time, Germany was surrounded by
other powerful countries on land: Russia lay to its east, Austria to its south,
and France to its west. Only on its northern flank, on the shores of the North
and Baltic Seas, did Germany not share a land boundary with a great power.
Yet, from this direction, it had to contend with Britain’s dominance of the
seas. Bismarck himself summarized this situation by noting that Germany
was hindered by its “central and exposed position...with its extended frontier
which has to be defended on every side, and the ease with which anti-German
coalitions are made.”14
Even more significantly, however, German unification fundamentally
changed the European power structure. Moreover, this had happened as a
result of German battlefield victories over two of the continent’s five great
powers. This necessarily attracted the strong reaction of the other countries—
and policies that both Britain and Russia adopted toward the new Germany
clearly represented the stresses and pressures brought by the country’s
newfound power. Before unification, both Britain and Russia would, to
varying degrees, aid Prussia in its disputes with France or Austria. They were
Prussia’s natural allies. After unification, by contrast, Germany leaped into the
position of the continent’s strongest land power, whereas France and Austria
were placed on the defensive. Both Britain and Russia adopted the same view
of these dramatic changes: Germany’s relative power could not be allowed
to continue to grow, nor could France’s position be allowed to further erode;
thus France would be given support to balance Germany.
Britain’s reaction was especially swift. Soon after the end of Germany’s
wars of unification, Britain began to demonstrate its interest in supporting

9
Fragile Rise

France and containing Germany. Even while the Franco-Prussian War was
still ongoing, Britain sought to use humanitarian pressure to intervene in the
Prussian Army’s siege of Paris. During the gap between the armistice and the
signing of the Treaty of Frankfurt, influential British political figures busied
themselves with an attempt to prevent France’s cession of Alsace and Lorraine.
The leader of Britain’s Conservative Party (and later prime minister), Lord
Salisbury, had not approved of his country’s negative policy of “neutrality”
during the war and instead favored the adoption of an activist foreign policy,
asking “Is not the crisis worth some risk?”15 Benjamin Disraeli, another
Conservative Party leader, best encapsulated the British view in a February
9, 1871, statement in the House of Commons. He argued that the Franco-
Prussian War was:

No common war.... This war represents the German revolution, a

greater political event than the French revolution of the last century.
I don’t say a greater, or as a great a social event. What its social
consequences may be are in the future. Not a single principle in
the management of our foreign affairs, accepted by all statesmen
for guidance up to six months ago, any longer exists. There is not
a diplomatic tradition which has not been swept away. You have a
new world, new influences at work, new and unknown objects and
dangers with which to cope.... The balance of power has been entirely
destroyed, and the country which suffers most, and feels the effects
of this great change most, is England.16

Great Britain’s true fear, however, was the path that the newly unified Germany
would follow. Would this newly risen great strength use its growing power to
press its advantages even further, until it established hegemony? Many in the
British policymaking elite strongly suspected this in the years immediately
following 1871, and many believed that Germany would continue to expand.
Disraeli himself thought that “Bismarck is really another old Napoleon again,
and he must be bridled,” and that, as a consequence, “there might be an
alliance between Russia and ourself [sic] for this special purpose.”17 Britain’s
post-1871 ambassador to Germany, Lord Odo Russell, argued that Bismarck’s
purpose was “the supremacy of Germany in Europe, and of the German race
in the world” and that the annexation of Alsace-Lorraine was merely the first
step of a plan to rule all German-speaking European territories.18

10
 A Low-Posture Rise

Russia reacted more slowly to the growth of German power. This was
in part due to the traditional ties between the dynasties that ruled the two
countries. It was also linked to a beneficial opportunity created by German
unification—Russia seized the moment of France’s defeat to abrogate the 1856
Treaty of Paris’s humiliating stipulation on the “neutralization” of the Black
Sea, which had restricted Russian naval power on that body of water. This
proved short-lived, however, and the deeper effects of German unification
would soon be reflected in Russian policy. Just as had been the case in Britain,
Russia moved away from its traditional anti-French alliance with Prussia to
become a supporter of France. In September 1872, Bismarck tirelessly worked
to arrange a meeting in Berlin between the monarchs of Germany, Austria,
and Russia in order to demonstrate the “unity of the monarchies,” yet the
Russian government struck a discordant note during the proceedings. The
Russian Foreign Minister, Alexander Gorchakov, signaled to the French
ambassador in Berlin that he supported French rearmament, averring that
his country desired a strong France.19 Bismarck himself had an accurate view
of the Russian position, arguing that it was hard to believe that “the Russian
cabinet clearly foresaw that, when [the Franco-German War] was over, Russia
would have as neighbor so strong and consolidated a Germany.” He antici-
pated that Russia would find a new bottom line once the situation became
clear: “That for the Russian policy there is a limit beyond which the impor-
tance of France in Europe must not be decreased is explicable. That limit was
reached, as I believe, at the Peace of Frankfurt.”20
France and Austria, which had both been defeated by Germany on the
battlefield, naturally became increasingly hostile. After the loss of Alsace-
Lorraine, French hatred for Germany became deep-rooted and a desire for
vengeance dominated French policy toward Germany until 1914. During the
forty-four years leading up to the outbreak of World War I, France reached
for every opportunity that presented itself to land a blow against Germany;
any nation that was unfriendly to Germany became France’s potential ally.
Austria’s problems with Germany, by comparison, could be accommodated.
Austria was relatively weak and was beset by internal crises. In 1867, after it
reconstituted itself as the Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy, it lost interest
in reclaiming leadership of the German people. After the conclusion of the
Franco-Prussian War, Austria increasingly felt that had no hope of vengeance,
leading to the dismissal of the revanchist minister-president, Count Friedrich
Ferdinand von Beust, and accepted German success.21 Yet, once Germany

11
Fragile Rise

became entangled in other crises, Austria-Hungary remained vigilant for

opportunities to reclaim its lost position.

Bismarck’s Early Responses to the Crises

Bismarck had already mentally prepared himself to deal with these pressures.
He deeply understood the principle that newly risen great powers would
encounter apprehension. In his Thoughts and Reminiscences, a memoir which
functioned as his political last testament, he again pointed to the dangers
brought by national strength, and again reminded his fellow Germans that
they should manage their foreign affairs with care.22
Recognizing a problem is one thing; solving it is yet another. During the
initial phase after unification, Bismarck continued to use the old methods of
Prussia to respond to these new pressures. To a certain extent, it was as if he
thought that a post-unification German Empire could act like the pre-unifi-
cation Prussia, “pretending” that it was not a rising power. This, perhaps, was
a German version of the “hide and bide” strategy.
For example, Bismarck maintained a low profile in his relations with
Great Britain, hoping to use the historical tradition of alliances between
Prussia and Britain to ease British apprehensions and pressures. In November
1870, the British ambassador to Germany expressed his country’s serious
concerns about the recent Russian abrogation of the clauses in the Treaty of
Paris that related to the Black Sea. The ambassador also noted that England
believed that Germany had secretly supported Russia in this move as a reward
for Russian neutrality in the Franco-Prussian War. Bismarck did not respond
directly, but used the opportunity to express friendship toward Britain. He
claimed that Germany and Russia did not have a secret agreement and that
the relations between the two powers were all public. With regard to this kind
of relationship with Russia, he “not only does not attempt to deny, but openly
declares to be a national and family alliance of friendship and gratitude for
past services, which it is his duty to maintain until future events bring about
more advantageous alliances.” Bismarck also emphasized, however, that
Great Britain and Austria were Germany’s “natural allies” and that Germany
would make sacrifices for such an alliance. This clearly hints that, if Great
Britain had been willing to conclude an alliance with Germany similar to
the ones that had once existed between it and Prussia, then Germany might
abandon its support for Russia.23 This was an attempt to apply the model of
Anglo-Prussian relations to Anglo-German relations. Such a strategy could
not succeed. Post-unification Germany was not the old Prussia, and Great
Britain’s suspicions of this newly risen continental great power were deep-

12
 A Low-Posture Rise

rooted. Bismarck’s suggestion, as a consequence, would not be acted on and

the issue was left unsettled.
Bismarck’s policies toward Austria-Hungary also mirrored the old
Prussia-Austria relationship, particularly in an emphasis on the relationship
between the monarchs. Due to the growth of the international communist
movement at that time, autocratic rulers and the capitalist classes felt
threatened. Bismarck took threats and crises as opportunities, as they could
both be used to force others to cooperate with him. Or, failing that, they could
be used to counter those inside Germany who were opposed to him. Bismarck
was an admirer of former Austrian Chancellor Klemens von Metternich, and
thus naturally wanted to use international communism (particularly after the
1871 Paris Commune) to frighten monarchs into reviving the “Holy Alliance”
and stabilizing the European great powers. Yet this old method proved
problematic. The new Germany was immeasurably more powerful than old
Prussia. Austria and Russia both worried that a revived Holy Alliance would
naturally be centered on Germany. Moreover, Austria and Russia themselves
had unresolved conflicts in the Balkans and were unwilling to be drawn into
an alliance together.
Austria-Hungary, therefore, hoped that Germany would distance itself
from Russia and would support Austria against Russia at the critical moment.
Russia’s desires were more complex. On the one hand, it was unwilling to
acknowledge Germany’s enhanced international status and was not inter-
ested in acting in accordance with German ideas. On the other hand, Russia
believed that it possessed enough “freedom of action” that it could maintain
good relations with France or even Austria in order to check Germany,
so Russia was not in a hurry to accept Bismarck’s notions of a new “Holy
Alliance.”
Bismarck soon adapted old Prussian strategy to meet this new reality
through the addition of tactics from power politics. He first turned his
attention to the relatively weak Austro-Hungarian Empire, on the theory
that once he had brought the Austrians on board he could bargain with the
relatively stronger Russians from a better position. For the subsequent two
decades, Bismarck’s policies toward Austria and Russia would follow this line
of thought. His negotiations with the Austrians clearly revealed that he would
not sacrifice Germany’s ties with Russia for an improved relationship with
Austria-Hungary, and that the Austrians would have no choice but to accept
this. The Austrian Emperor Franz Joseph I’s formal visit to Berlin in 1872
marked Austria’s acceptance of its defeat by Germany. The growing friendship
between the two German-speaking powers naturally made Russia nervous.

13
Fragile Rise

In order to avoid exclusion by these two countries, Russian Czar Alexander

II and Gorchakov also journeyed to Berlin for a “fortuitous” meeting of the
three monarchs. This “meeting of three emperors,” however, was simply diplo-
matic posturing and did not result in any new signed agreements. In fact,
through this meeting, both Austria and Russia realized that, given that the
conflict between the two countries was unlikely to diminish, neither could
allow the other to build stronger relations with Germany, and thus a decision
by all three countries to be in contact was the optimal choice.
In May 1873, Kaiser Wilhelm I, accompanied by Chancellor Bismarck
and Helmuth von Moltke, chief of the Prussian General Staff, paid a return
visit to Russia. There, he signed a military alliance with the Russians that
obligated the two powers to send an army of 200,000 soldiers if either was
attacked by another European power.24 This agreement revealed that Russia
was prepared to, at the very least, maintain neutrality in any resumption of the
Franco-Prussian War; this functioned as an indirect guarantee of continued
German occupation of Alsace-Lorraine. Bismarck was not primarily inter-
ested in this, however. Instead, he attached far more importance to orches-
trating the relationship between the three powers. From his perspective, as
long as Germany, Austria, and Russia could maintain a basic unanimity on
foreign affairs, then France would have no opportunity to act on its revan-
chist desires. As a consequence, he declared that the agreement would be
invalid without Austrian participation. Austria was not willing to join this
restrictive guarantee and instead embarked on its own direct negotiations
with the Russians. In June 1873, during a state visit to the Schönbrunn Palace,
the Russian czar and Austrian emperor inked a very general agreement that
provided a broad commitment to “maintaining the peace of Europe.” From
Germany’s perspective, this agreement did not have nearly the value of the
German-Russian military agreement, but it did thaw the relationship between
Russia and Austria, thus allowing Germany to avoid having to choose between
the two. This satisfied Bismarck. In October 1873, Germany joined the Schön-
brunn Convention, thus forming the first League of Three Emperors.
While organizing the relationship between these three monarchies,
Bismarck also closely followed Britain’s reaction. He feared that the league
might provoke Britain, pushing it to ally with France; to avoid this, he
constantly signaled to Britain that this arrangement would not be detrimental
to British interests. Thus, he continued to support a “low posture” in interna-
tional affairs, but at the same time he took concrete steps to express the purity
of Germany’s intentions. In the summer of 1873, for example, Germany facili-
tated the first Anglo-Russian agreement on spheres of influence in Central

14
 A Low-Posture Rise

Asia, helping to stabilize Anglo-Russian relations. Overall, this “low posture”

policy bore results during the years between 1871 and 1875. Germany’s entire
foreign relations environment was completely changed, and both English and
German misgivings about Germany’s rise were somewhat ameliorated. Italy,
fearing French interference in its own conflicts with the Vatican, proactively
sought German support. For some time, all of the structural pressures sparked
by Germany’s rise seemed to be extinguished.

The 1875 “War in Sight” Crisis

Acting in accordance with the old Prussian model could not mislead others
into thinking that Germany was merely Prussia, nor would it change the fact
of Germany’s rise as a great power. The outbreak of the 1875 "War in Sight"
Crisis revealed Germany’s seemingly improved diplomatic situation to be
nothing more than a mirage. The German version of “hide and bide” would
be seriously tested. This crisis originated in the collection of pressures brought
about by Germany’s rise. Its proximate causes, however, were fairly complex
and were inextricably linked to the domestic struggle between politics and
religion.

The Kulturkampf and Franco-German Tensions

Prussia had been a predominantly Protestant country. In the early nineteenth
century, having confirmed the position of Protestantism within the country,
Prussia practiced a separation of church and state. At the same time, Catholic
forces worked to maintain their own rights as a minority. After 1852, the
Prussian legislature included Roman Catholic political groups. These entities
sought to protect the rights of Catholics within this Protestant-majority
country, but never impeded Prussian national policy.
After the unification of Germany, however, as the concepts of nation and
state became ever more tightly intertwined, the relationships between religion
and politics—and between Catholics and Protestants—became increasingly
tense. This was in step with broader trends across Europe. In the second
half of the nineteenth century, the Catholic Church had been increasingly
excluded from national political life, and the separation of church and state
had become a general trend. The Church decided to strike back against this
worrisome situation. Under the leadership of Pope Pius IX, the Catholic
Church launched a powerful movement to consolidate its authority. In 1864,
the Vatican released a tract titled the “Syllabus of Errors,” that opposed the
separation of church and state and reaffirmed papal authority over secular

15
Fragile Rise

affairs. Six years later, the Church issued a statement on papal infallibility that
claimed the pope represented God’s will. These acts further increased tension
between the Catholic Church and state governments.
Bismarck had initially hoped to remain on the sidelines of this inter-
national aspects of this conflict between religion and politics. As late as 1870,
he instructed the Prussian ambassador to the Vatican to adopt a restrained
and neutral response. Soon, however, this conflict reached Germany itself.
German liberals and Protestants strongly opposed the actions of the Catholic
Church, while German Catholics themselves were split on the issue of papal
infallibility. Catholics opposed to this policy experienced persecution at the
hands of the German Catholic establishment and sought the protection of the
government. Soon afterward, the Catholic political groups began to proac-
tively organize themselves and, in December 1870, formed their own political
party, the Catholic Centre Party. In the 1871 imperial Diet elections, the party
won 63 of the 382 open seats and earned nearly 20 percent of the ballots
cast. They emerged from the election as Germany’s second largest party and
the largest opposition party to Bismarck’s government. Catholic activism
also became entangled with the Polish question. The majority of Poles were
Catholic; many Catholic churches in Polish areas advocated for the use of
Polish, rather than government-mandated German. The German government
faced the threat of an alliance between Catholic religious interests and Polish
national interests, causing issues of national security to be implicated in this
struggle over religious rights.
Bismarck’s government soon took action to clarify the connection
between church and state and to solidify the unity of the new state. In
the summer of 1871, the government slowly moved to exclude Catholic
influence from public affairs. Within the nation’s borders, the government
initiated a movement opposed to clerical power that came to be known as
the Kulturkampf. State institutions generally have difficulty gaining the
upper hand in struggles against popular religious beliefs and, unsurprisingly,
the Kulturkampf quickly became very complex. Not only did the German
government’s strong-arm tactics fail to weaken Catholic forces, but they
also sparked a widespread sympathy for Catholics. Catholic political power
continued to grow in this period and, in the January 1874 imperial elections,
the Catholic Centre Party expanded its representation in the Diet from 63
to 91 seats. Furthermore, Catholic forces inside Germany received support
from both the Vatican and French Catholics. This highlighted the inter-
national aspects of this domestic political dispute, as well as the extent to
which it touched upon substantive diplomatic problems, such as sensitive

16
 A Low-Posture Rise

aspects of the Franco-German relationship. In early August 1873, the bishop

of Nancy, France, sent an open letter to his diocese, asking them to pray for
the return of Alsace and Lorraine to France. A month later, the bishop of Paris
issued a similar call. Soon after, five French bishops advocated that Catholics
in Alsace and Lorraine work with German Catholics in opposition to that
government’s repressive measures.
Bismarck suspected that France and the Vatican were secretly plotting
against Germany, and these developments inside France only served to deepen
that suspicion. In the Treaty of Frankfurt that had concluded the Franco-
Prussian War, Germany had demanded 5 billion francs as an indemnity for
the French territory it had occupied. The German intention had been to
saddle France with a huge financial burden in order to slow its recovery. The
French paid these war reparations much more quickly than Germany had
expected. By 1873, the payments had been completed and by September 16,
Germany evacuated territories occupied by its military. On November 20 of
that year, French voters elected Patrice de MacMahon, a former subordinate
of Napoleon III, president of the republic. The constitutional crisis that had
vexed French politics began to recede and the country began to stabilize.
French rearmament had already started after the conclusion of the war,
and by 1873 the pace of that process quickened. This rapid French political,
economic, and military recovery attracted a high level of attention from
German policymakers. The German military led the response. Moltke, the
chief of the Prussian General Staff, had already drafted a plan for “preven-
tative war” against the French as early as 1872. On May 1, 1873, he mentioned
the possibility of another war with France in discussions with the British
ambassador.25 Tension lay in the atmosphere.
Rumors of war began to circulate, which proved even more effective at
stirring up the situation. In December 1874, German newspapers carried
the information that a Belgian would attempt to assassinate Bismarck, and
that the bishop of Paris had already pledged 60,000 francs to support this
endeavor. Bismarck issued a stern rebuke to the Belgian government. In
early 1875, the rumor began to circulate that Bismarck intended to partition
Belgium.26 Another rumor that year was started by the Radowitz mission
to Russia. Problems had arisen in the Russo-German relationship, and the
German ambassador too Russia had resigned due to illness, leaving the office
vacant. Gorchakov was meanwhile seeking to distance his country from
Germany in order to demonstrate to Germany the value of a relationship
with Russia. In February 1875, Bismarck sent Joseph Maria von Radowitz as a
special envoy to St. Petersburg on a mission to coordinate the two countries’

17
Fragile Rise

policies toward Serbia and Montenegro, as well as to mollify Czar Alexander

II’s displeasure with Germany. The rumor that spread, which Bismarck blamed
on Gorchakov, suggested that Radowitz was seeking either Russian support or
neutrality in any upcoming second Franco-Prussian War. In return, Germany
would support Russian policy in the Balkans.27 In this way, the possibility of
renewed Franco-German conflict came dimly into view.

“War in Sight”?
On March 4, 1875, Germany forbade the export of horses after Bismarck
received reports that German horse dealers had received an order from
French buyers for the immediate purchase of ten thousand horses.28 On
March 12, the French parliament passed a law expanding the size of each
army battalion from three to four companies and each regiment from three
to four battalions. According to the calculations of the Prussian General Staff,
this law would raise the wartime strength of the French military by 144,000
soldiers, which might be enough to change the balance of power between
France and Germany.29 Suddenly, it seemed that the two sides were taking the
first steps down the road to war.
Bismarck’s calculations were equally complex. First, he did not agree
with the German military’s (and particularly the Prussian General Staff ’s)
perception that France was preparing to launch a revanchist war.30 Instead,
he held the opposite view: France would not risk another war with Germany
without first securing an ally.31 Second, Bismarck seemed to really believe that
there was an international Catholic conspiracy, centered on France and the
Vatican, that opposed Germany. As the Kulterkampf slowly lost ground at
home, Germany needed a foreign policy victory to restore its prestige and to
prove that the new empire would not be split by the Kulturkampf. Third, he
could use this moment of increasing tensions in order to gain the support of
other great powers and to bring greater pressure on France and thus prevent
or delay its recovery of military might.32 He therefore set off alarm bells about
a war with France. On April 5, 1875, the German newspaper Kölnische Zeitung
ran an article headlined “New Alliances” that linked Franco-German tensions
to the Kulturkampf, stoked fears about the purpose of French rearmament,
and pointed to a “Catholic coalition directed against Protestant Germany”
comprising France, Austria-Hungary, Italy, and the Vatican.33 On April
9, the Berlin-based Die Post printed the famous article, “Is War in Sight?”
This piece forcefully stated that France was preparing for a revanchist war
and this had caused the tense atmosphere of imminent war to descend upon

18
 A Low-Posture Rise

Europe.34 High German officials also became involved in hinting at war. At

a dinner on April 21, 1875, German envoy Radowitz offered a philosophical
view on the issue of war and peace to the French ambassador to Germany.
He first explained that the present crisis between France and Germany had
already been resolved, but added that if France continued to harbor revan-
chist desires, then why should Germany sit and wait while France rearms and
seeks allies? From the “political, philosophical, and even Christian” perspec-
tives, it would be reasonable for Germany to launch a preventive war. On May
2, Moltke, chief of the Prussian General Staff, said in a discussion with the
British ambassador that, in the event of a preventive war, responsibility for the
conflict lay with the side seeking conflict, not the side that launched the first
blow. But, he added, if the great powers of Europe all stood on Germany’s side,
thus deflating French hopes of revenge, then war could be avoided.35
On the whole, Bismarck still relied on a Prussian style of diplomacy,
especially as it was practiced during the wars of German unification: proac-
tively aggravate tensions, then use a series of diplomatic maneuvers to force
the other side to make concessions. He did not, however, realize that a funda-
mental change had taken place or that Germany’s status within the interna-
tional system was entirely different from Prussia’s old position. Before 1871,
Prussia could instigate a small crisis that would force the other great powers
to mediate, but post-unification Germany could not act in such a manner.
For the other European great powers, this new Germany was too strong. Any
threatening behavior on its part required their full attention—and perhaps
might even prompt other nations to ally themselves in opposition. Thus, by
1875, it was France that needed to be protected and Germany that needed
to be restrained. German calls to protect against the French threat not only
failed to generate a sympathetic response, but also turned Germany into a
target for criticism. The various powers, particularly Britain and Russia,
desired to guarantee against further erosion of France’s status and power in
order to balance Germany’s rise. Thus, Bismarck’s failure in the "War in Sight"
Crisis was assured.
Furthermore, France’s diplomacy during this crisis—unlike its inept
handling of the crisis leading up to the Franco-Prussian War—was fore-
sighted. The French Foreign Minister, Louis Decazes, grasped the extent of
apprehension about Germany’s rise. His diplomatic efforts emphasized the
scope of German threats and urged other great powers to intervene. He
actively lobbied the governments of Britain, Russia, and Austria, portraying
Bismarck as a threat to European peace. Decazes also utilized the power of
the international media. He ordered a response to German justifications of

19
Fragile Rise

preventive war drafted; when published in the London Times on May 6, 1875,
this response created an impact throughout the continent.

Other Great Powers React

Great Britain took the lead in intervening. As early as February 10, 1874,
Queen Victoria had written to Wilhelm I, warning him that a second attack
on France would have serious consequences.36 After the publication of the
editorial “Is War in Sight?”in April 1875, British Foreign Secretary Edward
Stanley, Earl of Derby, immediately sought a meeting with the German
ambassador. He conveyed to the ambassador that France had already assured
Britain that its military reorganization was only intended to restore French
power and authority in Europe and that none of France’s political leaders
believed that they could prevail in a second war with Germany.37 On May
9, the British ambassador in Berlin, Lord Russell, sought an emergency
meeting with the German foreign secretary to declare that his country did
not believe that France was planning to start a war and did not intend to
reclaim its lost territories through military force. Great Britain, furthermore,
was deeply disturbed by the current crisis.38 Britain extended an invitation to
Italy, Russia, and Austria-Hungary jointly to pressure Germany in order to
“guarantee the peace.” Lord Derby addressed the British House of Lords on
May 31, proclaiming that France lacked any desire to start a war and suggested
that “persons of high position in Germany” were responsible for this crisis.39
This address was printed by the London Times the following day, making the
attitude of the British government toward the “War in Sight” Crisis clear to
Europe.
The Russian standpoint was similar. On May 5 and 6, 1875, the Russian
ambassador in Britain, Peter Shuvalov, stopped in Berlin on a return trip
from St. Petersburg to London to convey his government’s displeasure with
the crisis directly to Bismarck and Wilhelm I. The common view toward
this crisis in Great Britain and Russia sparked a partnership between the
two countries. After Shuvalov arrived in London, he reported to Lord Derby
that Bismarck had been in an extremely poor mental state, full of suspicion
that the other European states were uniting against Germany.40 On May 10,
Queen Victoria herself wrote to the czar, proposing that the two countries
take joint action. Under this plan, the czar would make a peace proposal
during a trip to Berlin, which the British ambassador would be ordered to use
all means at his disposal to support. Between May 10 and May 13, the czar
and Gorchakov visited Berlin, where they conveyed Russian opposition to
a German preventive attack on France and demanded that Bismarck clearly

20
 A Low-Posture Rise

explain his intentions. Bismarck was only able to reply that Germany had
no plans for preventive war, whereupon Gorchakov telegraphed Russian
embassies around the world, claimed that peace in Europe was now assured.41
At this point, German leaders suddenly realized that their country had
been completely isolated within Europe: Britain and Russia had united to
pressure Germany, Austria-Hungary was sitting on the sidelines, and Italy
was attempting to play both sides by accepting the British proposal and
passing information to Germany in hopes of profiting itself.42 Of these, inter-
vention by the British proved to be the most active and effective. This left a
deep impression on Bismarck. He remarked, with no little sarcasm, that had
Britain devoted even one-tenth as much energy to preventing war in 1870,
then France would never have attacked Germany and the Franco-Prussian
War would never have begun. At the same time, he was forced to admit that
“we must draw the conclusion that England was prepared to raise Europe
against us and in France’s favor, if at any time we intended—which is now not
the case—to make military or diplomatic preparations against the renewal
of French attacks.”43 Germany had no choice but to retreat and explain to all
that it had no intention of gaining the initiative by striking the first blow. This
process extended over a long period of time, causing the German government
to fall into a state of reaction on the international and domestic fronts. As
late as February 1876, Bismarck spoke before the German Diet to offer an
explanation with the hope of disavowing his government’s responsibility of
the crisis.
Arguably, the “War in Sight” Crisis—which Bismarck had provoked—
ended in his complete defeat. Bismarck’s own mistaken judgments about
Germany’s new international status and strategic environment were the
primary causes for this defeat. In particular, he failed to fully appreciate the
feeling of insecurity that Germany’s rise would generate in the other great
powers. He continued to use the old tactics of the Prussian era, and as a result
ran afoul of an important principle: a rising power must go out of its way
to avoid becoming the flashpoint of conflict. This mistaken policy caused
Bismarck to lose control over events. Britain, Russia, and other great powers
were able to seize the opportunity to make their stance known to Germany,
while France obtained what was, in effect, a security guarantee. Lord Derby,
not without a level of sarcasm, commented that Bismarck’s attempt to test
European opinion had now been answered.44 This “answer” had a deeper
implication, too: that a “low posture” was a wholly insufficient response to
the stresses brought by Germany’s rise. At best, such a policy could only work
during moments of calm.

21
Fragile Rise

The “War in Sight” Crisis left a deep impact on Bismarck himself. In May
1875, he offered his resignation (which was duly rejected by the kaiser) and
then removed himself from Berlin, resting at his country estate in Varzin until
November.45 During these months away, Bismarck placed himself in a form
of self-imposed exile. He took this period of extreme isolation as a chance to
reflect on Germany’s current situation and its future. No one will ever know
exactly what Bismarck’s thoughts were during this period, nor will we ever
know if this experience matches Arnold Toynbee’s notion of “withdrawal
and return.”46 Historical research is only able to reveal that, after the “War in
Sight” Crisis, a readjustment of German-style “hide and bide” policy began.
Bismarck started to think more about the new reality of Germany’s rise and
this thinking culminated in a far-reaching, comprehensive strategic plan.

The Growth of International Responsibilities: The Near East

Crisis and Germany’s Choice

The “War in Sight” Crisis revealed the pressures a rising Germany placed
on other great powers; the subsequent Near East Crisis, by contrast, high-
lighted ways in which Germany’s rise forced it to take on greater inter-
national responsibilities and the various risks associated with them. Even
during the period of Bismarck’s “low posture” foreign policy, Germany had
not been able to avoid this completely. Even more critically, the Near East
Crisis, which began in 1875, struck at the very heart of Germany’s foreign
policy—the League of Three Emperors.
As mentioned above, this League of Three Emperors was not an alliance
directed at any other power (in present-day terminology, it was not aimed
at a third party). Instead, it was an attempt to build an alliance that could
paper over the conflicts of interest between the three countries, particularly
the tensions between Russia and Austria over the Balkans. From Germany’s
perspective, this was of prime importance. As long as Germany was part of an
alliance system with both Austria and Russia, neither of those two countries
would have reason to seek an alliance with France or any other power. France,
as a result, would be isolated. This, in turn, would secure Germany’s status and
security within the European system.
This alliance, however, faced two serious challenges. The first was Great
Britain. Historically, Great Britain had never been comfortable with alliances
among the great powers of the continent. Bismarck’s league reminded many of
Metternich’s Holy Alliance, and naturally led to British fears of an alliance that
could dominate the continent. As a result, Britain would seize every oppor-

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 A Low-Posture Rise

tunity it could to weaken the league. The second was the Eastern Question.
Most of the inhabitants of the Balkan peninsula were Slavs, although this Slavic
population had been ruled by the Ottoman Empire since the late fourteenth
century. As the Ottoman Empire declined in the ninteenth century, Slavic
struggles for independent statehood convulsed the Balkans, creating what
contemporaries called the Eastern Question. This question had the potential
to overturn the existing balance of power between the great powers. First,
disputes over the disposition of former Ottoman lands could create serious
conflict (or even war) between the powers. Second, this situation could serve
to increase Russian power in the Balkans (or even in the broader Mediter-
ranean region); Russia saw itself as a “liberator” of its “Slavic brothers,” and
newly independent Slavic states were seen as extensions of Russian power.
Third, once the Ottoman Empire collapsed, the Austro-Hungarian Empire
would become the next “Sick Man of Europe.” That empire was home to a
large Slavic population as well, and any further growth of the Slavic national
movement could threaten to dissolve Austria-Hungary.47 In terms of the
Eastern Question, Russian and Austrian interests were thus opposed to one
another. If tensions in this region became inflamed, Germany might be forced
to choose one ally over another. This background structured the Near East
Crisis of 1875–1878.

A Basic Chronology of the 1875–1878 Near East Crisis

An anti-Ottoman uprising broke out in Bosnia-Herzegovina in July 1875.
Fueled by ethnic sympathies, support for national liberation movements,
and a desire to seize Ottoman territory, three countries—Serbia, Monte-
negro, and Russia—began to use a variety of channels to funnel aid to the
rebels.48 Austria-Hungary grew concerned about this rebellion’s growth by the
end of the year. On December 30, Austro-Hungarian Chief Minister Count
Gyula Andrássy proposed a series of moderate reforms for the Ottomans to
implement and asked for the other great powers to join in forcing Ottoman
compliance. This, he hoped, would serve to pacify the rebels and the other
Balkan territories still under Ottoman rule. Great Britain, however, rejected
this approach. British reasoning was two-fold. First, Prime Minister Benjamin
Disraeli did not believe that Britain had much at stake in this conflict. Second,
and more important, both Disraeli and British Foreign Secretary Derby
understood the League of Three Emperors as a diplomatic mechanism for
isolating Britain from continental affairs, and hoped that this crisis could be
used to drive wedges between Russia, Austria-Hungary, and Germany.

23
Fragile Rise

The intensity of this crisis within Ottoman territory only increased in

1876. Early in the year, the uprising spread to Bulgaria, and both the German
and the French consuls in Salonica were killed. Disturbances even broke
out in Constantinople, the capital, and the entire Ottoman imperial edifice
seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Germany, Russia, and Austria-Hungary
planned another great power intervention in order to stabilize the situation.
Representatives from the three countries gathered in Berlin and proposed a
cease-fire, which Great Britain rejected. Britain’s policy was commonly under-
stood as a form of encouragement for the rebels. By the end of June, Serbia
had declared war on the Ottoman Empire, and Montenegro followed suit on
July 2. The crisis had intensified.
Russia and Austria-Hungary, the great powers with the most at stake in
the Balkans, each had their own assessment of these trends. The Austrians
hoped to maintain the Ottoman Empire in its present boundaries—but, if
changes were to be made, then Austria must receive her fair share in order to
limit Russian and Serbian expansionism. Within Russia, pan-Slavists took the
ethnic uprisings in the Balkans as their own issue and viewed the liberation
of Balkan Slavs as a natural expansion of Russian power. Serbian and Monte-
negrin declarations of war against the Ottoman Empire were greeted with
jubilation inside Russia, and over a thousand volunteers rushed to join the
Serbian war effort. Significant quantities of weapons were shipped to Serbia
and a Russian general even took command of the Serbian Army.49 The Russian
government (particularly the czar and Gorchakov), however, did not approve
of nationalism or national liberation, although they saw the situation in the
Balkans as evolving favorably to Russian interests. As a consequence, the
Russian government saw a need to reach an agreement with the Austrians in
response to this developing situation. After negotiations between Gorchakov
and Andrássy at Reichstadt, the two sides reached a secret agreement on July
8, 1876. The two sides agreed that, in the event of an Ottoman victory, the
Turks would be compelled to accept the status quo ante, while in the event
of a Serbian victory, Serbia and Montenegro would split the territory of the
Sanjak of Novi Pazar, Austria would gain the lion’s share of Bosnia, Russia
would reclaim territories lost at the end of the Crimean War, and Bulgaria,
Romania, and Albania would be granted independence. If the Ottoman
Empire collapsed entirely, Constantinople would be made a free city.50 Two
things here are worth nothing: first, as this agreement made clear, Austria-
Hungary had already agreed in principle to the partition of Turkey (marking
a significant change from its stated policy in the December 30, 1875, Andrássy
Note) and second, both sides seemed to expect the Ottomans to be defeated,

24
 A Low-Posture Rise

thus the negotiations focused on how to deal with victorious Serbia and
Montenegro.
Events in the field proved that the Ottoman Empire was not as weak as
Slav nationalists had imagined. The Turkish Army established a new head-
quarters and, in September 1876, decisively defeated the armies of Serbia and
Montenegro. According to the terms of the Reichstadt Agreement, Russia
and Austria should have considered pressuring the Ottomans to return to the
status quo ante. An enormous change, however, had taken place in Russia, as
public opinion had become inflamed and the voices inside the government
that advocated for war had gained the upper hand. Russian policy had already
begun take steps toward armed intervention. Russian policymakers, however,
faced two serious considerations. The first was British intervention, which had
the potential to turn the situation into a replay of the devastating Crimean War.
The second was Austria-Hungary’s stance. If the Austrians took advantage
of the Russian Army’s deployment against the Ottomans in the central and
southern Balkans to send their own army down the Danube River, the Russian
Army would be cut off. At that moment, British intervention against Russia
seemed unlikely, as British public opinion was fixated on Turkish atrocities
against Bulgarian civilians. William Gladstone, leader of the British Liberal
Party and former prime minister, was at the forefront of this anti-Ottoman
campaign, making it difficult for the Tory government in power to take any
action supportive of the Ottomans. Russia initially considered using force, or
the threat of force, against Austria-Hungary, and sought to feel out German
opinion. In response, Bismarck made it clear that Germany would not allow
Austria-Hungary to be routed.51 The Russian leadership then returned to
the thinking that had originally led them to the Reichstadt Agreement and
decided to “buy” Austrian support. The two countries inked a new agreement
at Budapest on January 15, 1877.52 They added a supplement to this under-
standing on March 18. Austria-Hungary promised neutrality in the coming
war and to oppose the attempts of other great powers to broker a cease-fire.
In return, Russia agreed to support Austria-Hungary’s occupation of Bosnia.
With these issues resolved, Russia could make war on Turkey without undue
worry.
Russia declared war on April 24, 1877, and the Near East Crisis entered
a new phase. Russia, however, did not achieve the speedy victory it expected,
as its army was checked at Plevin. Russian advances only overcame Turkish
resistance in December. By January, they were within striking distance of
Constantinople itself, although the Russian military was too exhausted and
overextended to launch a final assault against the city. During the months

25
Fragile Rise

after the Russian declaration of war, British opinion, influenced by the

stubborn Turkish resistance, had made an almost comic about-face, as the
nation’s public sympathies turned toward the Turks.53 The British government
was thus forced to taken actions of its own. In mid-February 1878, ships from
the Royal Navy entered the waters near Istanbul. Soon afterwards, on March
3, a Turko-Russian peace agreement, the Treaty of San Stefano, was signed.
For Russia, this treaty turned out to be a serious diplomatic failure. The
Russian representative at the negotiations, General Nikolay Ignatyev, was an
ardent pan-Slavist intoxicated by military success. He did not see how fragile
his country’s entire diplomatic situation actually was. He added stipula-
tions to the treaty that went beyond his government’s instructions, ignored
the interests of the other great powers, and cast a blind eye to the previous
treaties between Russia and Austria-Hungary. The territory that he demanded
be ceded to Russia—largely lands in the Caucasus on the eastern shore of
the Black Sea, though also including some territory in Europe itself—did
not unduly alarm European nations. Yet he (perhaps under the influence of
pan-Slavic ideology) also planned for a “Greater Bulgaria” that reached from
the Black Sea to the Aegean. This state would remain under Russian military
occupation for two years. This not only represented a significant expansion of
Russian power in the Balkans, it also raised the specter of a Russian outlet on
the Mediterranean via its new creation in Bulgaria.54
For Austria-Hungary, however, this treaty meant that not only would its
own southern route to the Aegean be blocked, but also that the Bosnian terri-
tories that Russia had used to buy Austrian acceptance of the war would be
transformed into independent states. Austria’s only compensation would be
a form of nominal oversight of those new countries. All of the pre-war agree-
ments with Russia appeared to have been in vain. For the British, no Russian
outlet on the Mediterranean would be acceptable. Britain had already been
willing to fight the Crimean War to prevent that outcome in the 1850s; the
opening of the Suez Canal during the intervening two decades only raised the
strategic significance of the Mediterranean for the British. Both Britain and
Austria-Hungary took the lead in opposing the Treaty of San Stefano. Three
days after the treaty was signed, Austria-Hungary invited the other great
powers to a conference in Berlin, where the issue of treaty revision would be
discussed.
The Russians attempted to buy Austrian support again in the weeks
before the Berlin Conference met, but the Austrians would not be moved. Left
without a choice, the Russians attempted direct negotiations with the British.
British Prime Minister Disraeli’s intentions were clear—to block any Russian

26
 A Low-Posture Rise

access to the Mediterranean and to widen the divisions within the League of
Three Emperors—and thus he was happy to make a deal.55 An Anglo-Russian
agreement was concluded on May 30 that pulled back the Bulgarian border
from the Mediterranean and simultaneously divided Bulgaria into two parts.
This took care of British opposition to the Treaty of San Stefano. Yet Britain
set another scheme into motion, too. Although the British agreed to Russian
annexation of Ottoman lands in Asia, they also signed a secret treaty with
the Turks on June 4 that guaranteed the territorial integrity of their Asian
holdings. This gave the British an excuse to deploy troops to Turkey if needed,
and allowed the British to compel the cessation of Cyprus, which then became
an important British strategic base in the Mediterranean. On June 6, Britain
also inked an accord with Austria-Hungary that supported Austrian claims in
Bosnia in exchange for Austrian acquiescence to the June 4 agreement with
Russia. This was the background for the famous Berlin Conference.

Germany’s Dilemma
The 1875–1878 Near East Crisis placed Germany in a delicate situation.
Working in Germany’s favor was the fact that it had fewer direct connections
with the Balkans than any other great power, giving it the option of taking a
detached position on the issues at hand.56 Working against Germany, however,
was that the crux of the crisis was a dispute between Russia and Austria that
could result in an armed conflict between the two. This created a dilemma
for Germany: without German intervention, one of the two powers might
be defeated, thus knocking Germany’s security environment out of balance;
German intervention on one side, on the other hand, would offend the
other power and might result in the offended party joining an anti-German
alliance with France, thus degrading Germany’s security environment. Even
if the crisis did not result in a war between the great powers, and instead
was resolved through a conference, the results could place Germany in an
unfavorable situation. In such a conference, Russia might be willing to have
dealings with France, and Austria might draw close to Britain, again placing
Germany in a delicate and dangerous situation: either it would have the
thankless job of mediating between the two sides or it would lean toward the
British and Austrian position, leaving it open to threats on both its eastern
and western fronts from France and Russia. As the crisis developed, doubts
about Germany grew. The German diplomat Friedrich von Holstein claimed
in his correspondence that some believed that Germany hoped to use the
crisis as an opportunity to “attack somebody,” but, in fact, “the two or three
people who have influence here have not the slightest intention of doing so.”57

27
Fragile Rise

Bismarck was very clear that, in a situation such as this, the more active
Germany became, the more dangerous its predicament would become, just
like a man struggling to free himself from quicksand. Thus, in his handling
of the Near East Crisis, Bismarck’s basic principle was to emphasize the point
that Germany had the least at stake: “Our reputation and our security will
develop all the more permanently, the more, in all conflicts which do not
immediately touch us, we hold ourselves in reserve and do not show ourselves
sensitive to every attempt to stir up and utilize our vanity...in just the same
way in future Eastern negotiations Germany, by holding back, will be able
to turn to its advantage the fact that it is the Power which has least interest
in Oriental questions.”58 Bismarck opposed demands that Germany act as
a mediator and did not support a German-hosted great power conference.
From his perspective, such a meeting would only serve to reveal the splits that
had developed within his alliance and would expose himself to criticism from
all sides.59 Bismarck had two objectives: preventing the crisis from sparking
a general European war, as Germany would inevitably be drawn in to such a
war, and preventing both Russia and Austria from feeling completely isolated,
which would push them closer to France. Arguably, all of Bismarck’s policies
during this crisis and during the Berlin Conference were derived from these
two objectives.
Not long after the beginning of the Near East Crisis, in December 1875,
Bismarck had already expressed to Gorchakov that Germany’s primary
concerns were to maintain peace in Europe and friendship between Austria
and Russia.60 He also emphasized again that Germany had no concrete
interests in the Balkans. During a speech in the Reichstag, he proclaimed
that “the whole of the Balkans is not worth the bones of a single Pomeranian
grenadier.” Bismarck adopted active strategies for managing the crisis, too,
such as encouraging the other great powers to partition Ottoman territories
in such a way as to create a new pattern of mutually balancing interests and
thus reducing the pressure on Germany.61 On January 2, 1876, Bismarck
proposed to the British that they, the Russians, and the Austrians divide
up Ottoman territory, with the Austrians receiving Bosnia, the Russians
Bessarabia, and the British a more secure foothold in Egypt.62 On January
5, he sent the same proposal to the Russians. He again suggested partition to
the British on February 19, emphasizing that Germany was content within its
current borders and that it lacked interest in Ottoman territory.63 No response
from either Britain or Russia was forthcoming. After the Russian declaration
of war in April 1877, Bismarck renewed his suggestion that the great powers
partition the Ottoman Empire, with Egypt going to Britain.64 These repeated

28
 A Low-Posture Rise

proposals, however, only had the effect of raising the suspicions of the other
powers that Germany was plotting to instigate an Anglo-Russian war so
that it could annex Holland.65 Disraeli, in a fury, exclaimed that “there must
finally be an end to this.... I find him everywhere in my way.... The man is a
European nuisance. Bismarck, more than Russia, is my problem, and I am
firmly resolved to thwart him.”66 Bismarck never again raised the issue of
partition.
These methods, however, did not mean that Bismarck was following
a policy of avoidance. As Russo-Austrian tensions worsened, and Britain
hoped to exploit the fault lines within the League of Three Emperors, events
pushed Bismarck to the fore. In the fall of 1876, Gorchakov, working through
Bernhard von Werder, Wilhelm I’s personal representative in the czar’s palace
(rather than ordinary diplomatic channels), inquired whether or not Germany
would remain neutral in event of a Russo-Austrian War, just as Russia had
remained neutral during the wars of German unification.67 This must have
infuriated Bismarck, as there would be no record of this conversation in
its diplomatic files. Regardless of whatever promise Germany made, the
Russian government could also later announce that that it had no knowledge.
Bismarck angrily wrote: “We can never hold the Russians to their word or
make them responsible for what they say to us through Werder, because the
commissions which Prince Gorchakov gives General von Werder for us reach
the latter solely through the medium of verbal confidential conversation
between a monarch and his ‘adjutant.’”68
Even more alarming to Bismarck were the contents of Russia’s inquiry.
They seemed to be the portent of a greater crisis to come: a final split within
the League of Three Emperors, a rupture of relations between Russia and
Austria, and Germany forced to choose one over the other. Regardless of
which side Germany backed, it would itself emerge as a loser, as the other
nation would enter into an anti-German alliance with the French. Alliances
became critical for Germany even as German reliance on alliances meant that
Germany lost autonomy in foreign affairs, perhaps even leading to situations
in which Germany acted on behalf of an ally, rather than its own strategic
interests. This truly became the situation by the outbreak of World War I.
Thus, Bismarck worked his hardest to avoid having to make such a choice.
At first, he employed delaying tactics and recalled Werder to Germany. Later,
when the situation could no longer be avoided, Bismarck directly stated his
position to Russia. He emphasized that Germany would do its utmost to
preserve the peace in Europe and the balance within the League of Three
Emperors. He also elaborated that:

29
Fragile Rise

it cannot correspond to our interests to see the position of Russia

seriously and permanently injured by a coalition of the rest of Europe,
if fortune is unfavorable to the Russian arms; but it would affect the
interests of Germany just as deeply, if the Austrian monarchy was
so endangered in its position as European power or in its indepen-
dence, that one of the factors with which we have to reckon in the
European balance of Power, threatened to fall out for the future.69

This answer reflected Germany’s real bottom line on the Near East Crisis, and
also revealed the fundamental basis of Bismarck’s foreign policy. As he empha-
sized in his memoirs: “If, to our sorrow, [peace] was not possible between
Russia and Austria, then we could endure indeed that our friends should
lose or win battles against each other, but not that one of the two should be
so severely wounded and injured that its position as an independent Great
Power taking its part in the councils of Europe would be endangered.”70

The Berlin Conference

As the Near East Crisis grew, German hopes of remaining uninvolved faded.
For Prussia and for Germany, the major difference between the 1854 Crimean
War and the crisis in 1875 was that during the former events, Prussia had
ardently desired to take part in the war and in the peace negotiations, yet was
ignored by the other great powers. In the latter, Germany had hoped to pull
back from events, yet was ultimately pushed of the center of the stage. This can
be seen as one related result of Germany’s rise, namely its expanded respon-
sibilities. Regardless of whether it was willing or not, the newly powerful
Germany had to take part in the management of the continent’s affairs.
The burden Germany had to carry increased, while its room for maneuver
narrowed.
That was the predicament Bismarck faced. After he revealed Germany’s
standpoint on the Russo-Austrian tensions to Russia, he worked hard to keep
Germany away from the center of contention. In February 1878, as the powers
discussed holding a conference to settle these disputes, he decisively rejected
the notion that Germany would be roped into hosting the conference. He
even opposed locating the conference in Berlin.71 When he could no longer
avoid this, he tried to decline the role of mediator and proposed the French
delegate William Waddington as the conference’s chair.72 These efforts came
to nothing and, in the end, Bismarck had to call an international conference
in Berlin.

30
 A Low-Posture Rise

Even after he was forced into becoming the mediator, Bismarck’s funda-
mental assessment of the issues did not change: if Germany leaned to one
side, the other side would be isolated and seek a friendship with France
that might become an anti-German alliance. Bismarck assigned himself, as
a consequence, the role of the “honest broker” and strove to maintain an
unbiased point of view. On June 13, 1878, the conference opened. Even before
this formal opening, however, the two sides had already reached a variety
of secret agreements on various issues. For this set of issues, the conference
was simply a public announcement of these settlements. This was a typical
hallmark of European “conference diplomacy.”73 Remaining differences
between the great powers (particularly between Russia and Austria) created
large problems for the conference. As the chair, Bismarck had to strive to
maintain balance between all of the powers and, using all of the diplomatic
methods at his disposal, to push the conference’s agenda forward. Bismarck
supported Russian claims to territories along the Black Sea while supporting
Austrian military occupation of Bosnia. He rejected the claims of smaller
states and weaker ethnicities, restricted their ability to “interfere” with deals
made between the great powers, and expressed resentment toward British
interest in the pretentions of these smaller groups. Bismarck removed a name
from a list of nationalities deserving of protection, claiming that he had never
heard of such a group before.74
The conference concluded successfully on July 13, 1878. Solutions were
found to all of the direct problems that had led to the crisis. The Treaty of
Berlin, which was signed at the end of the conference, significantly revised the
earlier Treaty of San Stefano. The Greater Bulgaria created by that treaty was
divided into three pieces: the largest part would fall under Ottoman sover-
eignty, although it would be temporarily occupied by the Russian Army and
would be reorganized under a Russian-chaired committee; the second part,
Eastern Rumelia, south of the Balkan mountain range, would be conditionally
self-governing but would accept Turkish political and military control under
the oversight of a European commission; the third part would remain under
direct Turkish military control. The treaty also granted complete indepen-
dence to Serbia, Montenegro, and Romania; the borders of each of these
countries also expanded to various extents. The grants of territory in Ottoman
Asia to Russia made at San Stefano were generally reconfirmed by this treaty,
although Bayazid and the Alashkerd Valley were returned to Turkish rule.
Austria occupied Bosnia and had the right to station troops at Novi Pazar,
thus militarily separating Serbia from Montenegro.75

31
Fragile Rise

A deeper analysis of the terms of this treaty is not relevant to the main
purpose of this book. The true meaning of these events, both the conference
itself and the treaty that it produced, is symbolic. They indicated that Europe
had entered a new era of balance between the great powers, and that the focal
point of that balance lay in Berlin. They also meant that Germany’s rise to
great-power status had reached a certain level: regardless of whether it was
willing or not, Germany would now be forced to take center stage in interna-
tional politics and take greater responsibilities upon itself, even though some
of the required tasks might be thankless, burdensome, or even damaging.
The immediate aftermath of the Berlin Congress provided an example of this.
Bismarck had expended enormous effort to prevent a rift between Austria
and Russia, but the price was a deterioration of Russo-German ties. Public
opinion inside Russia was angered by the Treaty of Berlin’s requirement that
Russia return some of its spoils of war. Blame for this was placed squarely
on Bismarck himself, and many felt that Germany had “sold out” Russia. A
wave of anti-German feeling rose in Russia, and relations between the two
countries became icy.

32
 2

“Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a

Grand Strategy
“Politics is the art of the possible.”
Otto von Bismarck

T he 1878 Conference of Berlin was Bismarck’s diplomatic masterpiece,

although Germany paid a significant price for it. This sparked a further
realization on Bismarck’s part that his nation’s rising power had already
created a new international situation. Any policy now had to take this as a
starting point. He progressively began to drift away from the German-style
“hide and bide” policies that had characterized his earlier diplomacy. Instead,
he moved toward an active shaping of European politics. Beginning around
1877, the outline of a grand strategy that aimed to preserve Germany’s rise
slowly became apparent.1 Two mutually balancing yet self-supporting factors
lay at the core of this strategy: diplomacy and the military.

Designing the Basic Thinking: The Kissingen Dictation

The true grand masters of politics, both of the domestic and the international
varieties, are always those who have the deepest insights into human nature.
Bismarck certainly fit this description.
Bismarck believed that, as a general principle, strength incites the jealousy
of others. Thus, from the very beginning, he was intellectually prepared
for the dangers and pressures created by Germany’s rise. Bismarck had a
pragmatic understanding of post-unification Germany as a European land
power, perhaps even the continent’s potential hegemon. After the 1871 unifi-
cation, Germany’s population, territory, economy, and military power had
already begun to solidify this “potential.”2 The common fear in Europe was
that if Germany followed the logic of national unification to its conclusion—
bringing the sixty million Germans living between the North Sea and the
Adriatic into a single state—then the country would be transformed from a
potential to an actual hegemon.3 Bismarck himself was not interested in this
Fragile Rise

outcome. Instead, he pursued a “Little Germany” policy that maintained the

preeminence of Prussia and its Hohenzollern ruling house. This policy also
avoided the creation of a powerful Greater Germany that might, like Charles
V’s Habsburg Empire or Louis XIV’s France, push the European political
system past its breaking point. Arguably, the decision to forgo the creation
of a “superpower” German state was a manifestation of Bismarck’s wisdom
as a grand master of strategy. His conception of Germany as the “potential
continental hegemon” can also be seen as an acceptance of a European status
quo in which Germany’s advantaged position was relatively acceptable to the
other great powers.
Bismarck’s positioning, which included an awareness of Germany’s
geographical particularities, was both conservative and an objective
assessment of the situation. Germany was different from both Great Britain
and Russia. Those powers were located on the edges of Europe and thus
continental affairs had relatively little impact on them. In the words of A.
J. P. Taylor, Great Britain and Russia “asked nothing of Europe other than
to be left alone,” thus creating the necessary preconditions for the “world
policies” they pursued.4 Germany’s geographical position, however, dictated
that it would always need to concentrate on Europe; it could only seek to
become a world power after becoming the continent’s actual hegemon. As
long as Germany could not do as it wished in Europe, all of its extra-European
interests and objectives would need to take a backseat. It was exactly this point
that Bismarck’s successors ignored and, as a result, their continental policies
and world policies all met with failure.
This positioning, however, was merely a foundation. Being situated in the
heart of Europe and surrounded by strong neighbors meant that Germany
would never be able to adopt a foreign policy of drift and neglect, lest it find
itself the focal point of multinational conflict and dispute.5 The 1875 "War
in Sight" Crisis and the Near East Crisis had swiftly revealed the pressures
brought by Germany’s rise. Traditional methods and policies proved inef-
fective; maintaining a low posture would not be enough to prevent Germany
from becoming the center of a European struggle for power. Germany had
little choice but to reject traditional forms of strategic thought and adopt a
new mindset in order to navigate the difficulties created by its own rise.
This new mindset was already being formed by 1877, as is demonstrated
by the Kissingen Dictation. Bismarck dictated this memorandum on June 15,
1877, while at Kissingen, a German resort. It represented a rough outline of
Bismarck’s general vision for German foreign policy and revealed the depth of
his strategic thinking. The complete dictation reads:

34
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

I desire that we should encourage the English, without making it

too obvious, if they have intentions concerning Egypt. I consider
that it will suit our interests and be better for our future to
promote a compromise between England and Russia, which may
establish relations between the two Powers as good as they were at
the beginning of this century, and which may be followed by the
rapprochement of both to ourselves. Such an aim may never be
realized, but one never can tell. If only England and Russia would
come to an agreement on the basis of the one controlling Egypt, and
the other the Black Sea, both might find it possible to remain content
with maintaining the status quo for a long period. At the same time,
in their chief interests they might be led into a rivalry, which would
practically preclude their joining in coalition against us, quite apart
from the internal influences urging England against such a combi-
nation.

A French paper said of me lately that I suffered from ‘le cauchemar

des coalitions [the nightmare of hostile coalitions].’ This sort of
bogey will for long—perhaps forever— be quite rightly feared by
all German Ministers. Coalitions may be formed of the Western
Powers, joined by Austria, against us, or, with more danger to us,
one based on the union of Russia, Austria and France. A close
rapprochement between any two of these may be taken advantage
of by the third, to exercise grievous pressure upon us. My anxiety
in the face of these possibilities leads me to regard as desirable,
not at once, but as time goes on, the following consequences of
the Eastern Crisis:— (1) Gravitation of the interests of Russia and
Austria, and their mutual rivalries, toward the East; (2) Russia to
be impelled to take up a strong defensive position in the East, and
on her own shores, and to stand in need of our Alliance; (3) For
England and Russia a peaceful status quo giving to them the same
interest which we have in the maintenance of things as they are;
(4) Separation of England from France, ever hostile to us, over
the Egyptian and Mediterranean Questions; (5) Relations between
Russia and Austria such as may make it difficult for them both to
join in carrying on theanti-German conspiracy, which in some
measure attracts the clerical and centralizing elements in Austria.

35
Fragile Rise

If my health permitted me to work, I could fill in and develop in

greater detail the picture which floats before my mind. It is not one
portraying any acquisition of territory, but rather one showing a
combined political situation, in which all the Powers, except France,
have need of us, and are removed from the possibility of coalescing
against us by the nature of their relations toward each other.

England would not consider the occupation of Egypt sufficient

to remove the difficulties regarding the Dardanelles. The system
of double-guardianship, with the Dardanelles for England and
the Bosphorus for Russia, is risky for England, because, all things
considered, her forts on the Dardanelles could be easier taken, than
defended, by land troops. That fact is probably present in the minds
of the Russians, who, moreover, may possibly be not displeased to
see the Black Sea closed for a generation. The whole question will
be a matter for negotiation, and the combined result, as it appears
in my mind, can be thoroughly worked out just as well after as
before the decisive battles of the present war. I should regard it as an
important asset for us, which would out-weigh the probable injury
to our interests in the Black Sea, which it may bring in its train, —
quite apart from the possible security for the latter, which the Treaty
may contain. Even if a war between England and Russia could not
be prevented, our aim should, in my opinion, continue to stand as
before, namely, to promote a peace which would satisfy both parties,
at Turkey’s expense.6

Bismarck’s statement clearly demonstrated his grasp of the overall

situation in Europe and his ability to make judgments based on potential
developments. His core insight was to actively influence the interactions
between the great powers such that the relationship between any one power
and any other power was weaker than the relationship between the first power
and Germany. This vision of acting as Europe’s “middle man” was undoubtedly
influenced by another master of strategy: former Austrian Prime Minister
Klemens von Metternich. After the end of the Napoleonic Wars, Metternich’s
ability to maneuver amid the other great powers allowed Austria, the weakest
power, to become the continent’s political core and thus able to protect its
own interests. Henry Kissinger identified the essence of Metternich’s foreign
policies:

36
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

Austria’s central position had been transformed into a diplomatic

asset by seeing to it that the differences of the major powers among
each other were greater than their respective differences with
Austria, so that in every international crisis Austria emerged as the
pivotal state. [British secretary of state for foreign affairs] Castlereagh
considered Metternich the most ‘reasonable’ of Continental
statesmen, a little timid perhaps, but still the easiest to deal with,
the most moderate, the least abstract. [Russian Czar] Alexander [I]
considered Metternich the most ideological of European statesmen,
not quite ready, to be sure, to follow him to the heights, but still the
only one capable of understanding the exalted flights of his imagi-
nation.”7

Of course, by the time that Bismarck had come into power, it was no longer
possible to use ideology to bind the great powers together. Politics in
Bismarck’s era had already become more practical and more oriented toward
issues of power. A rapidly rising Germany did not lack power, so Bismarck
adopted a policy of alliance-building in order to “actively shape” his foreign
policy environment.

The Beginning of Bismarck’s Alliances

German Alliance Objectives and Selection of Alliance Partners

Bismarck’s alliance system stands out as the largest, most complicated diplo-
matic project in the history of modern international relations. Yet, two aspects
of this system were fairly simple.
The first of these was the system’s objectives. Given Germany’s immense
power, no single nation could present a threat, yet an anti-German alliance
of great powers would place Germany in a disadvantageous geopolitical
situation. Moreover, in the wake of the Franco-Prussian War, France had
become an implacable opponent; any other enemy of Germany would be its
natural ally. As a consequence, Germany’s first strategic objective was painfully
clear: prevent the emergence of an anti-German alliance. In Bismarck’s own
words, “everything depended on inducing at least one of the two mighty foes
whom we had beaten in the field to renounce the anticipated design of uniting
with the other in a war of revenge.”8 This would be the central objective of
Bismarck’s post-1879 quest to build alliances.
The second was system’s “principal line,” or direction. Bismarck correctly
understood that while the most immediate and direct threat to Germany

37
Fragile Rise

was the French desire for a revanchist war, the most substantive threat came
from Russia.9 Russia’s geographic position and resources meant that any anti-
German alliance that included Russia could actually endanger Germany’s
existence. To state this from another angle: as long as relations between
Germany and Russia were friendly and stable, no anti-German combination
could threaten Germany, and it would still be able to maintain maximum
freedom of action in European affairs. Thus, Bismarckian strategy was firmly
focused eastward toward Russia. Bismarck himself claimed that “it has always
been my endeavor to promote not merely the security of the country against
Russian attacks, but also in Russia itself a peaceful tone, and a belief in the
unaggressive character of our policy.”10
A direct alliance with Russia would, under these conditions, seem to be
the simplest and most logical strategy. Bismarck’s brilliance lay in the fact,
however, that he saw that such a strategy would actually be a giant trap.
Instead, he took an indirect, seemingly illogical approach to achieving his
objective. After the 1878 Berlin Crisis, Bismarck felt that the unsettled state
of great power relations after the dissolution of the first League of Three
Emperors might lead to a Russian alliance with France. Once that alliance
was established, Austria might seek to join in the hopes of regaining its former
preeminence in Germany, thus recreating the Kaunitz League alliance of the
Seven Years' War that had nearly defeated Prussia. Germany had no choice
but to proactively build alliances of its own to prevent this result.
In his choice of alliance partners, Bismarck made a careful analysis. First,
he admitted an alliance with Russia would solve these problems, because
he believed that “in point of material force…a union with Russia…[had]
the advantage” and that dynastic connections between the countries would
further strengthen ties.11 He feared, however, that if “German policy confined
its possibilities to the Russian alliance, and, in accordance with the wishes of
Russia, refused all other states, Germany would with regard to Russia be in
an unequal position, because the geographical situation and the autocratic
constitution of Russia made it easier for her to give up the alliance than it
would be for us.”12 Furthermore, dependence on Russia might force Germany
to follow Russia’s risky policies, thus dragging it into conflicts. There was
another piece to Bismarck’s analysis, as well: anti-German feelings were on
the rise in Russia. An alliance with Russia might be seen as a sign of German
fears of Russia. In sum, the costs of a Russian alliance were too great, and such
an alliance would place Germany in a subordinate position.
Bismarck’s calculations led him to select the Austro-Hungarian Empire
as an alliance partner. First, it was the weakest of the so-called Three Eastern

38
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

Monarchies and was in a weak geographic position. An alliance with the

Austrians would assuage their feelings of insecurity, prevent them from acting
on their own, and might allow Germany to influence Austrian policymaking.
Second, Austria had been aligned with Britain and France during the Crimean
War. If Austria felt that it was losing ground in its struggle with Russia, it might
again appeal to Britain and France for aid. This would create an ally for France
and might push Germany into dependence on Russia. Cooperation between
Britain and Austria continued to be close, and the two powers succeeded in
pressuring Russia to evacuate Bulgaria in July 1879. The renowned Russian
statesman Shuvalov claimed that Russia’s forced withdrawal from Bulgaria
was the product of Russia’s isolation within Europe.13 From this perspective,
there was a possibility that Austria, Great Britain, and France could recon-
stitute a “Crimean alliance.” Bismarck later told the Russian ambassador to
Germany that the purpose of the German alliance with Austria was to “dig
a ditch between [Austria] and the western powers.”14 This claim was more
than mere pretext. Third, the Austro-Hungarian Empire had once been an
importance member of the German federation and had been the empire at
the core of the German nation. An alliance with Austria would be a satis-
factory substitute for those who hoped that the two states would merge to
form a Greater Germany.15 Fourth, and most important, once the alliance
was signed, the configuration of the Three Eastern Monarchies would shift
into a two-versus-one formation, with Russia as the disadvantaged party. This
would make it easier to bring Russia into a revived League of Three Emperors.

The Austro-German Alliance Takes Shape

Bismarck’s negotiations with the Austro-Hungarian Empire proceeded
without much difficulty. In mid-August 1879, Bismarck visited the Austrian
city of Gastein. There, he learned that Austrian Prime Minister Gyula Andrássy
might retire but would be willing to remain in office for several extra weeks in
order to build an anti-Russian alliance with Germany. Bismarck immediately
replied that his hope was that Austro-German friendship could be used to
transform Russian attitudes. After this meeting, diplomats from the two sides
began preparing for the negotiations.16 On September 21, Bismarck himself
travelled to Vienna to negotiate the terms of the alliance with Andrássy. The
sticking point was that Bismarck hoped that the alliance would be anti-
French as well as anti-Russian, but Austrian negotiators were uninterested
in this proposal.17 According to Andrássy, he and Bismarck held long, heated
discussions that, at times, became dramatic. This, perhaps, revealed aspects
of Bismarck’s personality. Bismarck even used threatening tones: “Consider

39
Fragile Rise

carefully what you are doing. For the last time I advise you to give way.”
Afterward, he raised his voice, saying “Please accept my proposal…or else
I will have to accept yours.” In the end, it was Bismarck who backed down.18
The real obstacle to the Austro-German alliance came from Bismarck’s
sovereign, Kaiser Wilhelm I. Wilhelm was already very old by that time
and attached great importance to heritage and dynastic blood ties. He did
not understand why Germany would want to ally itself with a country it had
fought barely more than a decade ago or why that alliance should be directed
against Russia, which had never been a traditional threat to Prussia and
whose czar, Alexander II, was his nephew. The old kaiser’s objections created
headaches for Bismarck. Much of the documentary material covering this
period focused on Bismarck’s attempts to persuade the kaiser. In the end,
however, Bismarck was forced to take strong measures. On September 26,
he chaired a meeting of the Prussian cabinet and demanded that each of the
cabinet officers pledge to resign if the alliance with Austria was not approved.
The cabinet agreed and Wilhelm I could do nothing but acquiesce. The treaty
was signed in Vienna on October 7.
This treaty was defensive in nature. It contained four important stipula-
tions. First, if either Germany or Austria were attacked by Russia, the other
party must send its full military force to assist in repulsing the invasion.
Second, if either country were attacked by a third party, the other party could
remain neutral as long as Russia remained on the sidelines. Third, the treaty
would be in force for five years. Fourth was a secret provision stipulating that,
if signs began to point to a Russian attack, the two parties would notify the
czar that they believed an attack was imminent and that an attack on one
party would be considered an attack on both.19 In plain words, this meant
that if Russia and France jointly attacked Germany, Austria would support
Germany; if Russia invaded Austria, Germany would intervene.
The 1879 Austro-German alliance was an important event in modern
European history. One historian has called it “the first thread in a network of
alliances which was soon to cover all Europe.”20 It needs to be pointed out that,
although the alliance on paper was directed against a Russian attack, resisting
such an attack was not the ultimate objective of the alliance. Its true value was
to “nail down” Austria and prevent it from ever again wandering outside of
German influence and control. This greatly-strengthened German position
could then be used to force Russia to realistically reassess its relations with
Germany and reestablish a stable strategic relationship between Germany,
Austria, and Russia.21

40
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

This strategy was not without risks, of course. The alliance might have the
opposite effect—it might push Russia and France closer together. To prevent
this, Bismarck had another form of “insurance”: negotiations for an alliance
with Great Britain. Britain was already locked in a heated struggle with
Russia in Afghanistan, so its reaction to a proposed anti-Russian alliance with
Germany would be relatively positive. In September 1879, while the Austro-
German alliance was still being negotiated, Bismarck inquired of Britain what
its policy would be if Germany came into conflict with Russia “due to its
friendship with Britain and Austria” rather than any direct threat to its own
interests.22 Prime Minister Disraeli replied that, in event of such a conflict in
Eastern Europe, Great Britain would prevail upon France to “remain quiet.”
This was a logical guarantee for Britain to make. If Bismarck truly wanted to
form an anti-Russian alliance with Great Britain, Disraeli had already played
the highest card that he could, as this promise meant that Germany and
Austria together could defeat Russia without fear of trouble in their rear. Yet
Bismarck, in his notes, still asked, “Is that all?”23 Afterward, Bismarck never
raised this question again. Great Britain, at this time, was greatly interested in
cooperation with Germany. In October, the German ambassador in London
specifically reminded his government of the benefits that Britain could
provide.24 British Foreign Secretary Salisbury, though he held doubts about
Bismarck’s intentions, pledged to the German ambassador in October that
he was “pretty sure [Great Britain] could prevent any French Government
from joining Russia against [Germany]; but that [Germany] might rely on
[British] goodwill and assistance in the contingency of an attack on Austria
and Germany.”25 There was no German response to this. The most reasonable
explanation for this silence is that Bismarck never saw a relationship with
Great Britain as a goal in and of itself, but used it as a means to improve his
negotiating position with Austria and to create an impression on Russia. Once
his true objective was achieved, he did not need this method any more.

The Impact of the Austro-German Alliance on Russia and the Formation of

the Revived League of Three Emperors
Russia’s actions revealed the success of Bismarck’s policy. News of the
Austro-German alliance and of Bismarck’s feelers toward Great Britain were
poorly kept secrets, and word soon reached Russia. As a result, anti-German
feeling in Russia quieted and Russian policy toward Germany returned to a
rational and practical path. At the end of September 1879, the pro-German
diplomat Peter Saburov was appointed Russian ambassador to Berlin and

41
Fragile Rise

soon proposed a new mutual security agreement: if Russia and Great Britain
went to war, Germany would promise neutrality; if Germany and France went
to war, Russia would do likewise and would implore other nations to do the
same. Russia would furthermore respect the territorial integrity of the Austro-
Hungarian Empire on the condition that it did not seek further expansion in
the Balkans.26 Bismarck was fully satisfied with this: “Now I have the best
receipt for my Vienna policy. I knew that the Russians would come to us, once
we nailed down the Austrians.”27
He was not, however, interested in signing a bilateral agreement with
Russia. He already had an alliance with Austria, and now he sought to bring
the Russians into that, too, in order to further restrain Austria. Management
of these opposing tensions could allow Bismarck to guarantee Germany’s
leading position within the alliance with Austria. (He thought that if German-
Russian relations ever suffered an irreparable split, then Austria would use its
alliance with Germany to challenge Russia, and Germany would thus be pulled
by its alliance into conflicts in the Balkans.28) Bismarck consequently directly
told Saburov that any Russo-German agreement must include Austria. Given
that a League of Three Emperors was “the only system offering the maximum
of stability for the peace of Europe,” Germany would be happy to recreate
such an alliance.29 Russia did not raise any objections and essentially accepted
Bismarck’s idea in its entirety.
The main obstacle to the realization of this plan came from Austria.
Austria had originally understood the alliance with Germany to mean
automatic German support for Austrian expansion in the Balkans. From
the perspective of Austria-Hungary’s new prime minister, Heinrich Karl von
Haymerle, the ideal would have been to ally with Great Britain. Austria and
Great Britain (with additional support from Germany) could then jointly
check the Russian threat in the Balkans. This would allow Austria-Hungary to
dominate the European portions of the Ottoman Empire, and Great Britain to
control its Asian territories. Given Great Britain’s longstanding commitment
to restraining Russian expansion toward the Mediterranean, Austria had
reason to believe that such an alliance was a possibility. These calculations
made Austria unenthusiastic about Bismarck’s proposed new League of Three
Emperors.
From Bismarck’s perspective, Austria’s vision was completely unac-
ceptable, especially the notion of cooperating with Britain to “contain” Russia.
Germany’s most effective path to preventing close relations between Russia,
Britain, and France was for Russia to continue threatening British (and French)
interests in the Black Sea and the Balkans. Bismarck’s Kissingen Dictation

42
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

had been quite clear on that point. He incited Russia’s actions and expressed
support for them on several occasions. Once, he said to Russian ambas-
sador Saburov that “an empire like Russia cannot let herself be cooped up by
England in the Black Sea.”30 When Bismarck was unable to persuade Austria,
however, British domestic politics unexpectedly came to his assistance. After
the April 1880 general election, the Liberal Party’s William Gladstone took the
helm as prime minister. The idealistic foreign policy promoted by Gladstone
differed greatly from Britain’s traditional foreign policy, leaving Bismarck and
other old-style political figures uncertain about where things stood.31 On the
Eastern Question, Gladstone’s pro-Russian, anti-Austrian policies were the
exact opposite of Disraeli’s. He advocated Anglo-Russian compromise on
all outstanding issues in the Black Sea and the Balkans, while publically and
severely criticizing Austria. Bismarck saw Great Britain’s new pro-Russian
policy as something to be resisted, and said as much to the Austrians: “The
essential point is always that between Russia and England no agreement or
rapprochement exists; I cannot emphasize too strongly how necessary it is to
avoid everything that can facilitate this.”32
Britain’s anti-Austrian policies, however, were something he could use
to extinguish Austrian hopes of allying with Great Britain against Russia.
They could, moreover, be used to force the Austrians to accept Bismarck’s
vision of a new League of Three Emperors. After Gladstone came to power,
Great Britain promoted a Concert of Europe that included all of the conti-
nent’s great powers and could resolve the Eastern Question once and for all.
Bismarck did not directly oppose this, but covertly used it to realize his own
objectives. Among these was his desire to bring Austria and Russia closer
together. By late July 1880, Russia had already lost all hope in the Gladstone
government and proactively prompted Bismarck to push Austria into discus-
sions for a new League of Three Emperors. Austria had, by this time, seen that
there was no hope of forming an anti-Russian alliance with Great Britain, and
was willing to enter into negotiations.
Those trilateral negotiations proceeded with great difficulty. Bismarck
had to balance two tasks: he had to persuade Austria that the agreement
would contain Russia and he had to convince the Russians that the treaty
would, in fact, check Austria. He told Russia that the treaty was necessary to
restrain Austria, as “the only Power which would not be inclined to keep an
engagement is Austria.”33 Just as the three sides neared an agreement, Russian
Czar Alexander II was assassinated on March 13, 1881. New factors were
now added to the negotiations. Although the new czar, Alexander III, had no
special affection for Germany and possessed only a modest intellect, he was

43
Fragile Rise

uninterested in dramatically changing foreign policy. On June 18, 1881, the

treaty creating the second League of Three Emperors was signed in Berlin.
The new league had essentially nothing in common with the earlier
one. The older version had been designed to display the unity of traditional
monarchies, while the new incarnation had mostly discarded that old ideo-
logical apparatus, leaving only practical calculations of power and exchanges
of interest. The agreement stipulated three major points. First, if one of the
three signatories became involved in a war with a fourth power, the other
two would remain neutral (with an exception carved out for war with the
Ottoman Empire—in such a war, this clause would only be operable with
the previous agreement of the three signatories). Second, the three countries
pledged that none would act unilaterally to change the status of the Ottoman
Empire’s remaining European territories. Third, the three countries guar-
anteed the closure of the Dardanelles and Bosphorus passages to the Black
Sea. Of these, the first point was really an agreement between Germany and
Russia that, if a new Franco-German war were to break out, Russia would
remain neutral. This was decidedly in Germany’s favor. The second point
was mostly an arrangement between Austria and Russia that amounted to
a mutual recognition of spheres of influence in the Balkans. The third point
can be seen as an Austro-German gift to Russia, as Russia naval forces on
the Black Sea were virtually non-existent and, if a British fleet could freely
transit the straits into the sea, it could threaten Russia’s vulnerable underbelly,
particularly Ukraine.
The tension between this new league and the pre-existing alliance between
Germany and Austria has been noted both by historians and by some German
diplomats at the time. If, however, we understand it primarily as a means to
draw Russia in, then Bismarck’s motives and strategies become evident. The
Austro-German alliance had been primarily designed to push the Russians,
while the new League of Three Emperors was, by contrast, designed to pull
them—together, these two aspects can be seen as constructing a structure
built out of the balance of competing forces. For Germany, the league meant
not only that Russia would remain neutral in any future conflict with France,
but also that Austro-Russian tensions could be brought under control, thus
bringing the strategies of the three empires into a relatively balanced, stable
state. It can be said that if Austria and Russia had been able maintain this
sort of stable relationship—neither too close nor too distant—then Germany
could be guaranteed freedom of action, and even leadership, on the European
continent. Preventing a Franco-Russian alliance was a nice additional benefit.

44
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

The Alliance’s Expansion

If the League of Three Emperors had been enough to completely control

Austro-Russian tensions, then Bismarck’s alliance-building might have ended
with that. Instead, events developed in a different way.

Russian Uncertainty and Bismarck’s Response

After the creation of the new league, Bismarck felt satisfied. In a letter to
Wilhelm I, he claimed that this arrangement had settled the issues between
Russia and Austria, solidified the peace between those two countries, and had
also banished the threat of a Franco-Russian alliance.34 But, as was soon to be
revealed, relations between Austria and Russia had not improved. Bismarck
was particularly unsettled by a return of pan-Slavic sentiment in Russia.
Mikhail Skobelev, the Russian general who had led his soldiers to victory in
the 1877 war against the Ottomans, was one of the loudest advocates of pan-
Slavic sentiment. On an early 1882 trip to Paris, Skobelev publically stated
that Germany was the real enemy of Russia and of all the Slavic peoples. On
his trip homeward he stopped in Warsaw and promoted pan-Slavic ideas to
the Polish people. In the end, he was reprimanded by the czar, and the pro-
German Nikolay Giers was appointed Russia’s foreign minister. Despite this
outcome, the Skobelev incident made a big impact on Bismarck. He began to
doubt that the conservative elements within the Russian leadership, who had
promoted strong relations with Germany, could really control the political
situation inside Russia. At the same time, he began to doubt the effectiveness
of the league itself.
Bismarck’s immediate response was to apply greater pressure—to push
Russia a little more in order to prevent Russian policy from becoming
unsettled and to protect German strategic balance. Bismarck’s attitude toward
the expansion of the Austro-German alliance, particularly its inclusion of
Romania and Italy, changed dramatically.
As early as 1880, Romania had pushed for inclusion in the Austro-
German alliance. Although Romania had been a Russian ally during the
recent war against the Ottomans, its territory in Bessarabia had been ceded to
Russia as a result of the Berlin Conference. Romania, consequently, became
deeply dissatisfied with Russia. Even more unsettling to the Romanians was
the fact that their country lay in between Russia and its protectorate in Bulgaria,
leading to worries that Russia would attempt to annex more Romanian
territory. Therefore, they turned to Germany and Austria for protection. In

45
Fragile Rise

theory, the inclusion of Romania in the alliance should have been unprob-
lematic, given that preventing Russia from acquiring a land corridor to
Bulgaria was in Germany’s and (especially) Austria’s interest. Additionally,
blood ties existed between the reigning dynasties in Prussia and Romania.
Bismarck, however, clung to his opposition to any expansion of the alliance
and was only willing to promise that if Romania were threatened by Russia,
Germany and Austria would support it.35 Bismarck’s concern was that while
an expansion of the Austro-German alliance might be effective at containing
Russia, it would be counterproductive for his strategy of pulling Russia into
a new set of relationships. After the Skobelev incident, however, his attitude
slowly began to change. In 1883, a tripartite German-Austrian-Romanian
pact was concluded. The agreement committed Austria and Romania to come
to each other’s aid in event of a Russian attack; Germany, through its previous
agreement with Austria, was also indirectly committed.
The other country that sought inclusion in the alliance was Italy. Italy’s
situation differed significantly from Romania’s. Italy, like Germany, was a
newly formed nation-state. It had also played a constructive role in the German
unification process. In the 1866 Austro-Prussian War, it had fought Austria in
alliance with Prussia. Italy’s desire around 1880 to be included in the Austro-
German alliance came not from fear of another great power, but from tensions
in Italian politics, which leaders hoped could be improved by a foreign policy
victory. In foreign policy, Italy had ambitions to seize colonies, but these had
been quickly smashed when Tunis, in which Italy had made significant invest-
ments, was seized by the French. With the shattering of the Italian dreams
of empire, domestic public opinion had turned against the government and
the monarchy. Inside Italy, the struggle between secular authorities and the
Pope had not yet come to an end. Progressive forces within Italy urged the
Pope’s expulsion, but this sparked the strong opposition of Catholics across
the continent, leaving Italy isolated. Supporters of the Papacy pushed for a
restoration of the people’s secular authority, thus challenging the power of
the ruling house, while republican forces plotted to overturn the monarchy
itself.36 Italy asked both Germany and Austria at the same time for inclusion
in their alliance, claiming that it could use its own ties with Great Britain to
bring that country into the alliance as well. Bismarck did not respond, leaving
the ball entirely in Austria’s court. There are four major reasons for this. First,
Italy was in a weak geographical position with a long coastline that could
easily be invaded. Second, Italy had conflicts (both over territory and over
the future of the Papacy) with Austria, and any direct German negotiations
with Italy might affect ties with Austria. Third, Italy was a weak country and

46
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

had little value as an ally. Fourth, Bismarck doubted that Italy’s traditions of
liberalism and parliamentarianism would allow it to be a dependable ally. In
public, however, Bismarck emphasized this fourth point, claiming that Italy’s
parliamentary system prevented it from maintaining a stable, continuous
policy, thus negating the country’s value as an ally. When Italy’s ambassador
to Germany assured Bismarck that the Italian king could rely on the army
to implement policies that Bismarck could accept, the German chancellor
suggested that “a Monarch who is wearing civilian clothes does not do every-
thing in his power to keep in contact with his army.”37
In October 1881, this “Monarch who is wearing civilian clothes” visited
the Austrian prime minister in Vienna and proposed that the two countries
sign a “reinsurance pact” against aggression from other countries (France and
Russia in particular). This was a first step to finding a way into the Austro-
German alliance itself. Although Austria was interested in the Italian proposal,
the new Austrian foreign minister had a low opinion of Italian power. In the
end, the Italian king earned nothing from his trip to Vienna. Within two years,
however, Germany suggested that negotiations between Italy and Austria
be restarted as a direct response to the 1882 Skobelev incident. Cause and
effect followed directly: Skobelev’s incendiary remarks in Paris were made
on February 17 and Bismarck’s proposal to restart the Italian talks came on
February 28.

The Establishment of the Triple Alliance

The Skobelev incident had highlighted for Bismarck the potential of a future
Franco-Russian alliance. This prospect made Italy’s political value much
clearer. Bismarck understood that Italy had little military value as an ally, but
in a putative war between a Franco-Russian alliance and the Austro-German
alliance, politically it would be valuable for Italy to join the war against France
(rather than joining the war against Austria), even if Italy merely deployed
“one Italian corporal with the Italian flag and a drummer at his side.”38 In
many ways, Bismarck absorbed Italy into the alliance in order to promote
Austrian interests in having a stable rear flank. After the conclusion of this
alliance, Austria had to give up its traditional policies toward the Papacy,
but this was a sacrifice of prestige more than anything else. Italy, for its part,
could no longer make territorial claims to the Italian-speaking portions of the
Austrian Empire, which was a real concession.
For these reasons, some in Germany were not enthusiastic about this
alliance. Foreign ministry official Friedrich von Holstein (who would soon
become influential in the foreign ministry and ultimately replace Bismarck

47
Fragile Rise

as the steward of German foreign policy) thought that Germany’s recent

reestablishment of ties with the Vatican that had been severed during the
Kulturkampf of the 1870s could be threatened by this alliance with Italy. This,
he feared, might have a negative impact on German Catholics. The price of
the alliance would be paid by Germany, but the benefits would accrue to
Austria.39 Bismarck insisted, however, that aiding Austria in this way would
have positive effects for Germany’s entire strategic situation. These were far
more important than Germany’s relationship with the Vatican. Bismarck’s
son—in what was surely an echo of his father’s opinion—explained that: “I
entirely share your opinion on the Italian affair. Italy will never attack us
directly…for Austria, however, Italy is what France is for us—even though less
dangerous because weaker.”40 In 1883, Bismarck discussed this issue with the
French ambassador to Germany, saying that the alliance with Italy had been
concluded in consideration of Austria’s interests and that the Triple Alliance
was “the completion of the policy of reparation which I [have] follow[ed]
toward Austria since Sadowa.”41
Negotiations between the three countries concluded in May 1882 and
the treaty was formally signed on May 20. The preamble to the treaty declared
that its goal was “to increase the guarantees of general peace, to strengthen
the monarchical principle, and by that to assure the maintenance of social and
political order in their respective states.”42 This gave Italy what it needed the
most: support for the country’s monarchical system. The treaty’s second clause
guaranteed Austrian and German assistance to Italy in the event of an unpro-
voked French attack and mandated Italian assistance in case of an unprovoked
attack on Germany. The third clause obligated all of the signatories to go to
war in the event that one or two of them were attacked by a coalition of two
or more other countries. In practice, this meant that if Austria and Germany
ended up in a war with France and Russia, Italy would be duty-bound to join
them. The fourth clause of the treaty, however, is also worthy of serious consid-
eration: if any one of the signatories found themselves in a war (unprovoked
or otherwise) with a single other country, the other two signatories would be
merely required to maintain benevolent neutrality. To translate this into the
political landscape of the time, this clause meant that if Germany launched a
preemptive war against France, the other two countries must remain neutral.
In such a case, if Russia came to France’s aid, then Austria and Italy would
automatically have to join the war. If the Austro-German alliance was best
characterized as a “defensive alliance,” then the Triple Alliance needs to be
understood, in contrast, as also having an “offensive” character. This would
naturally bring an element of uncertainty to the future.43

48
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

In terms of geography, the Triple Alliance brought all of central Europe

together, almost like the Holy Roman Empire of the Middle Ages. When war
came in 1914, however, the alliance entered the struggle without one of its
members. This makes it easy for many to overlook the importance of the
alliance. In reality, the Triple Alliance was always only of secondary impor-
tance to Germany’s diplomatic plans and its grand strategy. On the whole,
the Triple Alliance is best understood as a derivative product of the Austro-
German alliance. Its military implications were significantly less than those
of the Austro-German alliance and its political value paled in comparison to
the League of Three Emperors. A comparison of the processes by which the
league and the Triple Alliance were created reveals that Bismarck attached
great importance to the establishment of the league: he had promoted it and
shaped it deliberately and methodically. The Triple Alliance, for Bismarck,
was mostly a means to ameliorate problems within the league that had
become evident since its creation. One additional point must be acknowl-
edged, however. Italy’s position in the Mediterranean meant that it main-
tained close, albeit complex, ties with Great Britain and France. The creation
of the Triple Alliance meant that Bismarck had also begun to establish indirect
connections with those two powers (but particularly with Great Britain), as
well. Germany could possibly be able to use these connections to stabilize the
weak balance between Germany, Russia, and Austria while also preventing a
Franco-Russian alliance.

German Policy and the Anglo-French Split

German Appraisal of Anglo-French Relations

The Triple Alliance acted as a bridge between Germany and Great Britain,
although this did not become fully apparent until the late 1880s. In the
years around 1882, Germany did not have much of a lever with which it
could influence Great Britain and France. The political trends in Britain and
France (where liberalism was mainstream) differed considerably from those
in Germany, Russia, Austria, and Italy. The conservative principle of monar-
chical unity had little influence in those two countries and, in fact, served only
to highlight the ideological differences between those societies and Germany.
Strategic interests also separated the two sides. Irreconcilable disputes existed
between Germany and France. Although Great Britain lacked a similarly
fundamental conflict with Germany, it also had few interests that intersected
with Germany’s. Therefore, when Bismarck created an alliance system that

49
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embraced all of the other great powers on the continent, the two powers that
remained outside of his system became something of a political uncertainty.
Most important, Britain and France stood together on a wide range of
issues and, historically, had been allied on several occasions. If Bismarck’s
League of Three Emperors and Triple Alliance caused them to feel excluded,
then they might once again ally themselves and revive the old dream of a
liberal alliance. This undoubtedly would constitute a major challenge to
Germany. In the Kissingen Dictation, Bismarck raised the possibility of using
Egyptian and Mediterranean disputes to drive a wedge between the two
countries. This became one of the five major objectives of German foreign
policy. Bismarck, however, could not directly incite tensions between Britain
and France. Given the level of tension existing between France and Germany,
any such move might be spotted immediately and result in German disgrace.
Thus, he adopted a very different approach to these two counties, acting
cautiously and patiently.
To summarize, there were two main aspects of German policy toward
Britain and France: first, to push for a thaw in ties with France and second, to
wait for (and then exploit) Anglo-French disputes over Egypt.
Bismarck’s behavior while attempting to promote better relations with
France proved interesting. On the one hand, he never believed in his heart that
reconciliation between France and Germany was possible. In his memoirs, he
linked this belief not only to the dispute over territories ceded to Germany
after the Franco-Prussian War, but also to France’s replacement by Germany
as the major power on the continent.44 On the other hand, he actively pursued
a policy of reconciliation and his true thoughts do not appear to have influ-
enced the sincerity of this policy. Perhaps it was simply that Bismarck excelled
at politics and diplomacy. In June 1882, Bismarck told the French ambassador
to Germany, “I want appeasement, I would like to be reconciled. We have
no sensible motive for seeking to do you harm; we are rather in the position
of owing you reparation.”45 Germany manifested this concern for France in
concrete policies, too—particularly in colonial affairs. In 1877, the British
government championed the cause of “reform” in Morocco, in order to allow
the government of that country to exercise greater independence, giving it
the ability to assist Great Britain in guaranteeing free navigation of the Straits
of Gibraltar.46 France, however, hoped to maintain Morocco in a weakened
state in order to one day absorb it into the French Empire. Consequently, it
vehemently objected to the British proposal. At Great Britain’s suggestion, the
European great powers held a conference in Madrid, Spain in 1880 to discuss
the Moroccan reforms. At the conference, Germany initially backed away

50
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

from its early support of reform, then swung its full support to the French
position, and—in a coordinated action with Austria-Hungary—finally caused
the conference to reject the British proposals. Elsewhere in North Africa,
Germany supported France over Italy in the contest for control of Tunisia.
The intent of Bismarck’s conciliatory policies seemed blatantly obvious to
the French: to lure French attention away from the territories lost to Germany
in 1871 and thus prevent French consideration of a war of vengeance. Even
though the French saw through Bismarck’s designs, they had little recourse.
His alliance system had already isolated France in Europe and left it with
the potential for free action only in overseas colonial affairs. The result was
that France devoted ever more effort to colonial expansion, creating more
points of dispute with the world’s largest colonial power, Great Britain. Under
these conditions, there was little possibility of rekindling a liberal alliance,
and Germany could enjoy maximum room for maneuver. Of course, Anglo-
French colonial disputes were not caused by German policy. The history
of the two countries, combined with their overseas interests and domestic
political structures, made that contest unavoidable. Throughout this process,
Bismarck was merely a master of waiting for, and making use of, the opportu-
nities that presented themselves. His attitude allowed events to develop in the
manner most beneficial to Germany. He himself emphasized that “arbitrary
interference in the course of history, on purely subjective grounds, has always
resulted in the shaking down of unripe fruit…the gift of waiting while a
situation develops is an essential requirement of practical politics.”47 This was
to be clearly reflected in the 1882 Egyptian Crisis.

The Egyptian Crisis and German Policy

Anglo-French conflict over Egypt had been latent ever since the Napoleonic
Wars. Napoleon had fought the British there, but Great Britain did not
control Egypt even after defeating him. By the nineteenth century, particu-
larly after the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, the strategic value of Egypt
rose immensely, and Anglo-French rivalry over Egypt reintensified. For the
British, the Suez Canal was the strategic link to India, the most important
British colony. They could not allow it to be controlled by another great power.
Egypt had economic importance for the French. There were already many
French business interests in the country—even the Suez Canal itself had been
completed by a French engineer. In November 1875, British Prime Minister
Disraeli suddenly bought the Egyptian government’s shares in the Suez Canal
itself, indicating that Britain had begun to exert control over Egypt. Afterward,
during an Egyptian fiscal crisis, British involvement increased. In 1876, it

51
Fragile Rise

established joint control with the French over the country’s financial affairs.
Of course, this supposedly cooperative joint control was actually a means for
Great Britain and France to monitor each other. As Salisbury explained in
a letter, “You may renounce—or monopolize—or share. Renouncing would
have been to place the French across our road to India. Monopolizing would
have been very near the risk of war. So we resolved to share.”48 As the situation
in Egypt worsened, however, joint control became increasingly unable to
contain the struggle between Britain and France. In September 1881, a revolt
broke out and by February 1882, the rulers of Egypt were forced to assemble
a new cabinet comprising nationalists. This cabinet rejected joint control,
which lit the fuse of the 1882 Egyptian Crisis.
In the early stages of the crisis, Britain and France maintained a united
front. In January 1882, the French proposed joint Anglo-French intervention
in Egypt. Germany objected, suggesting instead an intervention of a more
general European character, which was accepted by the British and French.
In May 1882, the European great powers met at Constantinople to discuss
the possibility of Ottoman intervention in Egypt, which was still nominally
Ottoman territory. The Ottoman sultan, however, refused to send a delegate
to the conference, so nothing came of it. On May 2, Egyptian authorities had
lost control of the situation to such an extent that they appealed for Anglo-
French assistance. By May 20, both countries dispatched warships to Alex-
andria as a show of force. Neither, however, had a prearranged plan, nor had
they received the authorization of the other great powers, leaving the ships
unable to take military action. This Anglo-French invasion, however, sparked
resistance from the Egyptian people, and an anti-European nationalistic
uprising began in Alexandria on June 11, thus escalating the crisis. In June
and July 1882, diplomatic efforts by the great powers to seek Ottoman inter-
vention made little progress, so Great Britain decided on a course of unilateral
action. On July 11, the British fleet began to bombard the port of Alexandria;
French ships withdrew in protest. The British Army made landfall and, by
September 13, had defeated the Egyptian forces and occupied the country.
The 1882 Egyptian Crisis had ended.
Germany played an important role in these events. Bismarck himself had
long hoped for such a crisis that could, as he stated in the Kissingen Dictation,
allow him to use Egyptian and Mediterranean issues to drive a wedge between
Britain and France. Out of all the possible outcomes of this crisis, unilateral
British occupation of Egypt was the most likely to damage Anglo-French
relations. Once this happened, Egypt would become a long-term sore spot in
the Anglo-French relationship, leaving Germany plenty of space to maneuver

52
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

between the two countries. Moreover, the British occupation of Egypt also
brought stability to Anglo-Russian relations, as each country was now assured
control over its own strategic weak points (for Britain, the sea lanes to India;
for Russia, the Black Sea and Ukraine). Both, then, would be interested in the
long-term maintenance of the status quo. Thus, Germany’s position in Egypt
was the opposite of its position in the Balkans: it made the gains without
taking any of the risk.
Based on this judgment, Bismarck’s overall calculation was to prolong,
or even intensify, Anglo-French tensions in order to further Germany’s
European policy. As Bismarck himself emphasized to Germany’s diplomats,
German policy on Egypt depended entirely on Germany’s relationships with
other powers in Europe.49 In sum, Bismarck’s handling of the Egyptian Crisis
can be reduced to three points that were also continuations of his regular
policies.
First, he continued to maintain Germany’s low posture in the management
of the crisis. Germany had never been particularly active in the Egyptian issue.
Only the escalation of the crisis between Anglo-French interests and Egyptian
authorities in 1879 caused Germany to pay attention. Its goal, however, was
not to resolve the issue, but to placate France in order to forestall closer
Franco-Russian ties (especially since Russo-German relations were particu-
larly tense at that point). At the same time, he also hoped to maintain Egypt’s
role as a latent source of conflict between Britain and France.50 On January 27,
1882, the German consulate in Alexandria reported that the Egyptian author-
ities might not be able to maintain order and requested German intervention.
Bismarck responded that, although the consul’s desire for order was under-
standable, “These international considerations should not make us forget that
the furtherance of this condition is not among the higher political tasks of
Germany…. The consciousness of being a major great power should not be
allowed to seduce us into a policy based on prestige, on the French model.
Our actual international or pan-European interests are not sufficiently great
to make it desirable for us to take the lead in Egyptian affairs.”51
The second was to facilitate the appearance of cooperation in order to
prevent actual Anglo-French cooperation. Bismarck, perhaps absorbing a
lesson from his handling of the 1875 Near East Crisis, did not actively make
any suggestions to the countries party to the dispute, in order to dispel any
suspicion that he was seeking to use this conflict for his own ends. On the
surface, he appeared to promote Anglo-French cooperation and to seek to cool
the confrontation, but in actuality, Bismarck paid close attention to the course
of events in order to prevent Anglo-French cooperation.52 When French

53
Fragile Rise

Prime Minister Léon Gambetta proposed joint Anglo-French action against

the threat of Egyptian nationalism in January 1882, Bismarck was opposed.
Instead, he suggested that such joint actions often lead to disagreements
among those who undertake them and isolate those countries from the rest of
Europe, such as was the case in France’s seizure of Tunis. He criticized British
policy, saying, “England is at present being governed with a lack of foresight,
such as has hardly been equaled in the long history of that country.”53 In fact,
Bismarck was worried that if Great Britain and France worked together on
this issue, this cooperation would only deepen once those countries learned
that the rest of Europe was in opposition. Thus, his counterproposal was a
European mediation that would enmesh Anglo-French cooperation in a much
larger, much more complicated context. This would also serve to increase
German ability to influence events. Bismarck’s notion was that the European
powers together should demand that the Ottoman Empire, Egypt’s nominal
sovereign, should restore order in Egypt. This would bring Anglo-French
actions in Egypt back into compliance with existing international agreements,
and would gain the support of “the Concert of Europe.”54 The Ottoman sultan
refused to attend a conference to discuss this, and a Concert of Europe was
never able to get off the ground. This proposal, therefore, only served as an
obstacle to Anglo-French cooperation and postponed the resolution of the
crisis. When the crisis intensified further, the two powers were only able to
muster a joint show of force, after which the two country’s different actions
paced the way for conflict.
Third, Bismarck encouraged British occupation of Egypt. Even before
the crisis, he had advocated unilateral British action in Egypt.55 As early as
November 1875, when British Prime Minister Disraeli took the decisive step
of purchasing the Suez Canal, Bismarck expressed his strong support. In 1877,
the German crown princess wrote to her mother, Queen Victoria, that “all
lovers of England are so anxious that this opportunity should not pass by, of
gaining a firm footing in Egypt.”56 Disraeli himself thought that “[this letter]
might have been dictated by Prince Bismarck. If the Queen of England wishes
to undertake the government of Egypt, her Majesty does not require the
suggestion, or permission, of P. Bismarck.”57 The queen responded that Britain
did not take other country’s territory except when necessary, and that “Prince
Bismarck would probably like us to seize Egypt, as it would be giving a great
slap in the face of France, and be taking a mean advantage of her inability to
protest.”58
As it became apparent that Bismarck’s proposed Concert of Europe
solution had not advanced, the British government served notice to Herbert

54
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

von Bismarck on June 24 that the conference had failed, and that Britain
would occupy the Suez Canal, either unilaterally or with French cooperation.
Even more significantly, Britain had already completed military prepara-
tions and could deploy some 8,000 soldiers from Gibraltar and Malta to
Port Said within a week. Within two weeks, Britain could send an additional
10,000 men. After learning this, Bismarck realized that Britain was about to
throw its cards on the table. He recognized that the failure of the Concert of
Europe was mathematically certain.59 Yet Bismarck felt that Germany should
continue to proceed cautiously, as any open hint that Germany hoped to fan
the flames of Anglo-French conflict might bring about the opposite. He sent
clear orders to his government that once Britain took military action in Egypt,
German’s main objective was to prevent itself from being associated with any
other country’s reactions. If, for instance, France asked for German support
in opposing the British action, the German answer would be that if Egypt’s
Ottoman sovereign could accept British operations in Egypt, then Germany
had no right or reason to object.60
In July 1882, signs of impending British military action were already
clear. Bismarck’s worry at this point was that Britain might change course
and give up the military option. To prevent this, Bismarck restated Germany’s
policy of non-interference in order to allay British concerns about Germany.
That same month, British Foreign Secretary George Granville Leveson-
Gower probed German intentions: “I should of course reserve full liberty of
action, but the knowledge of what the Chancellor thought was practicable and
desirable would be a most useful guide and probably prevent some unnec-
essary mistakes being made.”61 Bismarck replied that Germany hoped Britain,
France, and the Ottoman Empire would reach an understanding over Egypt,
but, as long as Germany’s own vital interests were not harmed, Germany
would not hinder Great Britain from taking any sort of action to protect its
own vital interests. Bismarck, too, became extremely annoyed at the German
consul in Alexandria’s indiscreet public expressions of his own opinion and
ordered him to be quiet so as not to affect British calculations. On July 4, after
the commander of the British fleet threatened to attack the Egyptian rebels,
the German consul in Alexandria, Anton von Saurma, sent an emergency
telegraph to Berlin, imploring that “it seems urgently desirable to warn the
irresponsible Admiral most earnestly to keep quiet.” Bismarck replied, “Our
task is not to warn the English Admiral but Saurma to keep quiet. It is not
his business to interfere in the conduct of one of the European Powers or put
forward petita if German interests do not demand it.”62 On July 9, Saurma
received another warning to the effect that he “refrain from any action for

55
Fragile Rise

which you have not received authorization from Berlin.”63 On July 11, when
British ships bombarded Alexandria and the French refused to participate,
Bismarck finally relaxed a little bit. Herbert von Bismarck wrote in a letter
that, “My father is decidedly pleased about the bombardment.”64

Diplomacy’s Support and Supplement: The Army and Military

Strategy

Germany’s diplomatic strategy had assumed its fundamental form by the

early 1880s. Through its flexible, balanced diplomacy, the foreign pressures
that Germany experienced during the early period of its rise had diminished
significantly and the defensive attitudes of other nations had noticeably faded.
This created a relatively favorable international environment for Germany’s
rise. This success, however, was not due to Bismarck’s diplomacy alone.
Instead, the organic combination of diplomatic and military affairs—or, in
other words, German grand strategy—played a major role. The German
Army and German military strategy played an important role in this process.

Relations between Germany’s Army and Government

After unification, Germany had the most powerful army in the world. Its
military organizational structures, particularly the Prussian General Staff,
became models widely imitated around the globe.65 This military power was
an immense asset to German diplomacy and spurred no small measure of
national pride. The Austrian ambassador to Germany wrote that the tone
of conversations with Prussian officials changed dramatically after the 1871
unification. When he asked one his thoughts on the future of Europe, the
reply was: “We ourselves with a million soldiers are the equilibrium of the
future.”66
Yet there were also problems associated with this. The structure of the
German military was extremely complex and its various components often
worked at cross-purposes. The Prussian Ministry of War provides an example
of this phenomenon. It was tasked with the administration of the whole
German Army (with the exception of three states that maintained their own
independent ministries), which included personnel issues, mobilization, and
oversight of the General Staff, military academies, and logistical departments.
The head of the ministry, the Minister of War, swore loyalty as a military
officer to the kaiser and thus had a duty to ensure the throne’s complete
control of the military. As a Prussian minister, however, he also pledged
obedience to the constitution and was accountable to the elected Landstag.

56
 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

These two roles often conflicted. The nature of the Minister of War’s position
changed in significant ways after Germany’s reconstituted as an empire. First,
there was no such position as Imperial Minister of War. Second, Bismarck was
the only cabinet minister to hold appointment at the imperial, as opposed to
state, level, but he did not command the military. Thus, it fell to the Prussian
Minister of War to be the representative of the national military and to
communicate as such with the Reichstag. Thus, the army—and, particularly,
the Minister of War—came to be seen by the Reichstag as representing the
military, while in the eyes of the rest of the military (particularly the General
Staff), he was seen as a representative of the government and of the Reichstag.
These other elements of the military worked to restrict his authority, leading
to a precarious set of relationships within the military.67
The German Army also had its own extremely distinctive military culture.
At the imperial level, the military played a very important role in national
life. As William Liebknecht, leader of the German Socialist Party said, “If you
want to understand Germany you must grasp the fact that Germany, particu-
larly Prussia, is an inverted pyramid. Its apex, firmly embedded in the ground,
is the spike on the top of the Prussian soldiers’ helmet. Everything rests on
that.”68 The army had at its core an “officer clique.” This was an extremely
tight, closed group with its own ranks, conventions, and regulations formed
among military officers. They saw themselves as loyal to the Prussian king
(who was also the German kaiser) and as the imperial guards of the Hohen-
zollern house. It should be pointed out that this did not reflect an absolute
willingness to blindly follow the orders of one man regardless of legal or orga-
nizational restrictions, because under normal circumstances, the kaiser could
not become overly involved in military issues. This allowed management of
military affairs to stay in the hands of a few high-ranking officers—that is to
say, in the hands of the officer clique itself. On December 15, 1897, Kaiser
Wilhelm II paid a visit to Bismarck, whom he had forced into retirement years
before. Bismarck, who was nearing the end of his life, offered a final warning
to the young monarch: “So long as you have this present officer corps, you can
of course do as you please. But when this is no longer the case, it will be very
different for you.”69 Wilhelm proved unable to heed this advice and, in 1918, it
would be the leaders of the German officer corps, Paul von Hindenburg and
Erich Ludendorff, who toppled him from power.
When relations between the civilian government and the military are
rocky, it is easy for tensions to emerge between diplomatic affairs and military
policies. Such tensions emerged between Bismarck and the army as early as
the wars of German unification. In the 1866 war with Austria, Bismarck and

57
Fragile Rise

his generals quarreled over whether or not to advance on Vienna after their
victory at Sadowa. During the 1870–1871 Franco-Prussian War, the Prussian
General Staff (the elder Helmuth von Moltke, in particular) involved them-
selves in a running series of disputes with Bismarck. The German crown
prince, disturbed by this tension, attempted to mediate between the two men,
but to no avail. In a letter to his wife, Bismarck angrily wrote, “The military
gentlemen make my work terrifically difficult for me! They lay their hands on
it and ruin it and I have to bear the responsibility.”70 From the elder Moltke’s
perspective, however, he was the actual commander on the battlefield—not
only did he have to think about issues from a military point of view, but he
was also responsible for the lives of those serving under him. Thus, he was
unable to understand why political and diplomatic considerations should be
allowed to interfere with military planning.
These tensions between Bismarck and the elder Moltke naturally carried
over into the post-unification era. The origins did not lie in the personal
relationship between the two or in the elder Moltke’s view of Bismarck as an
individual, but rather in the elder Moltke’s worldview. The elder Moltke saw
himself as a student of Carl von Clausewitz, the famous German military
theorist, and in principle supported the notion of “war as an extension of
politics.” In his 1869 “Instructions for the Senior Troop Commanders,” Moltke
specifically emphasized that the “objective of war is to implement the govern-
ment’s policy by force.” When it came, however, to the intersection of politics
and military strategy during the actual conduct of a war, the elder Moltke’s
view departed drastically from that of Clausewitz. For Clausewitz, military
strategy needed to be subordinate to politics even during wartime; the elder
Moltke, by contrast, stressed the independence of military strategy: “the first
duty and right of the art of war is to keep policy from demanding things that
go against the nature of war, to prevent the possibility that out of ignorance
of the way the instrument works, policy might misuse it.”71 In his essay “On
Strategy,” the elder Moltke went even further, claiming that:

Politics uses war for the attainment of its ends; it operates decisively
at the beginning and the end [of conflict], of course in such manner
that it refrains from increasing its demands during the war’s duration
or from being satisfied with an inadequate success…. Strategy can
only direct its efforts toward the highest goal which the means
available make attainable. In this way, it aids politics best, working
only for its objectives, but in its operations independent of it.72

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 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

After Bismarck assumed the position of imperial chancellor, his conflicts

with the military manifested themselves over the issue of “preventative war.”
During the 1875 “War in Sight” Crisis, the elder Moltke and the Prussian
General Staff contemplated a preemptive war against France, but were
stopped by Bismarck. Over a decade later, during the 1887–1888 Bulgaria
Crisis, forceful voices in the military again called for preemptive war (this
time against Russia). It required tremendous effort for Bismarck, with his
unique position in the government and his considerable influence, to ensure
even a basic level of coordination between politics and the military. Under
the German system, such coordination was not the normal state of affairs.
Bismarck himself knew this and wrote in his memoir about his pessimistic
view on the potential for military domination of politics: “[The fact that at
times] the staff and its leaders have allowed themselves to be led astray and
to endanger peace, lies in the very spirit of the institution, which I would not
forego. It only becomes dangerous under a monarch whose policy lacks sense
of proportion and power to resist one-sided and constitutionally unjustifiable
influences.”73
Compared to his successors, however, the elder Moltke had a strong grasp
of the overall picture. During his time as chief of the General Staff, he devoted
significant attention to coordination with the political leadership, particularly
Bismarck. Although their relationship could be acrimonious, the elder Moltke
allowed Bismarck access to the military’s plans, thus allowing him to make
informed foreign policy decisions. This is something his successors would be
unwilling to do.

Changes in German Military Strategy under the Elder Moltke

The true level of cooperation between Bismarck and the elder Moltke can be
seen in the realm of German grand strategy, where Bismarck’s diplomacy and
Moltke’s military strategy complemented each other extremely well.
In his role as head of the Prussian General Staff, Moltke proved himself
both an exceptional commanding officer and a careful strategic thinker, the
likes of which had rarely been seen in German military history. He had a firm
grasp of post-unification Germany’s security environment. As early as April
1871, he predicted the dangers that a two-front war would present to a future
Germany. He anticipated that a firm, friendly relationship between Germany
and Russia, based on ties of royal blood such as existed during the Napoleonic
Wars, was unlikely to be stable; that Austro-Prussian antagonism would be
replaced by Austro-German cooperation; and that Russo-German relations
would ultimately grow frosty. Russia, however, would not attack Germany by

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Fragile Rise

itself, without an ally in western Europe—and France was just such a potential
ally. Thus, a future Germany would likely have to face a two-front war against
both France and Russia.
The elder Moltke thought about the possibility of such a war with great
clarity. Although he was the field commander for Prussia’s quick victories
over both Austria and France, he maintained a cautious attitude about
whether or not quick victories would be possible in future wars. His experi-
ences during the Franco-Prussian War told him that when a war between
great powers was strictly limited to battlefield military operations, quick
victory could be gained through superior troops, superior command struc-
tures, advanced weaponry, and other such factors. If such a war expanded,
however, to become a total war, the quest for quick victory would become
a dangerous, uncertain undertaking. In his April 1871 plan for a two-front
war, the elder Moltke specified: “Germany cannot hope to rid herself of one
enemy by a quick offensive victory in the West in order then to turn against
the other. We have just seen how difficult it is to bring even the victorious war
against France to an end.”74 Moltke instead proposed a strategy of “offensive
defense” on both the eastern and western fronts. In the early phases of the
war, the military would attack in order to bring the war to the enemy. Then,
it would shift to the defensive and attempt to diminish the enemy’s effective
strength, with the goal of causing it to lose the will and the ability to continue
the fight. The war would then end with a favorable peace treaty.
Germany stationed equal numbers of troops on its eastern and western
frontiers. In 1872, France established a German-style system of compulsory
conscription and inducted three-quarters of the targeted age group into
military training. It also adopted a highly effective general staff and mobili-
zation system, also modeled after Germany’s. These innovations considerably
eroded Germany’s pre-existing superiority in mobilization speed and military
organization. Thus, in 1873, Moltke looked to strengthen German defenses in
the west, and even proposed that preparations were needed for the eventuality
that French troops crossed the Rhine. He planned that, in such a situation,
German forces would regroup on the banks of the Rhine. Geography would
force the advancing French Army to separate into two groups, one north and
one south, allowing Germany to concentrate its military forces and break
though the French center, pushing the northern forces back toward Paris and
the southern forces back to Lorraine. Once this plan succeeded, Germany
would offer France generous terms for a peace treaty.75
By 1877, Moltke’s vision of strategic equality of the eastern and western
fronts underwent further modification. In a February 3 memorandum, he

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 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

noted the quick growth of French military strength and the increase in speed
of its pre-war mobilization capabilities. These led him to finger France as
Germany’s most important future foe. As a consequence, he retreated from
his original notion of equal deployments on Germany’s eastern and western
frontiers, instead concentrating his forces in the west. He calculated that
within three weeks after a mobilization order was given, a decisive battle
would be fought with France’s main force. After this victory over France, the
army would be moved to the eastern front to confront Russia. On the surface,
this plan seems similar to the Schlieffen Plan of later years, but two funda-
mental differences exist. First, the elder Moltke’s decisive battle was not the
same thing as the battle of annihilation sought by Alfred von Schlieffen. He
in fact specifically warned against the notion that France could be completely
routed: “It must be left to diplomacy to determine whether it can achieve
peace for us on this side, even if it can be done only on the basis of the
status quo ante.”76 Second, the Schlieffen Plan did not make any allowances
for setbacks, but Moltke’s plan considered a number of unpleasant possi-
bilities, including what Germany should do if it loses the “decisive battle”
with France. If that were to occur, the German Army would shift immediately
to the defensive, retreating behind the Rhine if needed. A portion of the army
would be diverted to the eastern front in order to strengthen German defenses
there and blunt any Russian attack.77
Such a strategy did not fully satisfy Moltke. As French military power
steadily grew and French defensive works were constructed along the Franco-
German border, he came to view the potential results of a western offensive
as meager. Conversely, he saw conditions for German defenses in the west as
extremely favorable: the Franco-German border, which ran from Belgium to
the Alps, was relatively short, well protected by German fortifications, and
contained the Rhine as a natural barrier. Moltke’s view shifted to the judgment
that “it would be a mistake to launch an immediate strategic offensive” on
the western front. His strategy for the western front was for limited German
forces to defend a region with the Saar at its core, Metz as its forward position,
and Strassburg as its southern flank. France, rather than Germany, would be
allowed to go on the offensive. Given the strong desire to recover Alsace-
Lorraine, it was likely that France would rush to launch an attack. Once
French forces had completely left their prepared positions and entered open
territory, the German Army, with its strong defensive fortifications, would
pounce. Moltke saw this sort of defensive battle as being easily winnable by
the German Army. Even so, he considered what would happen if the army’s
defense failed. His plan for this possibility called for a retreat behind the Rhine

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and a reconsolidation of the withdrawn armies on the Main River between

Mainz and Frankfurt.78 Moltke’s plans should not be understood as negative
defense of the western front, but as a form of “offensive defense.” As he argued,
“even facing superior numbers, we must risk a battle in front of the Rhine
before withdrawing behind it.”79
On the eastern front, by contrast, Moltke envisioned a strategic offensive.
He did not think it was practical to effectively defend the 750-kilometer-
long Russo-German border. It was, however, a region suitable for a strategic
offensive. In particular, he saw East Prussia as a strategic bulge that could be
easily encircled and cut off if used defensively or that could be used effec-
tively to surround the main force of the Russian Army in Russian-occupied
Poland. Given Russia’s vast size, Moltke did not think a strategy of seeking a
“battle of annihilation” to be sensible and any German attempt to seek such a
confrontation would merely be a futile action. If, however, the German Army
were able to inflict a series of serious defeats on major Russian military units
and coupled this with a systematic, measured call for nationalist uprisings
inside the Russian Empire, then Russian resolve would crumble. The Russian
government might then be willing to negotiate peace, particularly if Germany
offered reasonable terms. Moltke saw this final point as being possible because
“the Russians…have absolutely nothing which one could take from them after
the most successful war; they have no gold, and we don’t need land.”80 Thus,
as long as Germany only sought limited war objectives, it would be possible
to fight a relatively short, victorious war against Russia. Once Russia departed
the war, an isolated France would lose its motivation for continuing to fight
and the war would conclude with negotiations. Moltke himself provided a
one-sentence summary of his post-1879 military strategy: “If we must fight
two wars 150 miles apart, then, in my opinion, we should exploit in the west
the great advantages which the Rhine and our powerful fortifications offer to
the defensive and should employ all the fighting forces which are not abso-
lutely indispensable [in the west] for an imposing offensive against the east.”81
German forces were still to be equally deployed on both fronts, but the
300,000 soldiers in the west would be tasked with defense, while the 360,000
troops in the east were to seek opportunities for the offensive against Russian
forces in Kovno and Warsaw.82
With the signing of the Austrian alliance in 1879, conditions for German
offensive operations in the east improved even further. Although the elder
Moltke doubted the fighting potential of the Austrian Army, he took on a role
as chief of the alliance’s general staff and began dialogue with the Austrian
military command in 1882. His subordinates and a member of the Austrian

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 “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

General Staff eventually worked out a plan for a joint offensive against Russia.
German forces would move from East Prussia in coordination with Austrian
units from Galicia to envelope the Russian Army near Warsaw. This would
force the Russians to leave their defensive fortifications and create the condi-
tions for a decisive battle. The offensive’s goal would be to push the front back
to Brest-Litovsk, the Bug River, and the Austro-Russian border. This would
merely drive a wedge into the bulge of Russian-occupied Poland that separated
Austria and Germany. This suggests that, like his strategy in the west, Moltke
did not seek a battle of annihilation, much less a complete victory. Instead, his
goal was a limited victory that would allow diplomats to negotiate peace on
favorable terms.
The elder Moltke’s military strategy can be reduced to two basic points.
First, strategic objectives should be limited, with the aim of achieving
favorable terms of peace, rather than complete victory. Second, the best plan
was to attack in the East and defend in the West by first placing emphasis on
defeating Russia and then focusing on fighting France. These two strands of
thought were mutually supporting and both were necessary. The Schlieffen
Plan that eventually was put into action discarded both.

Special Characteristics of the Elder Moltke’s Strategy

The elder Moltke’s military strategy had at least four strong points, based on
an analysis of the conditions at the time:
First, it was objective in the sense that it matched the objective conditions
of the time. After the Franco-Prussian War, Germany annexed the French
territories of Alsace-Lorraine. This was a political mistake, as it transformed
France into a permanent enemy and greatly reduced German room for diplo-
matic maneuver. In military terms, however, it had merit: these two regions,
if they remained in French hands, would be important massing points for
the French Army and would directly threaten the German industrial center
of the Saar. Germany’s occupation of these regions gave it control of the two
important fortresses on the Franco-German border, Strassburg and Metz,
giving it a strong defensive front line. As long as Switzerland and Belgium
maintained neutrality, any French attack on Germany could only come in this
region, which was, in the words of Engels, “the strongest and biggest quadrangle
of fortresses in the world.”83 It could be defended by a relatively small number
of German soldiers for a lengthy period, providing some military compen-
sation for the political costs of the original decision to occupy the region.
Second, it allowed for an organic coordination with diplomacy. The
elder Moltke’s “attack in the East and defend in the West” strategy was, in its

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basic spirit, harmonious with Germany’s overall foreign policies. Bismarck

was not seeking to conquer new lands or to obtain hegemony over Europe.
Similarly, Moltke did not seek complete victory, but planned to use limited
military successes to force Germany’s opponents to lose the desire to fight.
He emphasized that this would create favorable conditions for diplomacy and
political maneuvering. This strategy was also incorporated into the alliance
with Austria after 1879. As that alliance was only directed against Russia,
and not against France, Germany had a two-to-one advantage in the east,
giving his basic strategy an even firmer footing. His far-sightedness must be
stressed here. Even though he essentially did not trust the alliance and, as a
Prussian military officer, did not respect the Austrian military or its General
Staff, his establishment of a joint general staff as an instrument for coordi-
nation between the two countries allowed German military strategy at the
operational level to work with the foreign policy strategy.
Third, it was controllable. It provided a level of control over the devel-
opment of events during a crisis, providing policymakers with a safety valve.
As the ultimate method for responding to crises and protecting national
security, military strategy is always directly linked to a nation’s ability to
control situations. If a military strategy is entirely rooted in responding to the
most extreme situations, then, when faced with a relatively less serious crisis,
the only available choices will be to do nothing or to adopt measures meant
for extreme cases. This second option would create a self-fulfilling prophecy,
as it would escalate the crisis into being that most extreme situation, which
would force the nation into choosing between surrender and fighting a devas-
tating total war. This would prove to be the choice provided by the Schlieffen
Plan in later decades. Moltke’s strategy, by contrast, embodied a high degree
of flexibility. Even in a situation that involved fighting on both fronts, it would
allow Germany a measure of control over the situation. In the west, German
forces would be on the defensive in favorable territory, while in the east, it
would have the assistance of an ally, making a defeat of Russia’s main forces
(or at least the blunting of Russian abilities to go on the offensive) highly
likely.84 This put the initiative in Germany’s hands. As long as it did not seek
to seize Paris or occupy large amounts of Russian territory, this plan would
create favorable military conditions for making peace. French and Russian
losses, by contrast, would cause them to lose motivation to fight to the end.
Fourth, it was cost-effective. As the three points above make clear, this
strategy was a method for using a limited amount of money to guarantee
national security without needing to greatly expand the armed forces. During
the Bismarckian era, the German military grew at a relatively stately pace.

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The 1880 seven-year budget projected an expansion from 401,000 men to

427,000, while the seven-year budget adopted in 1887 called for a further
expansion to 468,000.85 The lion’s share of attention was devoted to the army.
In 1870, a sum of £9,600,000 was spent on the German Army. This increased
to £18,200,000 in 1880 and £24,200,000 in 1890. Looking at this compara-
tively, German share of the total army expenditures of the five great powers
was 15 percent in 1870, 19.3 percent in 1880, and 22.7 percent in 1890.
Its shares of the total naval expenditures for the same period were, respec-
tively, 5.7 percent, 9.3 percent, and 14 percent.86 Considering that Germany’s
share of the combined economies of the five great powers was 16 percent
in 1870, 20 percent in 1880, and 25 percent in 1890, the pace of military
expansion appears rather moderate. It did not increase suspicion in the other
great powers, nor did it cause an arms race.87
In conclusion, the frameworks of both Bismarck’s foreign policy strategy
and the elder Moltke’s military strategy had been established. At a philo-
sophical level, these strategies were consistent with one another: both sought
limited victory and manifested conservative instincts. In the realm of actual
practice, the two strategies likewise supplemented and supported one another.
Despite the serious defects in German decision-making institutions, these
two pillars formed a comprehensive grand strategy with limited objectives,
and its indirect path of development fully fit the needs of a rising Germany’s
complicated foreign affairs environment. Within little more than a decade
after unification, Germany’s power had increased quickly without provoking
foreign push-back. The opposite had, in fact, happened: Germany’s leading
role had earned acceptance by the other great powers. This “miracle” in inter-
national relations history cannot but reflect the success of this grand strategy.

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 3

Working to Maintain the Grand Strategy

“I think it may be true that fortune is the ruler of half our
actions, but that she allows the other half or a little less to be
governed by us.”
Niccolo Machiavelli

T he essence of grand strategy lies in the coordination and balance of

various resources, methods, policies, and demands. Often this coor-
dination is both subtle and fragile; it is buffeted by the contest of other
interests and changing outside forces. The obligation of strategic decision-
makers, however, is to make that coordination as flexible as possible so that
it can respond to changes while maintaining its own balance and harmony.
Throughout the course of Germany’s rise, its grand strategy faced a double
assault. First, the rapid development of national power spurred enormous
changes in domestic politics and society, which created social forces that
substantially affected political leaders’ appraisal of costs and benefits. Second,
the ever-changing international environment continually confounded pre-
existing strategic arrangements, such as in the case of the continued tensions
between Austria and Russia. Pressure for continual revision of policies was
relentless. Until his forced retirement, Bismarck was locked in combat with
these two forces, and he emerged mostly victorious in maintaining the balance
and stability of his grand strategy.

Pressure Generated by Social Trends

Grand strategy mainly focuses on foreign policy, yet domestic factors signifi-
cantly affect it as well. For a rising great power, the rapid increase of national
power is always accompanied by radical changes in domestic structures of
authority. The accumulated pressures of this process seek release in a variety
of ways, some of which will manifest in powerful social trends.
The primary way that social trends influence grand strategy is through
transforming both domestic society and the calculation of cost and benefits
for decision-makers. This point has been well explained by economists. For
Fragile Rise

example, the study of institutional economics has done much to explain the
frequency of irrational behavior. As Douglass C. North has pointed out, inter-
ference by ideological factors often produces behaviors that do not align with
any clear cost/benefit analysis. A successful ideology does, in fact, change
perceptions of cost and benefit, leading to “abnormal” results.1 Social trends
can have the same effect on politics and strategy.
Perhaps we should directly take social trends to be a form of ideology.
“Ideology” as a term can be understood in a narrow sense and in a broad
sense. In the narrow sense, ideology is primarily a conceptual system for
linking class society on the one hand and the economic base and super-
structure on the other. In the broad sense, ideology is a factor that can be
understood through several disparate disciplines, including political science,
sociology, literary studies, and economics.2 In each of these fields, ideology
represents a way of knowing. North further argued that ideology is foremost
an “economizing device.” Through ideology, people can come to understand
the environment in which they live. Under the influence of a “worldview,”
the process of decision-making is simplified.3 Louis Althusser further empha-
sized that ideologies must go through a process of extreme simplification in
order to make them easier for the masses to accept: “It is indeed a peculiarity
of ideology that it imposes (without appearing to do so, since these are ‘obvi-
ousnesses’) obviousnesses as obviousnesses, which we cannot fail to recognize
and before which we have the inevitable and natural reaction of crying out
(aloud or in the ‘still, small voice of conscience’): ‘That’s obvious! That’s right!
That’s true!’”4 Understanding ideology as a mode of cognition that has been
simplified for the masses clearly reveals the functions and characteristics of
ideology. Thus, this book adopts the term ideology, in the broad sense, as a
replacement for the phrase “social forces.”
A careful consideration of Germany’s situation in the late nineteenth
century clearly reveals that its rise wrought profound changes inside the
country. The rapid growth of some of these social currents mobilized parts
of the population, and different ideologies came to exhibit immense political
power. The dominant ideologies in Germany included nationalism, democracy
(sometimes called national liberalism), imperialism, and socialism.5 The first
three of these had the greatest impact on diplomacy and security policy. Social-
ism’s impact was largely on domestic politics, so it will not be discussed here.

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 Working to Maintain the Grand Strategy

Nationalism
Nationalism is an ancient phenomenon that developed into its modern form
during the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars. It manifested itself
in the strengthened sense of a common, shared consciousness that grew on
the foundations of shared living space, language, and history and under-
standing of legitimate political authority. This sentiment began to have the
power to mobilize the loyalty of the population.6 By the latter half of the
nineteenth century, nationalism in Europe underwent a series of significant
changes. First, nationalism shifted from being a relatively tolerant belief
into an ideology of competition colored with a strong tint of chauvinism.7
Second, the phrase “self-determination” came to be used to describe not only
countries that demonstrably had the political, economic, and cultural ability
to exist, but also for any group that called itself a “nationality.” Third, complete
independence as a sovereign nation became the only way to satisfy calls for
national determination.8
The rise of nationalism had a number of serious consequences for
Germany. First, German unification itself was a product of nationalism,
and Germany’s existence as a sovereign nation-state further stimulated the
growth of nationalist sentiments. Second, the redirection of popular loyalty
from monarchical dynasties to the nation weakened the traditional ties
between royal families that had previously been so important in international
relations. This made it ever more difficult for Germany to use the principle
of monarchical unity to bind Russia and Austria together. Third, the struggle
for national independence in the Balkans—the so-called Eastern Question—
grew sharper, leading to higher tensions between Russian and Austria and
creating a greater danger that Germany would be drawn into the dispute.
Fourth, nationalism, especially when accompanied by chauvinism, stressed
the competitive side of international relations. By the end of the nineteenth
century, an increasing number of Germans saw international relations as
being the struggle between various ethnic nationalities, such as Teutons,
Anglo-Saxons, and Slavs, among others. For example, when Great Britain
went to war against the Boer Republic in South Africa, popular sentiment
in Germany was anti-British not for any political or economic reason, but
because the Boers were identified, like the Germans, as Teutonic.9

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Fragile Rise

Democracy
For the majority of European countries, the period from 1871 to 1914 was
an era of democratization. Inside Germany, which was undergoing dramatic
economic and social changes, democratic politics were both a result of these
changes and an impetus for them. The most direct expression of democratic
politics in Germany was the growth of popular participation in national
political life. Taking the voter participation rate in Reichstag elections as an
example, only 50 percent of enfranchised voters cast ballots in 1871, and that
number never exceeded two-thirds of registered voters over the next fourteen
years. By 1887, however, the voter participation rate increased to 77.2 percent,
and in the 1907 and 1912 elections, it went as high as 84 percent.
Mass popular participation in politics had a variety of consequences.
Foremost of these, from the perspective of national strategic decision-making,
was that traditional “cabinet diplomacy” and secret diplomacy were ever
more restricted. Decision-makers now could not just consider the demands
of national interest. They also needed to account for popular acceptance and
approval of their policies. The British Foreign Secretary, the Earl of Clarendon,
expressed this in 1869, saying, “Governments no more than individuals can
afford nowadays to despise public opinion.”10 Second, wider popular partici-
pation in politics provides greater opportunities for interest groups to exert
influence. As a late-rising power, Germany’s rapid economic growth promoted
the democratization of domestic politics. Compared to Britain and France,
Germany’s political processes and institutions (although they were influenced
by democratic trends) were imperfect and did not constitute a fully mature
political culture. Under these conditions, enthusiastic mass public political
participation provided a new route for interest groups to exert pressure on
the government: the direct mobilization of people to create or manipulate
public opinion. Without the rise of democratic politics, nationalism, impe-
rialism, and other popular ideologies could not have had such a large effect.
Thus, democracy played a fundamental role in the development of these other
ideologies.

Imperialism
Imperialism, of all of the popular ideologies, had the greatest impact on
high-level German policymakers. Late nineteenth-century European impe-
rialism was an admixture of nationalism, racism, Social Darwinism, and
other intellectual trends. Beyond simply emphasizing the economic need
for overseas expansion and the seizure of colonies, advocates of imperialist
expansion appealed to the eternal principles of the “struggle for survival” and

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“survival of the fittest.” In Germany, the forces in favor of overseas expansion

included not only a portion of the industrial and mercantile communities,
but also some intellectuals. The most famous of these included Heinrich von
Treitschke and Friedrich Fabri. They gave a number of reasons for Germany’s
pressing need for colonies. First, the seizure of new markets was necessary
to absorb excess German industrial production and to provide a destination
for German capital. Second, colonies could reduce social dissatisfaction by
acting as a relief valve for domestic pressures. Cecil Rhodes, the famous
British imperialist, made a similar argument in 1895: “In order to save the
forty million inhabitants of the United Kingdom from a bloody civil war,
our colonial statesmen must acquire new lands for settling the surplus popu-
lation of this country, to provide new markets.... The Empire, as I have always
said, is a bread and butter question.” Third, it could protect the national labor
force, as German colonies could absorb over a million German migrants,
who might otherwise immigrate to the United States, thus strengthening an
already frightening economic competitor. Fourth, imperialism could ensure
survival amid international competition, as other European powers all
already had large colonial empires. According to the natural law of survival of
the fittest, German survival depended on copying these countries by seizing
colonies.11 Fifth, taking foreign colonies in order to propagate German culture
and national consciousness could re-ignite the German national spirit.12
These viewpoints were ceaselessly promoted through the repeated propa-
ganda efforts of a number of pro-imperialist organizations, and imperialism
became one of the main ideologies in Germany. The pressures this placed on
government decision-making were apparent even in Bismarck’s era.
To use for a moment the ideas of Ferdinand Braudel, a French historian
of the Annales school, social ideologies are the “deeper level” of the history
written about in books, similar in force and effect to the movement of plates
beneath the earth’s surface.13 In the face of this, the space for any political
figure to have an impact is limited. But the task of political leaders, especially
those who carry the fate of the nation on their shoulders, is always to seek
the possible in the midst of the impossible. Bismarck’s wisdom lay in his deep
understanding of the objective existence of these powerful forces. He did his
utmost to use these forces to his own ends, while maintaining the initiative in
his own hands and protecting the balance and flexibility of his policies.
Bismarck, unlike the political figures of Wilhelm II’s day, did not allow
himself to be pushed along by these forces, nor was he locked into rigid oppo-
sition to them (with the exception of the socialist movement). Instead, he
tried to get ahead of these forces in order to restrain them. In other words,

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Fragile Rise

before these forces had fully formulated their political demands, he would
decisively grant demands that they might seek, thereby controlling and domi-
nating the process. For example, he controlled demands for nationalism and
democracy by completing the process of national unification and imple-
menting full male electoral suffrage. As Friedrich Engels explained, this was
an attempt to prove to the German bourgeois that “Bismarck had shown it
that he knew better what was good for it than it knew itself…[he] fulfilled its
national program with a speed and accuracy that surprised the bourgeoisie
itself.”14 British historian Eric Hobsbawm provided this wonderful description
of Bismarck’s (and British Prime Minister Disraeli’s) ability to dominate:

First, they found themselves in a situation of economic and political

change which they could not control, but to which they had to
adapt. The only choice—and statesmen recognized this clearly—was
whether to sail before the wind or use their skill as sailors to steer
their ships into another direction. The wind itself was a fact of nature.
Second, they had to determine what concessions to the new forces
could be made without threatening the social system, or in special
cases the political structures, to whose defense they were committed,
and the point beyond which they could not safely go. But thirdly,
they were fortunate to be able to make both kinds of decisions under
circumstances which permitted them a considerable initiative, scope
for manipulation and in some cases actually left them virtually free
to control the course of events.15

Bismarck relied on timely and flexible policies to successfully avoid conflict

with domestic political and social forces, allowing German grand strategy
to achieve a measure of stability. The classic example of this is the case of
Germany’s overseas colonies in the Bismarckian era.

Bismarck’s Overseas Colonies

In the second half of the nineteenth century, a wave of imperialist interest in

overseas expansion and colonialism swept over Germany.16 An interest group
comprising capitalists engaged in light industry and manufacture, as well
as mercantile bourgeois centered in Hamburg and Bremen, lay behind this.
Through the promotion efforts of this interest group and some intellectuals,
this ideology quickly spread throughout Germany. To a great degree, it came
to shape the foreign policy views of ordinary Germans. Traditional German

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disinterest in colonies was overturned. In its place, German society filled with
the hope that overseas colonies could be a “magic pill” that would promote
economic, social, and even racial improvement.
Bismarck retained a politician’s calmness in facing this new envi-
ronment. From his pragmatic perspective, colonies would be a useless burden
to Germany. First, the acquisition of colonies had political and economic
costs. Management of colonies would require additional investments of effort
and capital, with unclear prospects of any return. Overall, the losses would
outweigh any gains.17 Second, Germany’s domestic situation did not lend
itself to the pursuit of colonial acquisitions. Germany had only existed as a
unified nation for a short time, and a sense of shared national identity was still
not completely in place. The establishment of ties between a mother country
and colonies, however, required “a mother country in which national feeling
is stronger than the spirit of partisanship.”18 Third, colonies would increase
Germany’s vulnerabilities. Bismarck once commented to the British ambas-
sador to Germany that colonies would not be a source of strength for Germany,
but instead would “only be a cause of weakness, because colonies could only
be defended by powerful fleets, and Germany’s geographical position did not
necessitate her development into a first-class naval power.”19
Between 1879 and 1882, Bismarck basically adopted a policy of resisting
pressures for overseas expansion in order to avoid disrupting Germany’s
overall foreign policy. He ignored powerful public opinion and interest group
pressure in favor of such a policy, refusing requests to send German naval
forces to Africa and other distant regions.20
As social pressures intensified further, however, Bismarck began to shift
strategies to get out in front of this issue. This was an attempt to exceed expec-
tations by going even beyond what advocates hoped for and then reimposing
restrictions on them, thus returning them to a controllable, harmless state.

The Origins of Bismarck’s Colonial Policy

In the spring of 1883, a German merchant established a factory in Southwest
Africa’s Angra Pequena (now part of Namibia). In May, he raised a German
flag over his factory, inciting friction with local British colonial authorities.
Past practice would suggest that the German government would merely lodge
a protest with the British, demanding protection for overseas German people
and economic interests. This time, however, Bismarck acted differently. In
November 1883, he directly inquired of the British whether or not Britain
was claiming sovereign control over that territory and the basis for any such
claim.21 On November 21, the British government gave a muddled reply,

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whereupon Germany renewed its original question in a formal communi-

cation on December 31. The British continued to stall. Simultaneously, British
colonial authorities in South Africa demanded that the British government
declare at once that the entire region from Angra Pequena to Wallis Bay was
to be British territory. The British government accepted this suggestion and
informed the German government of its new claim. In response, Bismarck
took unilateral action: on April 24, 1884, he telegraphed the German consul in
Capetown, ordering him to inform the British authorities that Angra Pequena
was already under German protection. The British, naturally, were unwilling
to surrender this colony. On May 16, the colonial secretary announced in
the House of Lords that Great Britain was not prepared to formally make
Angra Pequena its own colony, but that it also had the right to prevent other
countries from doing so. In early June, British colonial authorities announced
that they had already completed preparations to occupy the entire coastline
from South Africa to Wallis Bay, including Angra Pequena.
On the whole, Great Britain had taken a firm line on this issue, rather
than, as one historian has claimed, engaging in “confused negotiation” or
acquiescing by default.22 Bismarck angrily responded that Britain’s policies
were “a Monroe Doctrine for Africa.”23 In order to bring sufficient pressure
to bear against the British government, he listed all of the liabilities placed on
Germany by British actions in Egypt and the Black Sea, and demanded that
Britain clearly state “whether England is inclined, in her present situation, in
return for our firm offer of greater support than before for British policy, to
satisfy our overseas grievances by ceasing to lay hindrances in the way of the
legitimate enterprises of German nationals.”24 Bismarck expressed his dissat-
isfaction with the performance of the German ambassador in London, saying:
“You would have been all the more justified in expressing your astonishment,
that the right of German subjects to trade there was not unconditionally
admitted in the House of Lords speech, and much more so, that the Monroe
Doctrine, that monstrosity in International Law, was being applied in favor
of England to the coast of Africa.”25 In order to coordinate colonial policy
with German strategic support for Britain, Bismarck prohibited his ambas-
sador from further entanglements with the British colonial secretary, instead
ordering him only to have direct contacts with the British Foreign Office.26
By early June, in order to further increase pressure on the British, Bismarck
dispatched his son to London to work with the ambassador to clearly artic-
ulate the German position on these colonial issues, and also to emphasize the
possibility that Germany might “completely change” its original support for
British policy in Egypt.27

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Anglo-German colonial disputes over the Fiji Islands and other locations
also erupted at the same time. Germany, in an eye-raising move, inserted
itself into Anglo-French colonial disputes in Africa. In the early 1880s, the
European struggle for African territory, particularly in the Congo River
basin, had become intense. On November 30, 1882, French explorer Pierre
Savorgnan de Brazza signed a treaty with local chiefs in the Congo basin. In
response, the British announced in December 1882 that Portugal had the right
to make the region near the mouth of the Congo its own colony. On February
26, 1884, the British and Portuguese inked a treaty granting this region to
Portugal and giving Great Britain special privileges in this new Portuguese
colony. This treaty sparked intense opposition from the French, creating the
most serious crisis between Britain and France since the 1882 British inter-
vention in Egypt. This time, however, Bismarck’s intervention in the crisis was
not quiet or behind-the-scenes. Instead, he leaped wholeheartedly into the
dispute, giving France his full cooperation, and created a common Franco-
German opposition to the British. This was a natural extension of Bismarck’s
original line of thought when he first encouraged French colonial expansion.
In the face of such strong German pressure, Great Britain had no choice
but to consider giving ground. Lord Granville, the British foreign secretary,
thought that given British reliance on German assistance in a number of
other areas, Britain should “pay the bill” by acquiescing to German colonial
expansion.28 On June 22, 1884, Great Britain formally recognized German
occupation of southwestern Africa, and four days later it annulled the treaty
with Portugal. Granville further claimed that, as long as German colonies
remained open to trade, Britain would be quite satisfied to see Germany
establish its own colonies. France typically imposed protective tariffs of up
to 50 percent in its colonies; German colonies, by contrast, had much lower
tariffs, thus complying with the principles of free trade.29 Great Britain’s
attitude allowed German colonial expansion to proceed smoothly. By 1885,
Germany had acquired a series of colonies totaling over a million square
kilometers and comprising about 90 percent of all the colonial territory that
Germany would hold at the outbreak of World War I.

Characteristics of Bismarck’s Colonial Policy

Several particular characteristics of Bismarck’s colonial policy stand out when
compared to the colonial policy Germany would pursue under Wilhelm II.
First, Bismarck’s colonial policies were part of a larger grand strategy. They
were subordinate to the nation’s overall foreign policy, particularly its policies
toward Europe. For Bismarck, the core mission of German foreign policy

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was to forestall the creation of an anti-German alliance—or, if that failed,

to ensure that Germany ended up in the stronger of whatever groupings of
great powers emerged. In 1880, he told the Russian ambassador in Berlin that
Germany needed to pay attention to “the importance of being one of three
on the European chess-board.”30 The 1882 British occupation of Egypt and
consequent worsening of Anglo-French relations presented Bismarck with
an opportunity to reconcile with France. This further reduced chances for a
Franco-Russian alliance. Colonial policies, too, aided this process. The most
suitable path for reconciling with France was to cooperate with it during
common arguments over colonial expansion with the British. Bismarck said
as much to the French ambassador to Germany in 1884: “I want to persuade
you to forgive Sedan as you have forgiven Waterloo.”31 In order to further
improve the atmosphere for reconciliation with the French, Bismarck
seemingly deliberately made his colonial disputes with the British “noisy.” For
instance, he had the German ambassador to London query the British foreign
secretary, “How can [he] contest our right [to establish colonies] at the very
moment when the British Government is granted an unlimited exercise of the
same right?”32 As a result, the Franco-German reconciliation promoted by
German colonial policy seemed to provide an inkling of future possibilities,
as evidenced by public discussions in the French newspaper Le Figaro and
the German Kölnische Zeitung (a mouthpiece for Bismarck) on the potential
for a Franco-German alliance.33 The course of events, however, would ulti-
mately expose many deep conflicts between Germany and France, and this
alliance became increasingly unlikely. Particularly after France’s 1885 war
with China, coupled with the toppling of the Jules Ferry cabinet in the wake
of French battlefield defeats, hopes that colonial policy could create grounds
for a true reconciliation became ever dimmer. Bismarck rationally faced this
reality and ended his policies of colonial expansion. Bismarck’s principle that
colonial policy existed in the service of Germany’s overall foreign policy, and
particularly its policies in Europe, came through most clearly in his words to
an advocate of colonial expansion: “My map of Africa lies in Europe. Here
lies Russia and here lies France, and we are in the middle. That is my map of
Africa.”34
The second characteristic was that Bismarck had a clear bottom line to
his colonial policies: they could not be allowed to harm German national
security. From 1883 to 1885, there was a period of complete German security:
the Egyptian occupation had shattered the Anglo-French liberal alliance and
had pushed Britain into a reliance on German cooperation; the League of

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Three Emperors had been successfully renewed; and Russo-Austrian tensions

had quieted in the Balkans. Even under these favorable conditions, however,
Bismarck proceeded carefully and paid attention to maintaining the appro-
priate degree. He hoped to use limited colonial tensions to maintain ties of
mutual restraint and mutual dependence with Great Britain. This ensured
that the narrow colonial concessions made by the British did not exceed
what they could tolerate, and prevented any limited short-term troubles from
developing into long-term opposition.35 Overall, the Franco-German recon-
ciliation that Bismarck promoted was far from being an anti-British alliance.
Instead, its purpose was to display Germany’s space for diplomatic action
and to seize the initiative in relations with Great Britain. Bismarck himself
explained, “I do not want war with England, but I desire her to understand
that if the fleets of other nations unite, they will form a counter balance on
the ocean and oblige her to reckon with the interests of others.”36 In another
letter, he wrote, “We will only gain England’s goodwill—if only a goodwill
accompanied by gnashing of teeth—by way of an alliance with France.”37 In
his private conversations, he averred, “The friendship of Lord Salisbury is
worth more to me than twenty marshy colonies in Africa.”38 Bismarck made
choices in colonial policies: he quarreled with Britain over Southwest Africa
and worked in unison with France to pressure Great Britain in the Congo.
For matters that touched core British interests, such as Egypt, however, he
remained behind the scenes and allowed the French to take the lead.39
The third characteristic was that Bismarck maintained control and
initiative over German colonial policies, even though those policies were
created in response to domestic political motives. Domestic political needs
were one cause of Germany’s colonial expansion in 1884–1885. Bismarck
hoped to use special interest groups, particularly the northern capitalists who
had been disappointed by the 1879 tariff, to maintain his Reichstag majority
in the 1884 elections. He hoped, too, to use their support to block the political
ascendancy of any British-style liberal forces inside Germany.40 The existence
of these motives, however, did not mean that Bismarck allowed his colonial
policies to be the hostage of domestic political pressures. Bismarck controlled
the pace of German colonial expansion from start to finish—unlike his
successors during the era of Wilhelm II. When Bismarck came to feel that the
foreign policy climate had changed, making the continued pursuit of colonies
deleterious to Germany’s overall interests, he stopped. Even more interesting,
his colonial policies, similar to his policies in other areas, were nimble and
flexible. As a result, he was willing to trade away the things that he had just

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struggled to win, if needed. For example, in 1889, he expressed his belief that
colonies were a burden to Germany and his hope that Southwest Africa could
be transferred to the British.41
A policy based on these characteristics allowed Bismarck to harness
domestic political interest groups and public opinion while maintaining
a stable foreign policy and balanced grand strategy. If we take the maxim
“expansion always provokes reaction” as a principle of international politics,
then Bismarck’s accomplishment—the creation of overseas colonies in two
short years without increasing security pressures on Germany—must be seen
as a rare exception. This suggests the value of grand strategy.

The Bulgaria Crisis

Changes in external conditions challenged Bismarck’s grand strategy as much

as domestic political pressures. This was especially the case when trends in the
Balkans brought Russia and Austria into renewed conflict with one another,
threatening the dissolution of the League of Three Emperors that Bismarck
had struggled so hard to create—as happened in the 1885 Bulgaria Crisis.

The Beginning of the Crisis

Bulgaria was a creation of the 1878 Berlin Conference. At that time, Russia had
advocated the creation of a larger Greater Bulgaria, but as a result of British
and Austrian opposition, that plan did not reach fruition. In many ways, the
division of the region into Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia symbolized Russia’s
foreign policy failure at the conference. The situation, however, changed
rapidly. The Russians discovered that the monarch they selected for Bulgaria,
Prince Alexander of Battenberg, would not accept Russian control. Bulgaria,
it turned out, would not simply be an extension of Russian power. Movements
for national independence in the Balkans continued to grow. In September
1885, an uprising broke out in Eastern Rumelia; the victorious rebels ejected
the Ottoman civil and military commanders and proclaimed union with
Bulgaria. This was the result that Russia had struggled to win at Berlin in
1878, but by 1885, it had become something the Russians fought to avoid. This
was not only because the rebellion was led by anti-Russian forces, but also
because the emergence of a Greater Bulgaria would enhance the position of
Prince Alexander and serve to diminish the Russian sphere of influence in the
Balkans. Russia thus transformed itself into a defender of the 1878 settlement
and strongly opposed the union of Bulgaria and Eastern Rumelia.

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The fight initiated by the Eastern Rumelia rebellion spread to Macedonia,

which had a substantial Bulgarian population. This stoked fears of Bulgarian
aggression in Austria and Serbia. Finding a quick resolution to the Bulgaria
Crisis became extremely important for the Austro-Hungarian Empire,
leading its opinion to converge with Russia’s. In October 1885, the European
great powers and the Ottoman government held a conference in Istanbul.
Russia proposed Ottoman military intervention in Bulgaria to restore the
1878 settlement. Germany, Austria, France, and Italy all lent their support.
Great Britain, however, objected. Instead, it proposed that the Ottoman sultan
appoint Prince Alexander as the chief civil officer in Eastern Rumelia. This
would create the de facto unification of the two territories. Britain’s proposal
reignited Austro-Russian antagonism in the Balkans. Austria found itself
steadily drawn to the British side, causing the tensions with Russia to escalate
into a crisis. This was exactly what Bismarck did not want to see.
Initially, Bismarck was able to maintain control over the situation. He
tamped down Austrian designs for seizing primacy in the Balkans. He pointed
out that Bulgaria was in the Russian sphere of influence and cautioned that
Austria should not look to Germany for support if it was drawn into a
war with Russia over it.42 At the same time, he called for Russia to keep its
composure, arguing that British policy on this issue was more hard-line than
Austrian—and that, in fact, all of Austria’s anti-Russian moves had been insti-
gated by Great Britain. He also expressed hope that Russia would not push for
Prince Alexander’s immediate abdication, which would only complicate the
matter further.43 Bismarck’s pressure allowed fragile cooperation to continue
between Russia and Austria for a time.
The crisis, however, grew further in November 1885. Serbia, with the
support of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, demanded compensation on
account of Bulgarian unification. When this was rejected by Bulgaria on
November 14, Serbia declared war and sent its army across the border. The
whole situation had spun out of control. The war soon moved in unexpected
directions. The Bulgarian Army won a decisive victory and counterattacked,
advancing toward Belgrade. Austria began preparations for an emergency
intervention, warning that if the Bulgarian advance continued, Austria would
intervene on Serbia’s side. As a first step, Austria demanded an immediate
withdrawal of Bulgarian troops from Serbian soil. Under pressure, Bulgaria
complied. By this point, however, Austro-Russian competition for spheres of
influence in the Balkans had already been ignited, and in Austria, pressures
to support Prince Alexander grew. Great Britain, too, pushed Austria to the

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front line in resisting Russian expansion in the Balkans. Bismarck, however,

still sought to maintain pressure on Austria. On December 9, 1885, Germany
warned Austrian Foreign Minister Gustav Kálnoky that continuing to incite
Russian hostility would only serve to further British schemes. Although
Germany spared no effort in attempt to persuade the Russians to remain calm,
it was even more explicit in its warnings to Austria-Hungary. In particular,
Austria was cautioned not to take unilateral action, so that Germany’s efforts
would not be in vain. Germany further counseled that, if Austria continued
to take hostile actions, then Russian Foreign Minister and supporter of the
League of Three Emperors Nikolay Giers would be forced from office and the
Russian pan-Slavists would gain the upper hand. This would greatly damage
German interests and security.44
In 1886, at Britain’s urging, the Ottoman Empire and Bulgaria entered
into negotiations and concluded an agreement that largely accorded with
British desires. It avoided entirely the question of unification and instead
appointed Prince Alexander as civil administrator in East Rumelia. The
agreement thus avoided breaking the Treaty of Berlin while allowing the
two regions to enjoy de facto unity. This compromise clearly revealed British
foreign policy wisdom: the other great powers could hardly object and Russia
could do nothing but accept it in April 1886.

The Intensification of Austro-Russian Tensions and Germany’s Response

This agreement did not end the crisis. Instead, the conflict between Russia
and Austria, as well as the conflict between Russia and Bulgaria’s Prince
Alexander, escalated. On August 21, 1886, Russia instigated a coup in Bulgaria
during which a group of pro-Russian military officers took the prince hostage.
This threw Bulgaria into chaos. On September 7, the prince announced his
abdication, and control of the country passed to Russian General Alexander
Kaulbars. Anti-Russian forces in Bulgaria strenuously opposed his rule. In late
November, Kaulbars and all other Russian officials in Bulgaria were removed.
Russia then severed relations with Bulgaria and, for a brief time, it appeared
that an armed Russian invasion was imminent. If Russia occupied Bulgaria,
the situation in the Balkans would revert to that on the eve of the 1878 Berlin
Conference: there would be a Greater Bulgaria within the Russian sphere of
influence that neither Austria nor Britain would be willing to accept. Calls for
war in the Hungarian portion of the Austro-Hungarian Empire grew louder.
The Hungarian prime minister announced that he did not recognize the
authority of any power “to undertake single-handed armed intervention or set
up a protectorate within the Balkan peninsula.” This, essentially, declared that

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the League of Three Emperors was finished.45 In November 1886, the Austrian
foreign minister asserted that, if Russia intervened militarily in Bulgaria,
then his country would be forced to “take action.”46 Germany was forced to
consider an old quandary again: which side would it choose in a showdown
between Russia and Austria? If Germany supported Austria, the two might
be able to intimidate Russia, but it would also inspire Russian hostility—and
perhaps push it closer to forming an anti-German alliance with France. If,
however, Germany allowed Russia to crush Austria-Hungary, then its own
national security environment would become distinctly worse.
Advocates for both options existed within German policymaking circles.
An anti-Russian faction, exemplified by Friedrich von Holstein, desired to use
this crisis to sever German ties with Russia. This group considered Bismarck’s
policies too pro-Russian. They saw Bismarck’s policies as being guided by his
son Herbert, and Herbert, in turn, steered by his own arrogance and Russian
influence.47 The other group, of which Bismarck’s son Herbert was a represen-
tative, thought that Austria was an unreliable ally and instead pushed for a
new alliance system based on an alliance with either Russia or Great Britain.
Bismarck himself opposed both of these notions. For the former, he
clearly saw that once ties with Russia were ruptured, Germany would have to
shoulder the burden of supporting Austria all on its own. Austria, moreover,
could demand even greater support from Germany:

Suppose, however, that the breach with Russia is an accomplished

fact, an irremediable estrangement. Austria would then certainly
begin to enlarge her claims on the services of her German confed-
erate, first by insisting on an extension of the casus foederis, which so
far, according to the published text, provides only for the measures
necessary to repel a Russian attack upon Austria; then by requiring
the substitution for this casus foederis of some provision safeguarding
the interests of Austria in the Balkans and the East, an idea to which
our press has already succeeded in giving practical shape.48

For the latter notion, Bismarck’s attitude is best summarized in an October

1886 letter he sent his son Herbert:

[In event of a Austro-Russian war] we could certainly tolerate

Austria’s losing a battle but not that it should be destroyed or fatally
wounded or made a dependency of Russia. The Russians do not
possess the kind of self-restraint that would make it possible for us

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to live alone with them and France on the Continent. If they had
eliminated Austria or brought it to their heels, we know from expe-
rience that they would become so domineering toward us that peace
with them would be untenable.” Thus, the Austro-Hungarian Empire
must continue to be protected, although German attitudes could not
be expressed too clearly, or else “we would then have no guarantee
against Austrian provocations [against Russia].49

Thus, even as the crisis intensified and the League of Three Emperors
demonstrated its weaknesses, Bismarck still refused to choose between
Russia and Austria. His reaction, instead, hinged on two points. The first
was to continue to push back against Austrian desires to challenge Russia
in the Balkans. Several times in October 1886, Bismarck harshly warned
his Austrian allies against creating problems for Russia in Bulgaria, to avoid
letting the situation spiral out of control.50 The second was to pull Britain
into resisting Russian expansion in the Balkans. In other words, Bismarck
still supported Austria and would not allow it to be dominated by Russia, but
responsibility for this would fall to Great Britain, not Germany. Great Britain,
however, would not lightly undertake this role—it, instead, would demand
that Germany do it. Thus, from early 1886, Great Britain and Germany began
a game of “passing the buck.”

Shifting Responsibility and Anglo-German Competition

Great Britain asserted that the League of Three Emperors could resolve the
Eastern Question itself without any British intervention. Bismarck, in turn,
claimed that Germany had no interests at stake in the Eastern Question and
thus had no reason to manage Russo-Austrian differences in the Balkans.
He ordered his ambassador in London to emphasize the need for British
initiative.51 Bismarck further made use of the blood ties between the British
and German monarchies (the German crown princess was a daughter of
Queen Victoria) to further pressure the British and demand their support
for Austria.52 On August 12, 1886, Great Britain responded that Britain was
a naval power, with only limited land forces, and so therefore hoped to work
with Austria to jointly ensure the safety and stability of the Balkans. Great
Britain had calculated that this nominal Anglo-Austrian alliance would
force Germany to support Austria if it got into trouble. Great Britain could
then withdraw and maintain its freedom of action. Germany, of course, saw
this clearly, too. The German ambassador in London, Paul von Hatzfeldt,

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expressed his belief that the greatest danger came from France, thus avoiding
the entire issue.53 Bismarck bluntly replied:

The Chancellor observed that if England has neither troops nor

money, the question arises what she can do at all. If she desires
support for her policy, she must herself take the risks, and not count
on her chestnuts being picked out of the fire by others. Austria
might support England, but not represent her. England, if she has
no troops, would be forced to create them in the Turkish army with
English money. In Turkey money could do anything, even create a
fresh Sultan.54

In the face of the lack of a positive German response, Britain made

another proposal. In September 1886, British Chancellor of the Exchequer
Randolph Churchill proposed to Hatzfeldt that, although Britain’s ruling
Conservative Party could not take the lead on a foreign affairs initiative due
to domestic political pressures, it could work with Austria-Hungary on the
Bulgarian issue to check Russia. Germany would only need to need to offer
support in principle to the two sides.55 Bismarck, however, felt that Britain
was up to its old tricks, hoping to entice German support for Austria—and,
once that support was stated openly, Britain could withdraw from the region
whenever it wanted. Moreover, Churchill’s position in the government did
not give him the power to make such guarantees. Churchill, if needed, could
always resign from office to allow Britain to escape from any entanglement.56
Just as the Anglo-German contest of “passing the buck” seemed to enter
into a stalemate, an event in France came to Bismarck’s aid—the Boulangist
Crisis. Strictly speaking, the Boulangist Crisis was not a real crisis at all,
but rather an emotional outburst from the French public. In January 1886,
General Georges Ernest Boulanger, who had advocated for a revanchist war
against Germany, had entered the French cabinet as the minister of war. A
wave of nationalist and revanchist sentiment spread across the country. By
the latter half of 1886, pro-war voices in French newspapers grew louder,
and Boulanger ordered the construction of new army barracks and massed a
portion of the army in eastern France. This created the impression that France
could launch an attack at any time.
Bismarck’s take on these events was that they happened at exactly the
right time. “I couldn’t invent Boulanger,” he remarked, “but he happened very
conveniently for me.”57 Once the crisis began, Bismarck paid close attention to

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French politics and made full use of what he learned to serve his own domestic
political and foreign policy needs. Within Germany, he greatly played up the
French threat, forcing the Reichstag to pass a new army bill that increased
the force size from 427,000 to 468,000 troops. His speech in the Reichstag on
this topic was masterful: he hyped the French threat while clearly stating his
personal desire to avoid any other countries' thinking that Germany hoped
to use this as an excuse for preventive war. In his speech, he emphasized
that the increase in the German Army was purely in response to a potential
French attack. This potential war, from his perspective, had not been the
desire of the French government. Instead, ambitious politicians orchestrated
it by manipulating public opinion. He said that the French could trust that
Germany would never launch a preemptive war against them. Who could,
he asked, convince Germans that a France governed by military officers—
beholden to the mistaken belief that they had a military advantage, or to the
idea that war was necessary to escape from domestic political problems, or
to the notion that the sword was the solution to all problems—would not
attack?58 Arguably, his speech played no small role in avoiding a repeat of the
1875 "War in Sight" Crisis. When Bismarck’s new army bill was rejected in the
Reichstag, he dissolved the chamber and called for new elections. He placed
this bill, and the so-called Boulangist threat, out in public for discussion. This
led to even more newspapers spreading the threat of Franco-German conflict.
On January 21, 1887, the Berlin newspaper Die Post (which had run the 1875
“War in Sight?” editorial) printed an editorial entitled “The Razor’s Edge.” It
raised the specter of a Franco-German war, claiming that if the Boulangist
fever could not be quieted, then war was unavoidable. Bismarck also
dispatched 72,000 soldiers to Alsace-Lorraine for training maneuvers, further
increasing the sense of impending war.59 In the end, Bismarck triumphed in
domestic politics: his supporters won a majority in the Reichstag, while his
opponents, the German Liberal Party, lost seats. His army bill sailed through
to passage. In foreign policy, he could use these events as an excuse to refuse
the British, claiming that he could not aid Austria in the Balkans as he needed
to prepare against a French threat in the west. Under such circumstances, he
could not risk offending Russia and becoming enmeshed in a two-front war.
By the end of 1886, Bismarck made a counter-proposal to the British: Russia
could be isolated through British support of Austria (which neither Italy nor
the Ottoman Empire would object to), while Germany would intimidate
France.60
Germany maintained a position of relative autonomy during the Bulgaria
Crisis through Bismarck’s careful observation of trends and flexible responses

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to events. It cannot be denied, however, that this crisis had a serious impact
on Germany’s security environment. The core of Bismarck’s foreign policy—
the League of Three Emperors—was now defunct, even if Bismarck was not
yet willing to accept that. Even in the final weeks of 1886, he still maintained
his commitment to knitting the league back together.61 The German Foreign
Ministry called for the league’s continuation.62 By early 1887, however, it had
become clear that the rift between Russia and Austria could not be healed.
Thus, Germany’s entire diplomatic and strategic environment began to shift.
Bismarck needed to take new measures to ameliorate the situation, to maintain
a balanced grand strategy, and to allow Germany to preserve initiative in the
face of complicated and changing strategic currents.

The Russo-German Reinsurance Treaty and the Two Mediter-

ranean Agreements

The Bulgaria Crisis had ended by 1887, as had Bismarck’s efforts to perpetuate
the League of Three Emperors. He could only work on two parallel tracks:
attempting to tie down the pre-existing relationship between Germany and
Russia while trying to build anti-Russian forces without implicating Germany.
The first of these resulted in the Russo-German Reinsurance Treaty; the
second produced the two Mediterranean Agreements.

The Creation of the Reinsurance Treaty and its Strategic Meaning

The Bulgaria Crisis not only pushed Austro-Russian relations to the breaking
point, but also revealed the first signs of Franco-Russian rapprochement.
In the summer of 1886, the French poet Paul Déroulède visited Russia and
promoted a Franco-Russian alliance to counter Germany and Austria. This
elicited a loud response in Russia. In June, the Moscow News printed an essay
by the famous journalist Mikhail Katkov that criticized the government’s
European foreign policy. He argued that the abstract concept of monar-
chical unity had once rested upon national interest, but now was a historical
mistake. This mistake could by repaired only by rejecting the limits of treaties
or other traditional concepts and restoring freedom of diplomatic movement.
At the end of 1886, conversations in France about the possibility of a Russian
alliance had steadily grown, and feelers had been sent to Russia.
This potential threat, of course, would not immediately become an actual
threat. Giers, the Russian foreign minister who held to his country’s tradi-
tional policies, still remained in office, while the popular emotions stirred up
by Boulangism in France made autocratic Russia cautious. In January 1887,

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under pressure from Giers, Czar Alexander III agreed to send Peter Shuvalov
to negotiate a new bilateral agreement to replace the league with Bismarck. The
two sides signed a draft that would commit Russia to neutrality in a Franco-
German war. Germany recognized Russia’s special position in Bulgaria and
committed itself to benevolent neutrality in event of a Russian occupation
of the Bosphorus. There were several additional supplemental clauses that
provided Russian guarantees of Austrian territorial integrity and recognition
of Austria’s sphere of influence in Serbia.63 The czar refused to sign the treaty,
however, believing that Franco-German rivalry would continue to intensify
and that Russia could maneuver between them to obtain a more favorable
deal. Thus, no further Russian response was forthcoming after the January
meeting.
The Russian delay clarified for Bismarck the crisis that had emerged in
Russo-German relations—and impelled him to quickly take measures in
response. He looked to pull Great Britain into an united anti-Russian front
while also continually signaling his interest in negotiations to Russia. In April
1887, Boulangist fever had cooled in France, and by May Boulanger himself
was forced out of office. These events led the czar to consent to renewed
talks with Germany. On May 11, 1887, Shuvalov presented Bismarck with a
Russian draft proposal. Its first clause read, “If either of the contracting parties
enters a state of war with another Great Power, the other party shall maintain
benevolent neutrality.” This, in essence, meant that Russia would abandon
France in exchange for Germany abandoning Austria-Hungary. Bismarck
was unwilling to contemplate this. He read the Austro-German treaty aloud
to Russian ambassador Shuvalov, explaining that the situation in 1879 had
forced him to conclude that treaty and that he was bound to its stipulations.
In the end, the two sides reached a negative agreement: a German attack on
France and a Russian attack on Austria were both excluded from the treaty’s
promise of neutrality.64
The Russo-German Reinsurance Treaty was signed on June 18, 1887.
Its first clause read: “In case one of the high contracting parties should find
itself at war with a third Great Power, the other would maintain a benevolent
neutrality toward it, and would devote its efforts to the localization of the
conflict. This provision would not apply to a war against Austria or France
in case this war should result from an attack directed against one of these
two latter Powers by one of the high contracting parties.” The second clause
mandated that Germany recognize Russia’s sphere of influence in the Balkans
(particularly in Bulgaria), and that both countries seek to maintain the terri-
torial status quo in that region. The third clause stated that both nations

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“recognize the European and mutually obligatory character of the principle

of the closing of the Straits of the Bosporus and of the Dardanelles” and will
“take care in common that Turkey shall make no exception to this rule in
favor of the interests of any Government whatsoever, by lending to warlike
operations of a belligerent power the portion of its Empire constituted by
the Straits.” The treaty also contained a secret addendum in which Germany
pledged to “lend her assistance to Russia in order to re-establish a regular and
legal government in Bulgaria” while refusing to “consent to the restoration of
the Prince of Battenberg.” Germany further promised neutrality in event of a
Russian seizure of the Black Seas Straits.65
The text of the treaty appears to be a unilateral expression of German
goodwill toward Russia. Nothing in the treaty itself, moreover, prevented
the creation of a Franco-Russian alliance. As a result, many historians have
judged it to have little real meaning. In fact, the value of the treaty lay outside
of its actual content. First, Germany lost nothing; most of what it promised
to Russia would, in fact, be negated by the second Mediterranean Agreement.
Bismarck showed himself to be a master at playing both sides of the equation.
Second, although the Reinsurance Treaty did not provide guarantees against
a Franco-Russian alliance, it acted as a replacement for such an alliance.
Through this treaty, Germany essentially provided a guarantee to Russia that
it would neither ally with Austria to attack Russia, nor would it demand the
right to attack France. This obviated the need for a Franco-Russian alliance.
Third, the treaty was the last symbol of traditional Russo-German ties and
thus could solidify the power base of Russian conservatives, giving them
capital to continue to implement the old policies. Otherwise, they might be
overthrown by radical pan-Slavists. If that happened, the elements within
Russia that prevented an alignment with France would no longer exist.

“Opposing but Complementary” Principles and the Two Mediterranean

Agreements
Bismarck’s diplomacy was a dialectical process. To achieve his goals, he sought
to link similar forces into mutually reinforcing systems, yet he also embraced
the dialectical logic that sought to likewise unify opposing forces into comple-
mentary wholes.
Even as he was putting the finishing touches on the Reinsurance Treaty,
Bismarck was simultaneously pursuing the completely opposite policy:
pushing Great Britain to support Austria against Russia. In early 1887, Italy,
as a member of the League of Three Emperors, hoped to gain support for
its expansion in the Mediterranean. Great Britain, for its part, desired Italy’s

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backing for its policies in Egypt. These objectives began to bring the two
countries closer together. On January 17, British Prime Minister Salisbury
mentioned his desire for a closer relationship to the Italian ambassador.
Germany worked to promote Anglo-Italian cooperation, even threatening
that if Britain retained its policies of isolation, then “we should have had no
reason for refusing to encourage the French desires in Egypt, or those of the
Russians in the East…[our] interests were not endangered by the presence of
France in Egypt or of Russia in Constantinople.”66 Bismarck also suggested
that he would “reduc[e] his alliance with Austria to its literal engagement to
maintain the integrity of the Austrian Empire and allow Russia to take not
Constantinople but the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles” in order to cool
Russian hostility toward Germany.67 Propelled by Germany, Great Britain and
Italy signed a treaty on February 2, 1887, that promised to maintain the status
quo in the Mediterranean. Its true purpose, however, was to prevent French
expansion in the region. Germany’s true interest was Russia, not France, and
it saw this treaty as merely an opening move. Its true value would lie in tying
the British to the Austrian Empire.68 On February 19, in a bid for further
support in the Mediterranean, Bismarck proposed that Austria indicate its
acceptance of the Anglo-Italian arrangement. With German blandishments
and threats, Austria quickly agreed to make an agreement with Britain, even
accepting as a condition that any agreement would not mention cooperation
in the Balkans.69 On March 24, notes exchanged between Great Britain and
Austria committed the two countries to the status quo in the Mediterranean.
The British note stated, in part, that it would seek to maintain the regional
status quo and, “should that unhappily cease to be possible, [will seek] the
prevention of the growth of any novel domination hostile to the interests of
the two countries.”70 The Austrian note explained, “Although the questions of
the Mediterranean in general do not primarily affect the interests of Austria-
Hungary, my Government has the conviction that England and Austria-
Hungary have the same interests so far as concerns the Eastern Question as
a whole, and therefore the same need of maintaining the status quo in the
Orient, so far as possible, of preventing the aggrandizement of one Power to
the detriment of others.”71 This completed the first Mediterranean Agreement,
which was aimed at preserving the status quo in that region.
This agreement, coupled with the Reinsurance Treaty, was still not
enough to enable Germany to effectively maintain a balanced foreign policy.
More was needed to restrain Russia. In July 1887, the election of Ferdinand
of Coburg as Prince of Bulgaria led to a renewed outbreak of the Bulgaria
Crisis. Russia objected, seeing Ferdinand as pro-Austrian, and the situation

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grew tense. Great Britain grew impatient as both Bismarck and Austrian
Foreign Minister Count Gustav Kálnoky suggested on separate occasions
that, if Great Britain refused to support Austria in the Balkans, then Austria
would have no choice but to reach to a unilateral accord with Russia. The
British government would then have to confront a Russia that, with Austrian
and German consent, operated according to its own wishes.72 Under pressure,
the British ambassador in Constantinople drafted, along with the Austrian
and Italian representatives, a ten-point plan to stabilize the region. The prime
minister in London signaled his approval of the document. On November
2, Salisbury wrote to the ambassador in Constantinople that “a thorough
understanding with Austria and Italy is so important to us that I do not
like the idea of breaking it up on account of risks which may turn out to be
imaginary.”73 On November 3, the British cabinet discussed strengthening
ties with Austria-Hungary, but doubts were expressed about the ten-point
proposal and a desire for a clearer German position was enunciated. Salisbury
called on Bismarck to assist in persuading the cabinet—a task that Bismarck
was more than willing to take on. He sent a copy of the Austro-German treaty
of alliance to Salisbury, and added a letter explaining that if Austrian inde-
pendence were threatened by Russian invasion, or if Britain or Italy became
targets of a French invasion, then Germany would need to enter the war.74 The
British cabinet then agreed to negotiate a new agreement with Austria and
Italy on the basis of the ten-point draft.
Great Britain submitted a revised draft agreement on November 25,
1887; Austria and Italy replied on December 5 with a united response. Diplo-
matic notes were exchanged on December 12, thus constituting the Second
Mediterranean Agreement. Great Britain accepted greater responsibility in
this newest agreement. The three nations agreed to maintain the peace and
the status quo in the Balkans, particularly the right of free passage through the
Black Sea Straits and Ottoman sovereignty in Asia Minor and Bulgaria. If the
Ottoman state resisted “illegal enterprises” by any other nation in those areas,
the three states would “immediately come to an agreement as to the measures
to be taken” to protect the Ottomans. If the Ottomans consented to these
“illegal enterprises,” then the three powers had reason to occupy “such points
of Ottoman territory as they may agree to consider it necessary to occupy in
order to secure the objects determined by previous Treaties.”75 The Second
Mediterranean Agreement was a particularly interesting document. First,
although Germany, Austria, and Italy had a formal treaty alliance, Germany
placed itself out of the system on Russian issues and brought Great Britain
in to support its allies. Second, this agreement came only six months after

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the Reinsurance Treaty, but the two agreements contradicted one another.
The tension between the two was particularly apparent on the approaches to
the Black Sea: the Second Mediterranean Agreement called for open access
to the straits, while the Reinsurance Treaty presumed the opposite. On the
Bulgarian issue, the two documents also stood in contrast to one another. Yet,
in the late 1880s, these two contradictory diplomatic agreements offset the
demise of the League of Three Emperors and allowed Germany to reestablish
its grand strategy by drawing mutually contradictory forces into a comple-
mentary dynamic.

Coordinating Diplomatic and Military Affairs

At the end of 1887, Bismarck made what would be his last great effort to
maintain Germany’s grand strategy: a rebalancing of the relationship between
diplomatic and military policy. In December 1887, as the Bulgaria Crisis inten-
sified, the pressure for war against Russia grew in Austria-Hungary, particu-
larly within the Hungarian parliament. The German military, believing that
Russia was preparing for a spring 1888 invasion, planned a preemptive attack
of its own that winter. At the behest of the elder Moltke, chief of General Staff,
the head of military logistics Alfred von Waldersee, the chief of the Army
Cabinet Emil von Albedyll and other high-ranking officers, German military
calls grew for a preventive war against Russia, and discussions on the issue
were opened with Austria. Several rounds of secret consultation were held
between the representative of the German military in Vienna and the chief
of the Austrian general staff. The German representative was “completely
controlled by militaristic emotions” at these meetings, suggesting that the
Austrian Army be dispatched to the eastern frontier and raising the possi-
bility of removing the restrictive clauses of the 1879 treaty.76 His moves left
Austria with the impression that Germany hoped to ally with Austria to attack
Russia.
These moves infuriated Bismarck. He believed that a divorce between the
needs of the military and those of diplomacy could produce an existential crisis
for Germany. To remedy this, he first took measures to hold Austria back. In
December 1887, Bismarck used his ambassador in Vienna to tell the Austrians
that the 1879 treaty of alliance was purely defensive in nature—Germany was
not obligated to come to Austria’s aid if it invaded Russia.77 He repeated the
same message in mid-December, saying, “So long as I am minister, I shall not
give my consent to a prophylactic attack upon Russia.”78 He further demanded
that German officials in Vienna refrain from offering political suggestions to
the Austrian throne without first receiving his approval. In late December, he

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instructed his ambassador in Vienna to demand that the Austrians abandon

their illusionary hopes: “I cannot avoid the impression that it is the aim of
certain military circles in Vienna to distort our defensive alliance…we must
both take care that the privilege of giving political advice to our monarch
does not in fact slip out of our hands and pass over to the General Staffs.”79
Germany, moreover, had no intention of promising to support an Austrian
attack on Russia.
Second, Bismarck resolutely opposed the interference of military officers
in German policymaking. He directly wrote to Waldersee on December 7,
threatening that if there were further interference from the General Staff or if
influence were brought to bear on diplomats or the cabinet outside of official
channels, he would no longer be able to take responsibility for German policy.
On December 17, Waldersee and other high-ranking officers brought Prince
Wilhelm (later Kaiser Wilhelm II) to help persuade the ruling Kaiser Wilhelm
I to support a preemptive attack, but were blocked by Bismarck.80 Bismarck
harshly criticized Waldersee’s interference in foreign policy and schemed to
have him removed from office, but failed after encountering resistance from
the elder Moltke. Through these heated political disputes, Bismarck began to
pull military and diplomatic policy back into accord with one another and
squashed army notions of a preemptive war. At the end of December, the elder
Moltke and other army leaders gave Bismarck their assurances that military
interference had been unintentional.81 In March 1888, the Bulgaria Crisis was
peacefully resolved.

A Brief Critical Appraisal of Bismarck-Era German Grand

Strategy

From 1871 until his forced retirement in 1890, Bismarck dominated German
domestic and foreign policy. During this period, the string of effective,
mutually coordinated military and diplomatic polices he adopted formed
a highly integrated grand strategy. This grand strategy not only managed
to master the conflicts engendered by Germany’s rise, but it also enhanced
Germany’s international status. Bismarck’s rule coincided with the era of
rapid German growth. Taking three important industrial measures—the
production of coal, iron, and steel—as an example, the pace of this growth
becomes clear. Coal production rose from 34 million to 89 million tons, pig
iron production from 1.3 million to 4.1 million tons, and steel production
from 300,000 to 2.3 million tons. Even more important than the absolute
increase in German power was its relative increase compared to other nations.

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In 1871, the German share of the total coal production of the European great
powers was 20 percent. By 1891, it was 26 percent. Pig iron rose from a 13
percent to a 26 percent share, and steel from a 23 percent to a 30 percent
share, of the great powers’ total during the same period. Put in another way,
German production in 1871 was equivalent to France’s, but by 1891 Germany
produced more of these three items than France, Russia, and Austria
combined. Only Britain produced more.82 This rapid growth, however, did
not prompt any obvious foreign resistance. Even Germany’s rapid colonial
expansion did not lead to significant international tensions. The fears and
defensiveness sparked by German unification in 1871 greatly diminished after
the 1878 Berlin Conference. Germany, which once might have become the
destroyer of the established order, instead became its defender. It had become
the guarantor of European stability.
The importance of grand strategy to Germany’s rise is unmistakable.
Given Bismarck’s central role in the formulation of this grand strategy,
any evaluation of that grand strategy is, to a certain extent, a judgment on
Bismarck and his policies. Bismarck was, without a doubt, the most brilliant
diplomat of the nineteenth century. The success of his foreign policies rested
on his insightfulness, his ability to see the whole situation, his flexibility,
and, even more important, two aspects of his personal character—patience
and self-control. Bismarck knew clearly that Germany’s rise had made it the
focal point of European politics. Overly active policies would thus cause
harm, while waiting for, and seizing, the right opportunities was the key to
success. As he once said, “The gift of waiting while a situation develops is
an essential requirement of practical politics.”83 His self-control reflected
his correct appraisal of Germany’s long-term interests, as well as his precise
understanding of the relationship between giving and taking. He was
generous in giving (although he often gave away other people’s things), while
he was extremely careful in terms of taking. This was critical to Germany’s
assumption of a pivotal role in European politics, and greatly eased the path
for Germany’s smooth and stable rise.
Bismarck was the consummate pragmatist. British Prime Minister
Lord Palmerston’s famous saying—“No permanent friends, no permanent
enemies”—could also have been applied to Bismarck. He not only remained
true to his vision of Germany’s interests when devising policy, but also he held a
flexible, practical notion of “friends” and “enemies.” He clearly understood the
threats emanating from France and Russia, yet expended enormous energy to
managing relations with Russia and exerted himself to create an atmosphere
of Franco-German reconciliation. He remained cautious of Austria-Hungary,

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Germany’s critical ally, in order to forestall a situation in which “the weak lead
the strong.” According to Bismarck, “We shall not avoid the dangers which
lie in the bosom of the future by amiability and commercial pourboires to
friendly Powers. We should only increase the greed of our former friends and
teach them to reckon on our anxieties and necessities.”84
Posterity has criticized him for complexity—in particular, the estab-
lishment of an alliance system that was too intricate for any successor to
understand, much less properly manage. The difficulty of the situation facing
Germany, however, dictated the complexity of Bismarck’s response. His
policies, ultimately, were suited to Germany’s objective situation. Historian
Gordon Craig correctly observed that:

If there had been a simpler way to attain his objectives, the Chancellor
would certainly have taken it, for he was no admirer of complexity
for its own sake. But all the simple routes were dangerous and self-
defeating, and Bismarck found it necessary to go the twisted way at
the cost of bewildering not only posterity but even some of his closet
collaborators—his son, the political counsellor Holstein, and such
leading members of his Diplomatic Service as Ruess in Vienna and
Radowitz in Constantinople.85

A number of historians claim that Bismarck’s polices failed, as they did

not fundamentally prevent a Franco-Russian alliance. This thesis is not a
particularly valid one. Generally speaking, policy (especially foreign policy)
does not seek to fundamentally achieve a particular objective. Instead, the
task of policy is to grab hold of various kinds of possibilities and to try to
realize them. Henry Kissinger, in his evaluation of the other master of nine-
teenth-century diplomacy, Klemens von Metternich, noted that, “Metternich’s
policy thus depended on its ability to avoid major crises which would force an
unequivocal commitment and on its capacity to create the illusion of intimacy
with all major powers. It was finely spun, with sensitive feelers in all directions
and so intricate that it obscured the fact that none of the fundamental problems
had really been settled.”86 Bismarck’s policies, too, were intricate and subtle.
His successors could not understand such things, and so abandoned them.
Bismarck’s true failings lay in three specific realms. First, he did not take
any measures to improve Germany’s domestic policymaking system or power
structure. He excuse was national security: “My aim was the strengthening
of our national safety; the nation would have time enough for its internal
development when once its unity, and with it its outward security, was

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consolidated.”87 In truth, Bismarck did not care much about these issues. For
Bismarck, institutions and systems were tools of power and supplements to his
own wisdom and authority, rather than goals in and of themselves. Thus he
did not think to devote himself to reforming Germany’s policymaking system
or power structure when he was at the height of his power. He was even willing
to use such systems and structures as bargaining chips in the pursuit of short-
term political interest. During the 1883 reorganization of the German Army,
for instance, Bismarck sided with army logistics chief Waldersee and other
high-ranking officers in allowing the General Staff, the Army Ministry, and
the Army Cabinet to become three separate and independent entities. Rivalry
between the three dramatically increased. The unified military system created
in Prussia by the army reforms of Gerhard von Scharnhorst was destroyed,
damaging Germany’s mechanisms for strategic decision-making.88
Second, he ignored the training of other policymakers. While in power,
Bismarck held tenuously to the notion that he alone was the government.
Under Germany’s existing system, this aided in the unity of decision-making
power, the stability of policies, and the formulation of a grand strategy. For
the others who worked in Germany’s foreign ministry, however, it meant that
Bismarck was too strong. He essentially blocked them from participating in
policymaking and did not explain his plans to them. Over the long term,
Germany’s diplomats became little more than Bismarck’s tools to execute
policy. Under these circumstances, Bismarck could not train a strong corps
of diplomats—nor could he even produce a single official who could truly
understand the policies he was supposed to promote. Once Bismarck was
out of power, the precision mechanics of his diplomatic system had basically
reached its limits, too.
Third, he did not seek to educate the German people. Bismarck was
a grand master of politics and understood well the influence of public
opinion, but he never invested time or energy in instilling any sort of “correct
worldview” in the German people. Instead, he used public opinion for his
own political purposes. If the use (and misuse) of public sentiment was a
longstanding habit of Germany’s leaders from 1871 to 1945, then Bismarck
cannot escape part of the blame for this. When his successors proved able
only to inflame, but not control, public opinion, the government became a
hostage of public opinion.
Thus, when Bismarck was forced into retirement in 1890, the keystone
to Germany’s grand strategy disappeared. He left behind a country that was
swiftly growing in power, a political system full of problems, a team of “able
mediocrities,” and an easily aroused public.

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Entering the Post-Bismarckian Era

“Unfortunately, after Bismarck’s departure, moderation was
the quality Germany lacked most.”
Henry Kissinger

B ismarck’s forced departure in 1890 was a watershed moment

for German diplomacy. The Second Reich would never again have a
strong leader able to grasp the whole picture. His carefully crafted strategic
framework and his carefully balanced strategic vision would be discarded
amid the excitement created by newfound national power. German grand
strategy slowly disintegrated after 1890, with results that would soon become
apparent. The nations of Europe would find that, just as the German ship of
state was gaining speed, its helmsman had stepped off onto the shore.1 Both
the direction and the fate of that ship became marked by extreme uncertainty.

A New Diplomatic Path

In March 1888, Kaiser Wilhelm I passed away—and with his passing,

Bismarck’s strongest source of political support vanished. In June, his son and
successor, Frederick III, died, leaving Wilhelm I’s grandson, Wilhelm II, as the
country’s monarch. Bismarck and the new kaiser did not get along. On March
20, 1890, Bismarck was forced out of office. This set into motion dramatic
changes in Germany’s foreign policy.

A New Foreign Policy Team

The kaiser formed the crucial element of Germany’s political system. Yet at
this critical phase in Germany’s rise, that extraordinarily powerful position
was held by the likes of Wilhelm II. Both his contemporaries and later histo-
rians have been unanimous in their assessment of him: he was vain, shallow,
impatient, and capricious. His uncle, British King Edward VII, called him “the
most brilliant failure in history.”2
Wilhelm II fervently desired not just to reign, but also to rule. Yet he
lacked the spirit of perseverance and the ability to view things comprehen-
Fragile Rise

sively. He had only a glancing interest in politics beyond army and navy
affairs. What little interest he did have was mostly focused on bringing glory
to himself. In fact, even in army and navy affairs—in which he meddled
incessantly—he proved fickle and inconstant. During his reign, particularly
in the first few years after Bismarck’s departure, a few high officials dominated
German foreign policy. Thus, it is necessary to briefly introduce several of the
key diplomatic and military figures from this era.
The first is Bismarck’s successor as imperial chancellor, Leo von Caprivi.
Born in 1831, he entered the Prussian Army in 1849 and fought in both
the Austro-Prussian and Franco-Prussian Wars. He served as chief of the
Imperial Admiralty from 1883 to 1888. Afterward, he commanded the Tenth
Army Group, stationed at Hanover, before assuming Bismarck’s vacated
post. Caprivi was, without a doubt, an excellent military officer, but he had
essentially no grounding in politics and even less in foreign policy. Likewise,
Herbert von Bismarck’s successor as state secretary for foreign affairs, Adolf
von Marschall, had no foreign policy experience. During his chancellorship,
German foreign policy depended on single advisor in the foreign ministry,
Friedrich von Holstein.
Holstein was a key player in the post-Bismarckian era. He had deep
diplomatic experience, having worked in foreign policy since 1860 and main-
tained close professional and personal ties with Bismarck. Beginning in 1875,
he served as a high-ranking advisor within the foreign ministry. Yet he did
not approve of Bismarck’s policies. The self-contradicting treaty system, in
particular, stoked his ire. He saw the ambiguity that Bismarck had so pains-
takingly worked to build as irresponsible and unprofessional. He did not
understand why Bismarck devoted so much energy to the relationship with
Russia, and he considered Germany’s Russia policy to conflict with other
aspects of its foreign policy. Holstein proposed instead to clarify Germany’s
foreign policy. The most important element of this was strengthening the
alliance with Austria-Hungary so that it could function as the basis of an
anti-Russian coalition. From Bismarck’s perspective, Holstein’s flaws were the
flaws of German national character: “the inability to wait upon events and
the insistence upon prejudging situations.”3 These flaws might also be seen
to include excessive demands for precision and an overreliance on logic. For
an individual, demanding clarity and an adherence to logic in every matter
is not entirely a good thing. For a country, particularly a rising great power
that is attempting to set foreign policy strategy, it could easily be a disaster.
After a series of political struggles (not least of which were with ambassadors
that Bismarck had appointed), Holstein essentially secured actual power over

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German foreign policy. His flaws would thus become the flaws of German
foreign policy.

The Abandonment of the Russo-German Reinsurance Treaty and its Strategic

Significance
The new foreign policy team radically revised Germany’s foreign policy after
Bismarck left the stage. This began the period of Germany’s new course, and its
first mark would be the abandonment of the Reinsurance Treaty with Russia.
The original 1887 agreement had specified that the treaty would remain
in effect for three years. This term ended on June 18, 1890. The Russian
czar expressed interest in renewing the treaty late in 1889, although he also
conveyed his worry over the difficult relationship between Bismarck and
Wilhelm II. At that time, Bismarck promised the Russian ambassador that the
kaiser would approve of such an extension. After Bismarck’s fall from power in
March 1890, his son Herbert encountered the Russian ambassador to Berlin.
In what was perhaps a bid to aid his father, he reported to the kaiser that
the czar had changed his mind about the treaty after learning of Bismarck’s
ouster, feeling that such issues could not be discussed with the new chan-
cellor. Wilhelm II’s attitude at that moment was still positive, and he merely
penciled “Why?” in the margins of the younger Bismarck’s report.4 On March
21, the kaiser personally asked the Russian ambassador to enquire about the
czar’s view on the treaty. He also indicated Germany’s willingness to begin
immediate negotiations with the Russians, as well as his hope that the younger
Bismarck would continue to work at the foreign ministry in order to facilitate
discussion of the treaty. Afterward, Wilhelm II worked to persuade Herbert
von Bismarck to remain in his position and complete the negotiations with
Russia. At his father’s insistence, however, the younger Bismarck offered his
resignation on March 21. Wilhelm II had no choice but to direct Caprivi, the
new chancellor, to take the lead on the renewal negotiations.5
After receiving his orders, Caprivi proceeded to the German Foreign
Ministry on the morning of March 22, asking to see all of the documents
relevant to the Russo-German relationship (especially those relating to the
Reinsurance Treaty) and seeking advice from foreign ministry experts.
It happened to be Holstein who received him there. Caprivi’s requests
completely surprised him, and he immediately advised the chancellor not to
rush into matters without first hearing the advice of foreign ministry experts.
On March 23, Holstein convened a meeting of foreign ministry officials who
shared his views. He collected opinions from those opposed to the treaty and
shared them with Caprivi. These collected opinions advanced three major

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arguments. First, the treaty provided enormous benefits to Russia without

offering Germany anything in return: it would not prevent a French revanchist
war against Germany and did not exclude the possibility of a Franco-Russian
alliance. Second, German promises in the treaty directly contradicted German
treaty agreements with Austria-Hungary, Italy, and (especially) Romania.
Third, the treaty gave Russia the advantage of being able to weaken the ties
between Germany and its allies through the threat of publicly announcing
the contents of this secret treaty. The meeting concluded that a renewal of
the Reinsurance Treaty was unnecessary and that a new, simpler, and more
respectable “new course” in foreign policy was needed.6
The March 23 meeting made a deep impression on Caprivi, but he
refrained from making a decision. Instead, he hoped also to hear from the
foreign policy experts that Holstein had not invited, such as the German
military attaché in Russia, Lothar von Schweinitz, and the ambassador to
Constantinople, Joseph Maria von Radowitz, who had once been ambassador
to Russia and had long experience in Eastern Europe. Four days later, Caprivi
had a chance to speak with Schweinitz and presented him with copies of
Bismarck’s treaties. Schweinitz responded that the Reinsurance Treaty signifi-
cantly conflicted with the other treaties, particularly the treaty with Romania.
Furthermore, he thought the treaty gave too much to the Russians, especially
with regard to the Black Sea Straits, and that the Russians would never give
the Germans a concession of comparable value. Thus, he advised against any
extension of the treaty—or, if the czar was insistent on its renewal, demanded
the deletion of the clauses regarding the Black Sea Straits.7 Radowitz also
opposed a continuation of this treaty, instead advocating that Germany “hold
fast to the Triple Alliance…and avoid everything that could arouse mistrust
against it, especially in Vienna.”8 This was a sad situation: essentially all of the
high-ranking officials who had served under Bismarck opposed his policy.
Even sadder, his policy was actually correct, yet the opposition of his former
subordinates was sincere. This was the rotten fruit that grew from Bismarck’s
failure to develop a team and his insistence on concealing his motives and
strategies.
In the end, the German government decided not to renew the treaty. The
motivating concern was that the treaty conflicted with the obligations of the
Triple Alliance and the principle of friendly relations with Great Britain. In
Caprivi’s analysis, “Leakage of the Treaty, whether through a calculated or
through an accidental indiscretion, would endanger the Triple Alliance and
tend to alienate England from us.”9 After learning of this rejection, Russian
Foreign Minister Nikolay Giers attempted to resuscitate his traditional

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foreign policy course by offering to drop both the secrecy clause and the
Black Sea Straits clause from the renewed treaty. The German government
had already made it up its mind, however, and refused the Russian proposal.
When the kaiser and the czar met in person two months after the June expi-
ration of the treaty, Giers proposed another written agreement to demonstrate
Russo-German friendship. This, too, was rejected by the Germans. German
government documents indicate that both of these rejections resulted from
fears that close ties with Russia would impact the Anglo-German relationship.10
Beyond severing the traditional relationship with Russia, Germany’s new
policymakers also sought radical readjustments in their country’s Balkan
policies. They perceived events in the Balkans, particularly those involving
Russia, as critical to Germany’s national interests. This line of thought ran
counter to Bismarck’s belief that the Eastern Question was not Germany’s
concern. As Balkan policy changed, so too did policy toward Austria.
Bismarck had seen the alliance with Austria as a tool for restraining Austria
and Russia while ensuring a strategic balance favorable to Germany. He had
always emphasized the defensive nature of the alliance and schemed to force
Britain to bear the burden of Austria’s Balkan interests. Germany’s new policy-
makers, however, saw the alliance with Austria as an end in and of itself. In
order to strengthen it, they informed Austria of the now-defunct Reinsurance
Treaty with Russia in August 1890. Caprivi and Austrian Foreign Minister
Kálnoky came to an oral agreement that the Black Sea Straits issue could not
be settled using the methods Russia demanded, and that no territorial conces-
sions in the Balkans would be granted to Russia without Austrian approval.11
The internal contradictions in Germany’s foreign policy were thus
resolved, Germany’s alliances were placed on a logical basis, and a clarified
strategy adopted. The price of this strategic clarity, however, was the
destruction of Bismarck’s complex, yet carefully maintained, balance.
Germany’s grand strategy had begun to disintegrate. In concrete terms, there
were two direct results from this. First, Russia was left feeling completely
isolated and was forced to chart a new course. Bismarck had always followed
two parallel policies with Russia: as a threat to defend against and as a partner
for alliance. The former led Germany to the alliance with Austria, the Triple
Alliance, and the two Mediterranean Agreements; the latter led to the League
of Three Emperors and the Reinsurance Treaty. Together, these policies
created equilibrium. After Bismarck’s successors destroyed this balance,
Russia discovered that it was isolated in Europe, in the Balkans, and in the
Mediterranean. Breaking out of this isolation would require an alliance with
another isolated great power: France. This made a Franco-Russian alliance

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inevitable. Second, Germany directly took on the full burden of supporting the
Austro-Hungarian Empire. At the same time, the leadership of that alliance
underwent a subtle alteration. Germany’s new policymakers not only trans-
formed the alliance, they also made clear Germany’s total support for its ally.
Thus ended Bismarck’s twenty-year game of attempting to foist responsibility
off on the British. Once Austria-Hungary became certain of German support,
Germany lost the ability to use the alliance to restrict Austrian behavior. Over
the next two decades, the manner in which “the weak lead the strong” in this
alliance would become manifest.

Seeking British Friendship

The rejection of the Reinsurance Treaty was only one part of Germany’s new
course in foreign policy. Another major point of emphasis became the read-
justment of policy toward Great Britain. After Bismarck’s retirement, the new
policymakers sought to promote closer ties with that country. Wilhelm II, ever
since becoming crown prince, had disliked the autocratic Russia and greatly
envied the liberal Great Britain. These monarchical preferences coincided
with the majority political view inside Germany at the time. Liberals and
Social Democrats naturally welcomed it, while even the Catholic Centre Party
supported it, as it implied enhanced support for Austria-Hungary. Even more
interesting, German colonial activities had pushed Germany toward a greater
reliance on Great Britain (the simplistic argument that the colonial struggle
had worsened ties with Great Britain had validity only for one particular
period of time). As early as 1888, Holstein had written, “Our colonial crises
lie upon us like a nightmare, and we need England in all places. Our relations
with the English government are being most carefully cultivated.”12
The ongoing Anglo-German colonial negotiations seemed to provide
an opportunity for this. In 1890, the two countries had begun to discuss
African colonies. On the table was a British proposal to exchange the island
of Heligoland in the North Sea for two German colonies in East Africa.
Prime Minister Salisbury had difficulty making progress in these negotia-
tions while Bismarck was in office. At the time of Bismarck’s dismissal, the
negotiations were essentially deadlocked. For the new policymakers, however,
this was an excellent chance to demonstrate friendship toward Britain and to
pull the two countries closer together. As a result, they quickly violated two
taboos of great power diplomacy. The first is never to reach a hasty agreement
on a non-emergency issue or fail to fully exploit the negotiation process
in pursuit of benefits. The second is never, under non-emergency condi-
tions, to surrender to another great power or even proactively consider the

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domestic political needs of the other country. Caprivi held that “the position
of the English government was not an easy one in view of the excited public
opinion…Germany had to keep in mind the need to lighten Lord Salisbury’s
task and to make possible his retention in office.” The kaiser even admitted
to the British ambassador in Berlin that “he had said to General Caprivi that
it was of the highest importance that [Salisbury’s] position in Parliament
should not be weakened, and has asked [Caprivi] to bear this in mind as a
first condition in the negotiations. Africa…was not worth a quarrel between
England and Germany.”13 Violating these taboos greatly strengthened Great
Britain’s negotiating position, and an agreement was quickly reached. The
Heligoland-Zanzibar Treaty was signed between the two powers on July 1,
1890. Germany acquired Heligoland; Great Britain received protectorates in
Zanzibar, Uganda, and Kenya. The two country’s spheres of influence in East
Africa were thus delineated.
The treaty did not work to Germany’s benefit, as the text of the agreement
itself reveals. In the eyes of late nineteenth-century Europeans, it was foolish
to exchange two rich and populous East African colonies for a single North
Sea island. The negative impact of this treaty on Germany was also evident
in its implications for the strategic relationship between the two countries. It
proved to be yet another step in destroying the balance of strategic needs that
had previously existed. The British Empire’s strategic focus was on India and
on the four regions—Central Asia, Egypt, the Black Sea Straits, and South
Africa—that directly impinged on it. Of these, Central Asia most directly
impacted India, but serious Russian expansion into Afghanistan was still
only on the horizon in the early 1890s. South Africa was likewise relatively
stable. British concern, as well as British need for German support, was thus
focused on the other two regions, Egypt and the Black Sea Straits. The shift
in German policy in 1890 toward greater and more substantial support for
Austria meant that Great Britain no longer needed to pay a price for German
support on Black Sea issues. The balance of Anglo-German strategic needs
had become lopsided. The situation in Egypt was more complicated. Great
Britain still needed German support for its policies—but the absence of such
support would not force Britain to leave. Instead, Britain feared that another
European power (probably France) would seize control of the headwaters of
Egypt’s economic heart, the Nile River, and then leverage this control to force
a British withdrawal.14 Ever since the Mahdi’s army had driven the British
from the Sudan, rumors circulated in Great Britain that one European power
or another power plotted to control the source of the Nile.15 Arguably, closure
of the Nile’s entire course in order to protect Egypt was the emphasis of British

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policy in Africa in the 1880s and early 1890s. Domestic political consider-
ations prevented British governments from allocating money for a second
invasion of the Sudan, leaving the government to rely solely upon diplomacy
to close off the various routes to the Nile. Some of the routes ran through
the interior of Germany’s East African colonies. If Germany controlled these
routes, then Great Britain would have no choice but to depend on Germany.
Bismarck, understanding this, had always refused to precisely delineate the two
country’s spheres of influence in the region.16 The Heligoland-Zanzibar Treaty,
however, removed this strategic option. This further disturbed the balance
of strategic needs between the two countries, thus weakening their ties.17
In conclusion, the Anglo-German rapprochement sought by Germany’s
new policymakers was a case of “unrequited love.” Structural conflicts naturally
existed between Germany, with its status as a rising power, and Great Britain,
in its position as the world’s established hegemonic power. Close cooperation,
much less shared governance, might be applicable in some concrete policy
areas, but was unlikely as a comprehensive policy. A complex stability in the
relationship between a rising power and an established hegemon can generally
only be maintained by mutual reliance, mutual fear, and mutual restraint.
Thus, while Germany blindly expressed friendship toward Great Britain,
Britain’s attitude toward Germany did not change. Prime Minister Salisbury,
a classic example of a British politician, possessed a keen appreciation for
power politics. He had seen Germany as a potential threat to Great Britain
since the 1870s, given the comparative weakness of both France and Russia.
His concerns about Bismarck diminished after the 1878 Berlin Conference,
but he never entirely abandoned his original judgment.18 Salisbury’s coop-
eration with Germany in the 1880s had been the result of Bismarck’s maneu-
vering—or, stated more precisely, as a result of Bismarck’s ability to maintain a
balance between the two countries’ strategic needs. Bismarck’s successors after
1890 visibly did not impress Salisbury. In a letter to the British ambassador
in Rome, he commented: “I do not like to disregard the plain anxiety of my
German friends. But it is not wise to be guided too much by their advice now.
Their Achitophel is gone. They are much pleasanter and easier to deal with;
but one misses the extraordinary penetration of the old man.”19 The British
undoubtedly made full use of this opportunity to extract themselves from
promises made to Bismarck’s government and to reclaim their own freedom
of action.

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The Results of the New Course

The Establishment of the Franco-German Alliance

The most detrimental result of Germany’s new course in foreign policy was
that it spurred the creation of a Franco-Russian alliance. After Germany’s
refusal to extend the Reinsurance Treaty, the political fortunes of Giers
and other Russian conservatives was gravely weakened; Germany’s policy
of reconciliation with Great Britain only served to deepen Russian doubts.
Schweinitz, the German military attaché in Russia, warned that a Russian
leader would look in other places for “the support he did not get from us.”20
The Heligoland-Zanzibar Treaty caused seismic shockwaves in both Russia
and France. Leaders in those two countries assumed that some sort of deeper
consideration must be at work for Germany to sign such a disadvanta-
geous agreement. French Foreign Minister Alexandre Ribot assumed that
the agreement contained secret clauses, while Russia believed it reflected a
commitment to further Anglo-German cooperation. The Russian ambas-
sador in London remarked:

The principal importance of this transaction seems to me to reside

in the rapprochement effected between England and Germany, a
rapprochement of which the present arrangement gives palpable
witness. When one is united by numerous interests and positive
engagements on one point of the globe, one is almost certain to
proceed in concert in all the great questions that may arise in the
international field…virtually the entente with Germany has been
accomplished. It cannot help but react upon the relations of England
with the other powers of the Triple Alliance.21

Both Russia and France felt isolated; forming closer ties, or even an
alliance, was a instinctual reaction. To a great extent, therefore, German policy
pushed the two countries together. One month after the Heligoland-Zanzibar
Treaty, Deputy Chief of the French General Staff General Raoul Le Mouton
de Boisdeffre sent feelers to the Russians, and the pace of events began to pick
up. In February 1891, as part of a German effort to improve relations with
France, the German empress dowager visited. While in Paris, however, she
unwisely visited a symbol of the 1870 Prussian invasion, resulting in large-

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scale protests. Wilhelm II’s subsequent criticism of the French government

further inflamed the situation. This minor incident provided yet another
impetus for Franco-Russian reconciliation. The Russians delighted in the
worsening relationship between France and Germany. Foreign minister Giers
hastened to affirm the correctness of the French actions. On March 26, the
Russian government extended an invitation for a port visit by a portion of
the French fleet that summer. Hoping to create a fundamental breakthrough
in the relationship, the French government then instructed its ambassador
to Russia to inquire about where that country’s sympathies would lie in the
event of a new Franco-Prussian war. The Russian government, feeling that the
time had not yet come for it to make a decisive choice between Germany and
France, avoided the question. This slowed the pace of events for a time.
Two factors prompted the Russian government to change its mind
quickly. First, the French government decided to shift from small-scale expres-
sions of mutual friendship to the application of economic pressure. Under the
direction of the French Foreign Ministry, the Rothschild banking conglom-
erate refused to extend a 500-million-ruble loan to the Russian government.
The given pretext was the Russian treatment of Jews. Second was an increase
in activity between Great Britain and the Triple Alliance. In early 1891, Great
Britain had rejected a Triple Alliance proposal for augmented cooperation in
the Mediterranean. Britain did, however, offer a consolation prize in the form
of frequent expressions of friendship toward the alliance: in late June, a British
fleet visited both Italy and Austria, where it was greeted by the monarchs of
both countries; on July 4, the kaiser visited Great Britain, where he received a
grand reception. These superficial phenomena may have comforted German
policymakers, but they generated extreme anxiety in France and Russia. The
two came to feel that Great Britain was drawing ever closer to the Triple
Alliance and that, in the absence of any action on their part, they would soon
be completely isolated. On July 17, Giers invited the French ambassador to
begin formal negotiations on an alliance. A week later, a French fleet received
a warm reception when it made its scheduled visit to Kronstadt. In August, a
political agreement was cemented through the formal exchange of notes, and
a critical step was taken in the creation of an alliance.
This August agreement was not yet a true alliance. The military obliga-
tions of the two nations, for instance, were left extremely vague. Moreover,
Giers, who had long advocated a traditional policy of close ties with Germany,
may have had reservations about joining France in opposition to Germany.
Under his influence, the promises of mutual support made between the two
countries had a marked anti-British flavor. Objectively speaking, if Germany

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had responded to this situation in a timely manner, it might have been able to
postpone or even prevent a true Franco-Russian alliance from emerging. Yet,
German policymakers directed their gaze solely to Great Britain. Not only
did they fail to see the seriousness of a Franco-Russian alliance, they assumed
that the emergence of such an alliance would increase pressure on Britain.
This might push Britain into the Triple Alliance, thus enhancing Germany’s
position.22 Germany likewise continued to make errors in its policies toward
Russia. In the winter of 1891, Russia experienced a serious famine. Giers,
hoping that Germany might provide aid and that this might lead to improved
relations, made two suggestions. First, that German banks join in the purchase
of Russian government bonds. Second, he hoped to pave the way for a Russo-
German customs treaty. These met with German indifference, thus increasing
Russia’s (and the czar’s own personal) doubts about German intentions.
Additionally, Germany’s conciliatory policies toward Poles living within its
borders alarmed Russia, as it was taken to be a step toward ensuring Polish
support for a war with Russia.23 This seemed even more significant because
the joint repression of the Polish people had been one important foundation
of the traditional friendship between Russia and Prussia. This policy change
seemed, to the Russians, to be the equivalent of a complete rejection of that
relationship. Pro-French forces within the Russian government, represented
best by Russian ambassador to France Arthur Pavlovich Morenheim, thus
became able to push back against Giers and other traditionalists, allowing
Russia to conclude a formal anti-German alliance with France. Czar Alexander
III declared that, if war broke out between France and Germany, the Russians
“must immediately hurl ourselves upon the Germans.”24 On August 18, 1892,
the two countries signed a military treaty, thus completing the alliance. This
accord was entirely directed at Germany and stipulated that if France were
attacked by Germany or by Italy with German support, the Russian Army
would attack Germany. If Russia were to be attacked by Germany or by
Austria with German assistance, then France would attack Germany. The two
countries would coordinate their mobilizations and entry into the conflict in
order to force Germany to fight a two-front war.25

Anglo-German Estrangement
The formal establishment of a Franco-Russian alliance was a serious blow
for Germany. Germany’s international security environment had essentially
become hopeless. Not only did it no longer have a lever to exert power, but
also it now faced the threat of a two-front war. Germany, however, did not yet
understand the seriousness of these problems, and instead placed its hopes

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on Great Britain’s entry into the Triple Alliance. In fact, the Franco-Russian
alliance had already essentially negated the power of the Triple Alliance, as
the formation of two alliance systems on the continent created a balance-of-
power situation favorable to Great Britain. Britain thus was visibly delighted at
the new treaty arrangement. On the eve of the French fleet’s visit to Russia in
1891, Georges Clemenceau, who opposed the French alliance with the auto-
cratic Russia, visited Great Britain. In a long conversation with Joseph Cham-
berlain, leader of the British Liberal Party, he asked for Britain to support
an Anglo-French understanding that would obviate the need for an alliance
with Russia. In return, he promised to push the French government to allow
Britain freedom of action in Egypt. Salisbury rejected the idea.26
In fact, the expiration of the Reinsurance Treaty and the signing of the
Heligoland-Zanzibar Treaty had completely smashed the balance of Anglo-
German strategic needs. Great Britain had already begun to distance itself
from Germany. As early as August 1890, Salisbury warned the German ambas-
sador in Britain that “we have, besides, plenty of opponents who are anxious
to raise the cry that the German Emperor has too much influence over us.”27
This was only a small signal, but Germany had dimly begun to grasp that
Anglo-German “close cooperation” would not be easy. In 1891, just before the
renewal of the Triple Alliance, Great Britain impolitely brushed aside sugges-
tions from Italy about strengthening British connections to the alliance. Even
on the Morocco issue, which had originally created the foundation for British
ties to the alliance, British policy and alliance policy had begun to drift apart.
First, Salisbury refused to join the agreement of May 4, 1891, which had been
brokered by Spain and Italy, to maintain the Moroccan status quo. In a move to
block French infiltration into Morocco, he also refused to provide any foreign
policy support for Spain or Italy. In June 1891, France made territorial claims
to the Tuat region along the Algeria-Morocco border, thus causing anxiety in
Italy. From the perspective of Germany and Italy, Britain had the most at stake
in Morocco, and thus should cooperate with Italy and Spain to exert pressure
on the Moroccan sultan and on France. Salisbury responded that Italy and
Spain, in fact, had the closest ties with Morocco, and that Britain would not
interfere with this French action.28 This displeased Germany, causing Holstein
to complain that in settling international disputes, “England will first try to get
British interests looked after by other Powers without herself co-operating.”29
In July 1892, the Conservative Party government in Great Britain was
replaced by William Gladstone’s Liberal Party. Given Gladstone’s dislike
for Germany’s imperial system and his inclinations toward liberal France,
Anglo-German estrangement took on a quickened pace. It was important for

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Germany to ensure that the change in British government did not impact the
Anglo-Italian strategic partnership, and to maintain Britain’s ties to the Triple
Alliance. The new British Foreign Secretary, Archibald Primrose, the Earl
of Rosebery, was a Francophobe who planned to retain Salisbury’s foreign
policies. Germany, as a consequence, had high hopes for him. The Franco-
Russian alliance, however, had already begun to change the overall strategic
picture. Great Britain no longer needed to shoulder any responsibilities for
the Triple Alliance. This was clear to Rosebery. In a meeting with German
ambassador Hatzfeldt, he explained that he wished “to re-assure the Italians
to the utmost,” but that he could not provide any written guarantees.30 Under
repeated German entreaties, he expressed a “personal view,” which he empha-
sized did not represent the view of the British government, to the effect that:

In the event of France groundlessly attacking Italy, the interests of

England as a Mediterranean and Indian Power would bring her
naturally to the rescue of Italy.… That was my personal conviction,
but beyond that I could say nothing, and in any case I could not
make an authoritative communication as from the British Cabinet to
the Italian Government. My belief was simply this, that in the even-
tuality that was dreaded and contemplated the natural force of things
would bring about the defensive co-operation they desired.31

Two years of relentless expressions of goodwill had not brought Great

Britain closer to the Triple Alliance. Instead, they had slowly begun to drift
apart. German disappointment can only be imagined. Further events turned
this disappointment into unease, as German officials learned that Great
Britain was seeking conciliation with France on a variety of issues. Britain’s
new Liberal cabinet had essentially already reached consensus on the need
for good ties with the French and an end to any reliance on the Triple
Alliance.32 The outbreak of the Siam Crisis in Southeast Asia, however, caused
a moment of British hesitation—and Anglo-German relations seemed to be
at the threshold of a breakthrough. France had been working to solidify its
control over colonies in Indochina, and came into conflict with Siam. The
British government strongly hoped to maintain Siam’s current status as the
last buffer zone between British-held India and Burma on the one hand and
French-controlled Indochina on the other. On July 20, 1893, the French
delivered a final ultimatum to Siam and, upon its refusal, blockaded the
Siamese coast. Great Britain had not been prepared for such a forceful French
action and, in this crisis situation, had to rely on the Triple Alliance. Rosebery

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sent a complaint about France to the German ambassador on July 27, which
obliquely implied that Germany would be the beneficiary of an Anglo-
French war in that it could cause the Triple Alliance to become a Quadruple
Alliance.33 At the same time, the British press hinted at the possibility of
Britain’s entry into the alliance. German hopes for an expanded alliance were
thus reignited. A report received in Britain on July 30 claimed that France
had ordered British warships to leave Siamese territorial waters and retreat
behind the French blockade line. Rosebery, believing that an Anglo-French
war was about to break out, persuaded the queen to send her secretary to
meet with the kaiser in Cowes (Wilhelm II was in Britain at the time for a boat
race). The secretary conveyed the following telegram from Rosebery: “French
Government demands withdrawal of our gun-boat from before Bangkok. I
have refused this. Desire to see Count Hatzfeldt [the German ambassador] in
London immediately.”34 This appeared, to Germany, as a request for German
support on the eve of an Anglo-French war. The kaiser immediately declared
that France was deliberately seeking war and that he desired to stand with the
British in the fight against the French. Caprivi wrote on Hatzfeldt’s report,
“For us the best beginning for the next Great War would be for the first shot
to be fired from a British ship. Then we are sure of being able to convert the
Triple Alliance into a Quadruple one.”35 When the German delegation’s first
secretary (Hatzfeldt himself being confined to a sickbed) arrived in London
the next day, however, he learned that the previous day’s news had been inac-
curate. The war scare had passed and the recently reignited hopes for closer
Anglo-German ties were thus extinguished. This event had a great impact on
Germany’s new policymakers: they decided that Britain was untrustworthy
and their attitudes toward the country began to shift.
Great Britain would once again feel a momentary need for Germany in
the final half of 1893. In October, the French people enthusiastically greeted
a Russian fleet visiting Toulon. The British discovered that, although the
Franco-Russian alliance was directed against Germany, it was they who
were the first to feel its impact. The British ambassador to France, Frederick
Hamilton-Temple-Blackwood, Marquess of Dufferin and Ava, wrote, “In
view, therefore, of the strong feelings of hostility toward England which
prevail in this country…if war were inevitable, a war with England would be
as popular, and would be considered less dangerous, than a single-handed
encounter with Germany.”36 Rumors, too, circulated that France had granted
the Russian Navy use of the port in Bizerta, that Russia had itself prepared to
lease an eastern Mediterranean island as another naval facility, and that the

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entire Black Sea fleet’s passage through the straits and into the Mediterranean
was imminent.37
The British government decided to strengthen its fleet in light of the
Franco-Russian threat; Rosebery, now prime minister, immediately allocated
additional funds to the navy. This process would take time, however, and
Britain needed to search for a partner to share the burden of countering
French and Russian pressure. Germany’s Triple Alliance was the natural
choice.
Rosebery expressed his desire to strengthen cooperation with the
Triple Alliance against the Franco-Russian combination, particularly in the
Black Sea region, in January 1894. He told the Austro-Hungarian ambas-
sador to London, “I assure you that I am absolutely determined to maintain
the status quo in the Straits question and that I would not recoil from the
danger of involving England in a war with Russia.” He also indicated that, if
the French entered the war, the British fleet would be insufficient to defend
Istanbul, and “in such a case we should require the assistance of the Triple
Alliance to hold France in check.”38 Germany was the intended recipient of
these comments, as it was the only member of the Triple Alliance capable of
“checking” France. German calculations at this time, however, had become
much more complex. First, the Franco-Russian alliance was already a reality,
so Germany had to consider the price of tying itself to Great Britain. In order
to accomplish the deterrence sought by the British, Germany would have to
be prepared to fight a two-front war. Great Britain would only be risking its
fleet in such a war; Germany would be risking its national existence. Second,
if Germany agreed to “check” France without Great Britain committing to any
specific obligations of its own, then Britain would retain the power to decide
its actions independently. In other words, Great Britain would dominate the
Triple Alliance. Third, without the limitations imposed by a treaty, Great
Britain might again act as it did in the Siam Crisis: a hawk one moment,
and a dove the next. This could cause the Triple Alliance to be left suddenly
exposed on the frontlines of conflict with France and Russia. Thus, Germany
refused to “force the French to remain neutral” without first inking a treaty
with the British: “If England wanted our help, let her enter into a definite
engagement with the Triple Alliance in which our mutual obligations would
be securely established, not only for Lord Rosebery’s tenure of office, but for
that of any other Government; we should then be able to attempt to prevent
England concluding an isolated peace prematurely.”39 If that proved unob-
tainable, Germany preferred to maintain its own freedom of action. By this

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time, Germany moreover began once to again to appreciate the value of a

relationship with Russia. It was unwilling to abandon the opportunity to pry
Russia and France apart in exchange for unenforceable British promises.

Anglo-German Frictions Intensify

As relations between Great Britain and Germany cooled down, a series of
colonial disputes between the two powers flared up. First, British authorities
in Singapore had restricted the ability of German companies in New Guinea
to recruit Chinese laborers. Second, a conflict had broken out between the
German colonial government in Southwest Africa and a local chief. Handling
the conflict as a war, the British colonial government in the Cape refused
German military shipping access to Wallis Bay. It also offered protection
to the chief who had antagonized the Germans. This enraged the German
government, which threatened that, unless Britain changed its stance on
German colonial interests, Germany would be forced to reconsider its
support for British policies.40 Third, the two countries also argued about the
status of the Pacific island of Samoa. An 1889 agreement assigned the island
group to the joint management of Britain, the United States, and Germany,
but Germany had always hoped to become the sole ruler. During the first half
of 1894, the U.S. government expressed an interest in withdrawing from the
joint management consortium and was looking to make a deal of some sort.
Germany saw this as an excellent opportunity to establish rule over the whole
island group and began negotiations with the British. Great Britain, however,
proved unwilling to consider this. A difficult sticking point in Anglo-German
colonial disputes had become clear: Germany’s colonial holdings were limited,
so it had little to trade with Great Britain. Therefore, Britain was unwilling
to make any concessions in colonial disputes. If Germany wanted Britain to
satisfy its colonial demands, it would have to depend on pressure rather than
horse-trading.
Great Britain and Belgian King Albert II’s Congo Free State signed an
agreement in May 1894 that incited intense French displeasure. Germany saw
this as an opportunity to pressure the British.41 Great Britain had assumed
Germany was pleased with the support it had given Austria-Hungary and
Italy in the Mediterranean; it did not anticipate that Germany would work
with France against Great Britain on Congolese issues. On June 13, British
Prime Minister Rosebery threatened that if Germany continued to side
with France in these colonial disputes, then Great Britain would need to
reassess its overall policies in Europe, particularly in the Mediterranean and
the Balkans.42 This did not frighten Germany. Foreign Ministry Secretary

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Marschall took it as a bluff, as Rosebery had never done anything substantial

on behalf of the Triple Alliance.43 Germany, moreover, was simply uninter-
ested in Rosebery’s January suggestions.44 Rosebery attempted to use Italy
to pressure Germany, but Germany insisted that Italy stood with Germany
on France’s side and demanded that Great Britain respect the agreement
reached at the 1885 Berlin Conference concerning the Congo Free State.45
The reasons for Germany’s later retreat are complex. Although Germany did
not fear Rosebery’s threats, they realized that their actions had already drifted
far from their original objective, and that it was even less likely that Britain
would agree to concessions in Samoa. French attitudes, too, raised German
doubts. On June 17, Marschall received a formal diplomatic communication
from the French ambassador in Germany, from which he concluded that “my
impression is that the French Government intends, by enlarging the original
suggestion, to let the matter sink away into the sand, so as to be able later to
refuse joint action.”46 Such an assessment, combined with Germany’s inability
to achieve its initial objective, forced Germany to reconsider its actions and to
pull away from the French position. Britain proposed compromise measures
at this moment, too, which Germany accepted on June 18 in order to prevent
Anglo-German relations from deteriorating further.
The Congo dispute had pushed Germany and Great Britain further apart.
It was the first dispute since Bismarck’s departure in which Britain found
Germany and France jointly opposing its wishes. Half a month later, Rosebery
received a response from Austria that entirely avoided his January proposals.
He would no longer hold any illusions about the Triple Alliance.47 Germany’s
attitude toward Great Britain shifted simultaneously. The heart of the “new
course”—building a closer relationship with Great Britain—had been exposed
as wishful thinking. As the illusion of an alliance with Great Britain evapo-
rated, Germany realized that its own security environment had deteriorated.
The Franco-Russian alliance had already made Germany’s foreign policy
strategy a dead letter; Germany would no longer be able to maneuver between
the various powers. Germany had no choice but to rely increasingly on two
pillars for its security. The first of these were its alliances. Germany would
have to increasingly accommodate itself to its two allies, Austria-Hungary
and Italy. Over time, this would lead to its slow loss of strategic leadership
and autonomy, until the weak led the strong within the alliance. The second
pillar was an expanded military. In November 1892, Caprivi had presented
the Reichstag with an enormous army bill that called for an additional 77,000
soldiers and an additional 60 million marks.48 This expansion eclipsed the
combined total of all previous expansions between 1871 and 1890. Germany,

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moreover, had already strengthened its artillery forces before this. After
the Reichstag rejected this proposal, Caprivi dissolved the legislature and
called for elections. The newly elected Reichstag approved an expansion of
66,000 troops in 1893, making it the largest single expansion of the army
since German unification.49 Reliance on these two pillars further revealed
the antagonistic relationship between the two alliances. Germany had slowly
entered into a vicious cycle of military expansion breeding insecurity, which
in turn supplied justification for further military expansion.

The End of the New Course and the Illusion of a Continental

Alliance

Faced with the disasters wrought by the new course, Germany’s policymakers
began to seek opportunities to escape their predicament. Their policy adjust-
ments, however, bore the traits that marked all of the diplomatic initiatives of
Wilhelm II’s reign: hastiness, wishful thinking, a lack of comprehensiveness,
and a lack of continuity.

Germany Abandons the New Course

The new course had not lasted even three years before Germany began
considering a change. Faced with continual rebuffs from Great Britain and a
formal Franco-Russian alliance, the German government hoped to improve
ties with Russia—and perhaps even imagined it might pull Russia back into
a relationship. Czar Nicholas II, heir to the Russian throne, visited Berlin in
January 1893. Wilhelm II assured him that the Triple Alliance was purely
defensive in nature and that it was directed against socialist revolution and U.S.
economic competition. Germany, moreover, hoped to maintain “monarchical
unity.”50 Holstein, too, underwent a surprising transformation. He had always
opposed Bismarck’s pro-Russian policies, but now moved to the opposite
extreme of favoring Russian freedom of action in Bulgaria, Romania, and
Ottoman Turkey. Even a treaty, if Russia wanted one, was possible, regardless
of Austrian objections. Bismarck, by comparison, had promised treaties to
the Russians only after closing off their paths for expansion.51 Wilhelm II told
the Austrian foreign minister that September that Germany would not fight a
war with Russia over the Balkans. If the Russians occupied Istanbul, then the
Austrians could occupy Salonika as compensation.52 This had essentially been
Bismarck’s policy; Germany foreign policy had apparently reverted to what it
was before the start of the new course.

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Domestic political forces inside Germany also added fuel to the fire. The
liberal forces which had supported Caprivi had splintered. Some of these
liberal groupings began to see Great Britain as a commercial and colonial
competitor. Closer relations thus no longer seemed as attractive. Industri-
alists began seeking markets in Russia and demanded improved relations with
that country, particularly strengthened commercial ties. Although Junker
landlords, seeking to protect their agricultural interests, opposed this policy,
they were in a weak position from the beginning. By the end of 1893, political
consideration of improved ties with Russia became more obvious, and
Junker opposition was steadily repressed. Wilhelm II even claimed, “I have
no desire to wage war with Russia on account of a hundred crazy Junkers.”53
The Reichstag approved a commercial treaty advantageous to Russia in March
1894. On October 29, Caprivi resigned and was replaced by the conservative
Chlodwig zu Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst as chancellor. This personnel change
marked the final end of the already nearly defunct new course.

The Failure of a Continental League

Germany’s ideal was to return to the situation before the implementation of
the new course. This was exactly the role that Holstein and others hoped the
new commercial treaty with Russia would begin to fulfill. In international
relations (particularly when great powers are involved), however, direct
economic interests can never substitute for deeper strategic interest. The
Russo-German trade agreement absolutely would not be able to replicate the
effect of the Reinsurance Treaty. Even more important, Germany’s foreign
policy environment had undergone a revolutionary change. First, the estab-
lishment of the Franco-Russian alliance created a balance of power in Europe.
This was a deadlocked situation in which it was difficult for any great conti-
nental power to achieve a strategic breakthrough. Second, Britain’s strategic
need for Germany had greatly diminished, and its so-called era of splendid
isolation had begun. Third, the strategic stalemate on the continent coupled
with the intensification of imperialist expansion caused the European powers
to let their European conflicts lie in abeyance while shifting the focus of their
conflict to other regions, particularly East Asia and Africa.
Germany did not entirely understand this new situation. When it
realized that it was impossible to return to the status quo ante, Germany could
only place its hopes in making use of tensions between Great Britain and the
Franco-Russian alliance. German policymakers plotted a Continental League
with two purposes. The first of these was to build closer ties with France and

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Russia. The second was to frighten the British into making colonial concessions.
Germany vacillated between these two objectives, or pursued both at once.
Germany soon found an opportunity to demonstrate its Continental
League in East Asia. On July 25, 1894, the Japanese Army launched a surprise
attack on Qing forces, thus starting the First Sino-Japanese War. Soon after
hostilities began, the failure of the corrupt Qing government became apparent,
and Great Britain and Russia began to coordinate to protect their interests in
China. Germany had two considerations at this point: first, to prevent other
great powers from partitioning China before Germany was ready; and second,
to prevent Great Britain and Russia from using this opportunity to improve
their overall relationship. Germany actively inserted itself into these events.
At the beginning, Germany had supported Japan. German-Japanese relations
had always been close: most of Japan’s military advisors were German, Krupp
provided a significant amount of armaments for the Japanese Army, and the
two countries had close economic ties. German policy noticeably shifted by
1895, however. On March 8, Germany warned Japan that any seizure of any
Chinese territory on the continent might invite British, French, and Russian
interference, but the warning was ignored.54 Germany was left with no choice
but to take action itself in concert with Russia in order to prevent Anglo-
Russian coordination. On March 20, 1895, negotiations opened between
China and Japan. During the talks, Japan’s demand for a treaty clause
endorsing its occupation of the Liaodong peninsula became public. On April
8, Russian Foreign Minister Alexey Lobanov proposed a joint action by the
great powers, noting that “the occupation of Port Arthur was…an obstacle
to good relations between China and Japan and…a lasting threat to peace in
Eastern Asia.” Britain refused such action, but Germany vigorously supported
it. Wilhelm II wrote to his ambassador in Japan that “we must do it even
without the British.”55 France, too, lent its support. On April 17, the day that
the Treaty of Shimonoseki was signed, Lobanov invited Germany and France
to jointly intervene. The two countries immediately accepted. The ambas-
sadors to Japan from the three countries visited the Japanese Foreign Ministry
on April 23, bringing with them strongly worded letters protesting the occu-
pation of Liaodong. On May 5, the Japanese government was pressured to
accept the three nations’ “advice,” and abandoned their occupation of the
peninsula.
This so-called Triple Intervention seemed on the surface to reflect a
Continental League, yet Russia was its political beneficiary and France its
economic beneficiary (the Qing indemnity to Japan was paid by loans issued

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from French banks). Germany did not gain any advantage from it. This result
undoubtedly left Germany disappointed.

Failure to Build Closer Ties with Great Britain

Salisbury returned as Britain’s prime minister in June 1895. Germany,
believing that a Conservative government in power would be beneficial to the
improvement of bilateral relations, began a half-hearted attempt to draw close
to Great Britain. The first consideration of the Salisbury government, however,
was the partition of the Ottoman Empire. On July 9, Salisbury held a long
conversation with German ambassador Hatzfeldt in which he claimed that
unless the Ottoman sultan made concessions on domestic political reform,
“the time may always come…when Russia and England may again come to
an agreement…and that would mean the end of the Turkish domination.”
He further hinted that this agreement would allow for the Russian annex-
ation of Armenia.56 While discussing Italian hopes for British assistance in
Abyssinia on July 30, Salisbury further remarked that Italian policy in Africa
had been a complete failure, and claimed that Britain could help Italy receive
two Ottoman provinces, Albania and Tripoli, in compensation. Hatzfeldt
concluded from this that Great Britain had already begun to consider the
partition of the Ottoman Empire.57
Germany originally held great hopes for British foreign policy after
Salisbury’s return to power. It had even increased its support for Britain
in the Middle East. Yet Salisbury’s suggestions raised immediate doubts in
Germany. Neither the kaiser nor the chancellor were in Berlin at the moment,
so foreign policy was left in Holstein’s hands. After Salisbury’s July 9 hints of
British concessions to Russia in Asia Minor, Holstein wrote in a letter that
Britain desired to postpone conflict with Russia and perhaps hoped that “in
the meanwhile…the Franco-Russian storm may break on the Continent.”58
German doubts deepened after learning of Italy’s potential colonial gains.
Since the 1885 Berlin Conference, Britain had opposed Austria-Hungary’s
acquisition of Salonika on the grounds of trade. Yet Italian possession (with
British support) of Albania would necessarily increase mutual suspicion
between Austria and Italy, thus threatening the Triple Alliance. Disposition of
lands along the Mediterranean, particularly allowing the Italian occupation of
Tripoli, might even lead to a war in which Britain, as it had in the early days of
the Napoleonic War, could content itself with observing from the sidelines.59
Once Salisbury learned of the German anxieties, he immediately changed
his tune, suggesting Italian compensation in Morocco and Austrian gains in

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“the direction of Salonika.” Finally he announced that he had no definitive

plan, and suggested that Germany draft a proposal for discussion.60 Holstein,
however, rejected this idea. Germany’s interests in Mediterranean and Middle
Eastern affairs were limited, but if the partitioning of the Ottoman Empire led
to European disputes, it would have to bear the brunt of it. If word leaked that
Germany proposed a division of Ottoman and Moroccan territory, relations
with France would sour. Holstein also suspected that Salisbury’s move was
intended to create trouble in Asia Minor and the Balkans that would draw the
attention of the great powers and reduce Franco-Russian pressure on Britain
in Egypt.61
Objectively speaking, Germany’s doubts were reasonable. At the
beginning, Salisbury’s partition plans were worth considering. In the public
documentary records, only German accounts make any mention of Salisbury’s
plan, and even these do so only vaguely. Some historians have pieced together
a relatively complete plan from these documents. This plan assigned the Black
Sea Straits and Constantinople to Russia, freedom of action in the western
Balkans to Austria-Hungary, Tripoli or Morocco to Italy, and either Morocco
or Syria to France. Great Britain would acquire Egypt and Mesopotamia.62
The German documents, in fact, did not clearly delineate how the territories
that would be distributed after the partition, except for those allocated to Italy
and Great Britain. This puzzle was, to a great degree, created by the guesswork
of Hatzfeldt or his successors. The territory to be awarded Russia, for instance,
appears to be deduced from the July 30, 1895, conversation between Hatzfeldt
and Salisbury. In that talk, Salisbury referred to the British rejection of Czar
Nicholas I’s 1853 proposal to partition the Ottoman Empire as a “mistake.”
He went on to say that he would not have made that same mistake. Hatzfeldt
commented that the plan failed because Napoleon III was only willing to
make concessions on Constantinople and not the Dardanelles. In response,
Salisbury indicated that Great Britain, too, could not concede the Dardanelles
to Russia.
Salisbury’s implied plan of partition gave Italy’s needs a high priority
while discussing Austria’s only in broad strokes, seemingly as if Britain placed
great emphasis on winning Italian support in the Mediterranean. In fact,
however, Salisbury had typically favored Austria over Italy, although at that
moment he had little faith in either country, claiming that Britain had “backed
the wrong horse.”63 Under these circumstances, his pro-Italy, anti-Austrian
plan looked suspiciously like a challenge to the internal unity of the Triple
Alliance.

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Additionally, if Salisbury truly hoped to solve the Balkan problems

through a partition of the Ottoman Empire, he would have made at least
some contact with Russia. Yet there is no documentary record that indicates
Salisbury discussed this plan with any country other than Germany. After
the kaiser’s rejection of the idea on August 5, Salisbury never raised it again.
Taken together, these points suggest, at a minimum, that Salisbury was being
insincere, that it was correct for Germany to avoid becoming involved, and
that scholars who argue that it was a “missed opportunity for Anglo-German
cooperation” cannot substantiate their claim.64

A Second Plan for a Continental League

After rejecting Great Britain’s suggestion, Germany decided to move closer
to Russia. In the middle of October 1895, Russian Foreign Minister Lobanov
visited Berlin to express his concerns that the British might attempt to end
the Armenian problem though a surprise attack and occupation of the
Dardanelles. The Germans replied that they would not aid Great Britain, but
would instead provide Russia with moral support. Soon afterward, the kaiser
expressed the same sentiments to the British military attaché: “In the interests
of my country it would not do to follow all the moods of British policy and
to react to the vague hints and obscure utterances of British statesmen. This
attitude of England’s was forcing me to make common cause with France and
Russia.”65 The kaiser telegraphed the czar on November 8, noting the seri-
ousness of the situation in the Balkans and inquiring about Russia’s response.
Germany soon found itself reversing course, however. Russia offered only a
cold reply to the kaiser’s inquiry, making Germany think that Russia did not
place great value on the relationship between the two countries.66 Another
factor forced German reconsideration of their planned approach to Russia. The
new Austro-Hungarian Foreign Minister, Agenor Maria Adam Gołuchowski,
was Polish and liked Russia even less than his predecessors. Austria, too, thus
helped pull Germany back from that policy path. On November 14, Germany
suddenly informed Austria-Hungary that, if it felt its vital interests were
threatened, it could rely on German support.67
Even in the midst of messy policy correction, Germany did not abandon
its quest for a Continental League. Germany thought that, even with the
existence of the Franco-Russian alliance, it was still possible to unite all of
the continental great powers together in a display of strength against Great
Britain. Wilhelm II wrote to his chancellor on December 20, 1895, that
“England’s plan to play off the continental powers will not succeed; instead

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she will find the continent against her as a solid block.”68 Germany’s aim was
to force Great Britain into renewing its support for the Triple Alliance, rather
than to set themselves up in true opposition to the British. The Italian predic-
ament in Abyssinia simply strengthened German motives.
France, engaged in its own colonial competition with Italy in Africa,
aided the Abyssinian people in their fight, thus hastening Italian failure. On
December 7, 1895, an army of 30,000 Abyssinians defeated the Italians at
Amba Alagi. British assistance was late in coming; the Italian government
expressed its extreme displeasure at this in early November and threatened
to defect to the Franco-Russian alliance.69 Germany had two options for
preserving the Triple Alliance: to effect a conciliation with the Franco-
Russian alliance through the Italians, and thus form the faint outlines of a
Continental League, or to seek firmer ties with Great Britain in order to push
that country to increase its support for the Italians. Germany’s final decision
was to attempt both of these. First it would reconcile with the French and
Russians in order to stabilize the alliance with Italy and then use the prospect
of a Continental League to frighten the British and force them to rely on the
Triple Alliance. Holstein sketched the framework for this Continental League
in a memorandum: France would receive the Congo Free State, Russia would
be granted Korea. In exchange, France would make concessions to Italy by
ending its support for the Abyssinians, and Russia would guarantee the status
quo in the Balkans. Germany itself would acquire a naval and coaling station
in China (perhaps the island of Zhoushan). Areas connected to Britain’s core
strategic interests, such as India, Persia, and Egypt, would not be touched. In
order to maintain its hold over these regions, Great Britain would ultimately
be brought closer to the Triple Alliance.70
On the surface, the German plan appeared brilliant. In reality, however,
it suffered from three serious problems. First, it mistook the trends of the
times. France and Britain did not have any serious colonial disputes at the
moment (although they would in 1898) and Russian interest in the Balkans
had already diminished. Instead, as the construction of the Trans-Siberian
Railroad reached completion, Russian attention shifted to East Asia. It had
no desire for friction with Great Britain in Europe. This made it difficult for
Germany to find partners for its Continental League and risked turning the
whole enterprise into a single-handed challenge to Great Britain. Second, the
benefits it dangled as leverage were too small. Holstein’s designs were funda-
mentally different from Bismarck’s daring and farsighted concept of “giving
in order to take.” The support Germany offered France and Russia was insuf-
ficient, and they would thus naturally be unwilling to start a conflict with

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Great Britain to satisfy Germany. Third, it was not workable. Germany, in

order to demonstrate its “reconciliation” and “partnership” with France and
Russia, would have to hope for a conflict with Britain, during which it could
demonstrate its sincere intentions—but such a situation could easily result in
embarrassment instead. These mistakes became clear though the course of
events, and left German diplomacy with a defeat.

The Kruger Telegram

Germany’s hoped-for dispute with Great Britain soon arrived. On December

29, 1895, a subordinate of Cecil Rhodes and manager of Britain’s South Africa
Company named Leander Starr Jameson led a small band of armed men in
an invasion of the Transvaal, one of the two Boer Republics in South Africa.
They exchanged fire with the Transvaal Army; the resulting incident became
known as the Jameson Raid. News reached Berlin on December 31, and
Germany immediately invoked an 1884 treaty to demand British respect for
Transvaal’s independence.

Germany’s Reasons for Issuing the Kruger Telegram

Some scholars ascribe Germany’s move to consideration of its economic
interests in South Africa, take this dispute to reveal the intensification of
colonial conflict between Britain and Germany, and see an increase in
mutual distrust as a necessary consequence.71 Some of this is beyond doubt—
Germany did have significant economic interests in South Africa.72 Disputes
did exist between Britain and Germany. Yet, except for a mention of Germany’s
economic interests in a protest from German Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs Marschall to Great Britain, there is no evidence that Germany’s actions
were based on economic considerations. Moreover, even in Marschall’s
complaint, the emphasis was placed on European issues, while economic
interests merely were the preface. He stressed that Great Britain overestimated
the antagonism between the Triple Alliance and the Franco-German alliance,
and complained that Great Britain “assumed that [this antagonism] was
strong enough to allow British policy a free hand to look after its own interests
at the expense of other States.”73 German economic interests in the Transvaal
did not have much connection to Germany’s policy. Thus, this dispute was
not the necessary result of an intensified colonial struggle. Instead, it was to
a great degree instigated by Germany, largely to demonstrate a Continental
League and force the British to rely on the Triple Alliance. Hohenlohe, the
German chancellor, directed his ambassador in France to make full use of

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the opportunity provided by the Jameson Raid and to propose joint Franco-
German action. He wrote:

The basic idea of this plan for a continental understanding for certain
definite objects, is that the Triple Alliance has now no prospect of
dealing with England, as it used to do, by attracting her to combine in
the defense of the interests of the Triple Alliance and England…. Not
until England learns by experience that the chasm between the two
great continental groups is not unbridgeable, and that these groups,
once they are at one in a definite case, are strong enough calmly to
ignore England’s opposing interests and carry on…. After this real-
ization England may be content to abandon her present system of
driving the two Continental groups against each other, and may join
that one who would help her in protecting her road to India.74

But: how to demonstrate this Continental League to the British?

Germany’s leaders initially only wished to teach Great Britain a lesson,
but they did not fully consider exactly how to go about doing this. Marschall,
after presenting his protest to the new British ambassador, Frank Lascelles,
immediately hastened to Potsdam to report the news to the kaiser. Just before
this, the German consulate in Pretoria had sent a telegram claiming that
Transvaal President Paul Kruger had called for Germany to send marines to
protect German nationals.75 On December 31, the kaiser consented. That same
day, the German Foreign Ministry contacted Governor Hermann Wissmann
in Dar es Salaam to learn “whether he could send 400–600 men by way of
Delagoa Bay to protect German interests in the Transvaal, without risking
the security of German East Africa.” After Wissmann agreed, the German
government began seeking the consent of Portuguese colonial authorities
at Delagoa Bay.76 Germany’s actions thus slid toward armed intervention.
Yet events did not move in that direction. In order to avoid trouble, Kruger
withdrew his request for German soldiers. Germany had to search for another
way. On January 2, 1896, Germany transmitted a strongly worded note to
Great Britain saying that it would not permit any changes to Transvaal’s status.
By that time, word that Jameson’s small band had surrendered reached Berlin,
and the German Foreign Ministry needed to send a response quickly. After
changing their minds twice, Germany’s leaders finally decided at a meeting
on January 3 that Germany would “teach Great Britain a lesson” by sending
President Kruger a congratulatory telegram. The telegram was not sent until
almost noon. It read: “I express my sincere congratulations that, supported

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by your people, without appealing for the help of friendly Powers, you have
succeeded by your own energetic action against armed bands which invaded
your country as disturbers of the peace, and have thus been enabled to restore
peace and safeguard the independence of the country against attacks from the
outside.”77
Germany still held to its original notion of organizing a Continental
League. They presumed that, once Germany displayed a hard-line attitude
toward Great Britain, France, and Russia would fall into line. On January 1,
Marschall held talks with the French ambassador to Germany to urge joint
action. In accordance with Holstein’s design, however, Egypt would not fall
within the scope of any such cooperative action. The kaiser wrote the czar
on the following day, inviting Russia to work with Germany to preserve the
sanctity of international treaties.78 At the same time, Germany told Great
Britain that it would face a united continent in isolation unless it consented to
sign a secret alliance with Germany.79
At this moment, all of Germany’s mistaken judgments became evident.
France told Germany clearly that, if Egypt was going to be off limits, then
it would not take any joint action with Germany.80 Russia also reacted with
indifference. In response to the kaiser’s call, Russia simply responded that it
commended the German position and left it at that. Even Germany’s allies,
Austria-Hungary and Italy, did not support its policy of seeking conflict with
Great Britain. The Austrian prime minister announced that widening the
Anglo-German split was not in accord with his country’s own policies.

Anglo-German Antagonism Appears

Very quickly, the German government discovered that it would face British
wrath all on its own. Just as it had overestimated the support it would receive
from other continental powers, Germany had underestimated the response
of the British people to the Kruger Telegram. All of Britain’s papers published
strident denunciations of the German government, calling its actions a
“humiliation” and a “challenge” for Britain. The hatred of the British people
for Germany burst forth like a flood. Dockworkers in East London attacked
German workers and sailors, the windows of German stores were smashed,
German mercantile activity boycotted, and the German ambassador received
numerous threatening letters.81 Even more embarrassingly, the German notion
of frightening Britain into dependence on the Triple Alliance was openly and
summarily rejected in the British press. The January 11, 1896, edition of the
Spectator mocked this as being extremely stupid, because “kicking a Briton
into submission is a possible expenditure of energy, but even a man like the

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German Emperor, who seldom judges men aright, would hardly dream of
kicking him into friendship.”82 Commercial competition between the two
countries became grounds on which to criticize Germany. Some politicians
took up this call; former Prime Minister Rosebery, for instance, claimed in a
public speech on July 24, 1896, that “one very formidable rival…is encroaching
on us as the sea encroaches on the weak parts of the coast—I mean Germany.”
In the summer of 1896, concerns about a “German threat” plotting against
British commerce reached a fever pitch. Furthermore, Germany began to be
described as Britain’s most dangerous enemy. Competition between the two
countries for trade and colonies, and even the similarities between the two
countries (which had once been seen as evidence that the two were “natural
allies”), were used as proof. The Saturday Review ran an essay by an author
only identified as “a Biologist” that read:

Germany is most alike to England. In racial characters, in religious

and scientific thought, in sentiments and aptitudes, the Germans,
by their resemblances to the English, are marked out as our natural
rivals. In all parts of the earth, in every pursuit, in commerce, in
manufacturing, in exploiting other races, the English and Germans
jostle each other…. Were every German to be wiped out tomorrow,
there is no English trade, no English pursuit that would not imme-
diately expand. Were every Englishman to be wiped out tomorrow,
the Germans would gain in proportion. Here is the first great racial
struggle of the future: here are two growing nations pressing against
each other, man to man all over the world. One or the other has to
go; one or the other will go.83

Here it is worth analyzing these emotions in Britain. In all fairness, the

Kruger Telegram was not as provocative as British newspapers described it.
Instead, it can be seen entirely as piece of routine diplomatic business. Even the
calm, unemotional Bismarck had agreed with the idea of sending a congratu-
latory telegram. Half a month before the telegram was sent, Great Britain had
received a different challenge, in the form of U.S. President Grover Cleveland’s
intervention in a boundary dispute between British Guyana and Venezuela.
In the message he sent to Congress, Cleveland invoked the Monroe Doctrine,
claiming that it would “be the duty of the United States to resist by every
means in its power as a willful aggression upon its rights and interests, the
appropriation by Great Britain of any lands or the exercise of governmental
jurisdiction over any territory which, after investigation, we have determined

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of right belongs to Venezuela.”84 The tone of the Kruger Telegram was signifi-
cantly more moderate than Cleveland’s statement. Even British newspapers
acceded to that point. Yet Great Britain’s reaction to Cleveland was entirely
calm. What accounts for the difference?
Historians have deduced several reasons for this. First, the British paid
much more attention to South Africa, where they had large investments, than
to Venezuela. Second, pre-existing Anglo-German trade tensions had already
created emotions ready to combust in Britain. Third, South Africa was of
critical strategic importance to the British: without the Cape of Good Hope as
a maritime base, the British Empire could not exist.85 The first of these reasons
is clearly true on its face, but the second and third deserve closer attention.
The existence of Anglo-German trade tensions is indisputable, and British
attacks on Germany at this time focused specifically on this. Yet most of essays
and pamphlets that promoted the notion of trade competition appeared after
the Kruger Telegram. Previously, British public opinion had not taken much
note of the competition—so it is, at the very least, insufficient to see this as
a cause for popular anger. The third of these proposed reasons is factually
correct, but it cannot function as a reason per se. If it were a reason, the
violent reaction would have come from the British government rather than
the British people. In fact, however, the response of the British government
was much calmer than that of the population at large. It was only on January
8 that Salisbury ordered a “flying squadron” comprising two battleships, two
first-class cruisers, and two second-class cruisers. This fleet was not directed
at Germany, but was meant as an emergency response force for the British
Empire that could be sent anywhere in the world. Thus, we need to look
elsewhere for reasons.
British foreign relations had been rocky ever since the 1893 Siam Crisis.
A general sense of discontent over this existed throughout British society.
President Cleveland’s statement greatly intensified this sense of injury. The
common cultural origins of the two countries, however, played a role in
allowing the British to tolerate U.S. behavior. On a deeper level, U.S. indus-
trial production had already exceeded that of the British by 1890, making
expressions of British anger seem unwise. Yet these feelings still needed
expression—and the Kruger Telegram provided the perfect opportunity.
Joseph Chamberlain understood this, and wrote in a January 4, 1896, letter
to Salisbury that “it does not much matter which of our numerous foes we
defy, but we ought to defy someone.”86 Moreover, Germany’s naval strength at
that moment was even weaker than France's or Russia’s, so it was the safest,
and most appropriate, target for British hostility.

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Now it was time for Germany to bear the results of its mistaken judgments
and methods. The Continental League that Germany had imagined had
completely vanished, leaving Germany itself isolated and locked in a
worsening relationship with Great Britain. Germany began to backtrack.
On January 8, the same day Salisbury announced the creation of a “flying
squadron,” the kaiser wrote a letter of apology to his grandmother, Queen
Victoria. He claimed that Germany felt no hostility toward Great Britain and
that the motives for sending the Kruger Telegram stemmed entirely from a
desire to maintain the peace and protect German investors.87 A week after
the Kruger Telegram was sent, Holstein, the would-be architect of the Conti-
nental League, also hoped to bring this incident to a conclusion: “Let us be
happy therefore, if the affair ends as it seems to be doing—with a small diplo-
matic success for Germany and a little lesson in politics for England.”88 On
February 13, Marschall, who had been the most active proponent throughout
the whole process, claimed to the Reichstag that “Germany’s relations with
England had never for one moment ceased to be good, normal and friendly.”89
Nothing came of these efforts. Once feelings of enmity are expressed
between two great powers, the situation is no longer one which policy-
makers can control. British Prime Minister Salisbury maintained his calm
throughout, understanding that this was merely a German ploy to scare
the British into an alliance. This incident, however, fully exposed a deeper
level of conflict between the two nations. Previously, the two countries were
unable to reduce the distance between them because of differences in strategic
interests or unbalanced strategic needs; now, however, the element of emotion
had been added. This hostility existed between the peoples and the societies,
rather than between the governments. British domestic society was filled with
the notion of Germany’s challenge to Great Britain, while German society’s
aversion to Great Britain increased. Many Germans began to believe that
Great Britain was trying to block Germany’s rise as a great power. The main
result of the Kruger Telegram was that it brought this dynamic—the compe-
tition between a hegemonic state and a revisionist state—into the open. It
became part of the public consciousness in both societies. All future tensions
between the countries would be automatically placed within this framework.
British actions would be seen by the German public as reflecting jealousy or
a desire to encircle Germany; German moves would be understood by the
British public as challenges or threats. This vicious circle would limit the
ability of their governments to improve relations between the two countries.

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British Policies and their Effect on Anglo-German Relations

The outbreak of Anglo-German antagonism pushed Great Britain to take
two additional measures that would be disadvantageous to Germany. First,
it stepped up measures to negotiate solutions to conflicts with France and
Russia. Second, it adopted hard-line techniques to resolve the Egyptian
problem. In its negotiations with France and Russia, the British government
received a strong impetus from domestic political opinion. The Anglo-French
agreement on Siam was published on January 15, 1896. Britain had abandoned
its hope of retaining a “buffer zone” in the upper reaches of the Mekong River
(in 1893, both the government and public opinion demanded such a zone in
strong terms). A series of mutual contacts and explorations began between
the British and French governments. Salisbury admitted to Germany that he
desired to come to an understanding with France.90 The British simultane-
ously attempted to build closer ties with the Russians. Joseph Chamberlain
told the Russian ambassador on February 19 that no unbridgeable conflicts
existed between the two countries and an understanding between the two
countries would be a guarantee for peace and civilization. A few days later,
Conservative Party leader Arthur Balfour repeated the sentiments.91 British
efforts in this direction, however, were not fully successful.
In its attempts to resolve the Egyptian problem, however, Great Britain
created serious consequences for itself. On March 1, 1896, the Italians were
decisively defeated by the Abyssinians at Adowa. Intelligence reached the
British on March 10 that nearly 10,000 armed Mahdi fighters had attacked
the Egyptian-Abyssinian border town of Kassala. The British had the oppor-
tunity to reconquer the upper reaches of the Nile on the pretense of aiding
the Italians. As Salisbury explained in a March 13 letter to Egyptian consul-
general Lord Cromer, actions of the British cabinet were primarily designed
“to prevent dervishes from taking Kassala” and “the safest way of doing so was
to authorize an advance of Egyptian troops as far as Dongola.”92 The route of
the British Army exposed British intentions. The army set off from Egypt and,
if it had meant to help the Italians, it would have marched to Kassala by the
shortest route. Instead it ignored Kassala and began a long march down the
Nile to begin a military reconquest of Sudan.
The German government did not clearly recognize the true meaning of
these events. Conversely, as it was busy trying to repair the damage done by
the Kruger Telegram, it even welcomed Britain’s action. Even more important,
the Germans understood Britain’s move as assistance to Italy (which was also

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indirect help to Germany), and so offered the British critical support.93 Yet the
British move, in fact, represented a revolutionary change of strategic forces
in the Mediterranean. Originally, Britain hoped to restrain the Russians at
the Black Sea Straits and thus worked with the Triple Alliance (which essen-
tially meant Germany, as Britain had little hope that Austria-Hungary or Italy
could provide much assistance) to force the French to maintain neutrality.
At the same time, Great Britain needed Germany’s support in Egypt to resist
French pressure. Great Britain began to move away from a close deterrence to
a distant deterrence of Russia. On October 28, 1896, the chief of British naval
intelligence warned in a memorandum: “Do not imagine that any lasting
check can be put upon Russia by action connected with the Dardanelles...
the only way is by holding Egypt against all comers and making Alexandria
a naval base.”94 And thus the 20,000-man Anglo-Egyptian Army began its
march up the Nile in order to complete the actual occupation of the region.
This seemingly small military action’s impact on great power relations
was, in fact, revolutionary. As the British occupied the upper Nile, French
dreams of forcing a British withdrawal from Egypt by entering the Nile
Valley itself were smashed. In the end, this would force France to abandon its
colonial contest with Great Britain in Africa; conversely, however, this would
also remove a major obstacle to later Anglo-French cooperation and entente.
Britain found its position in the Mediterranean stabilized, and it no longer
needed any assistance. The balance between German and British strategic
needs fell further out of equilibrium, and one of the major strategic cards
played by Germany ever since unification in 1871 became worthless. Nothing
was left that could function as a stabilization device between Germany and
Great Britain. Further efforts to improve relations would soon reach their
limits, while frictions and conflicts would be intensified.

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 5

Institutions, Society, Popular Opinion,

and Grand Strategy
“We have been teaching the nation a taste for politics without
satisfying its appetite, and it has to seek its nourishment in the
sewers.”
Otto von Bismarck

S imilar to its foreign policies, Germany’s domestic politics underwent a

profound transformation after Bismarck’s fall from power. The multitude
of problems and conflicts created by rapid economic growth drove some
aspects of this transformation, while others originated from human factors,
particularly Kaiser Wilhelm II’s reorganization of Germany’s decision-
making processes. As a consequence of this transformation, Germany was
increasingly unable to meld its policymaking systems, society, public opinion,
and other elements into an effective grand strategy. Comprehensive planning
and coordination became impossible at any level. These domestic changes
combined with increasing foreign pressures into a form of “resonance” that
forced Germany to follow an increasingly hard-line policy in military and
diplomatic affairs. In the end, this degenerated into diplomatic recklessness
and military risk-taking.

Restricting Decision-making Institutions

Bismarck had designed the German Empire’s decision-making systems. His

primary consideration had been to maintain a balance between the Prussian
people, nobility, and monarchy, while preserving the leading role of the
Prussian royal house. He had allowed a separation between the political and
military decision-making systems, thus protecting the role of the monarch
as the only individual able to coordinate these two systems. The kaiser was
the center of authority. This extreme concentration of power naturally had
its uses. It also had costs. Among those was the extreme difficulty in coordi-
nating the various parts of the government. In addition, the coordinating and
Fragile Rise

mediating role of the kaiser turned out to be difficult to realize in practice.

While Bismarck was in office, his own personal authority, status, and repu-
tation had allowed him to function as the coordinator between the two
systems. After he left office, however, no one else was able to take up this
role. The separation between the two systems suddenly became very serious,
and the fissures extended down into all of the departments of government. In
the words of one German historian, “after Bismarck’s dismissal, the Prusso-
German pyramid of power no longer had a peak.”1 More significantly, not
only did Wilhelm II lack the ability to bridge the gap between the systems,
but also his attempts to change the policymaking structure to institute his
own “personal rule” intensified the pre-existing separation. Policymaking
authority became increasingly dispersed, and comprehensive coordination
became even less likely.

Systems of Political and Foreign Policy Decision-making

Wilhelm II’s own political inclinations were deeply contradictory. On the one
hand, he hoped to be seen both within and without Germany as an enlightened,
modern monarch. On the other hand, he revered the divine authority of
kings, and he wished to highlight the political importance of the monarchy.
As Bismarck himself commented, Wilhelm II’s policies were “rooted in the
conception that the king, and he alone, is more closely acquainted with
the will of God than other men, governs in accordance with the same, and
therefore confidently demands obedience.”2 Bismarck’s forced departure in
1890 allowed Wilhelm II to tighten his grasp on the reins of power and freed
him to seek personal rule. Wilhelm II may have desired power, but he lacked
the skill to wield it. Under the constitution in effect at the time, he could only
change the decision-making system and process. This, in reality, meant an
increase in the separation between different parts of the government in order
to stress the centrality of the monarch.
Wilhelm II transformed the policymaking process to a much greater
extent than he changed the policymaking institutions themselves. These
changes underscored his own importance; he frequently intervened directly in
government operations. A prime example of this was his decision to eliminate
a cabinet order of the Bismarck era that had required Prussian ministers to
submit their reports first to the minister president, who would then transmit
them to the king (who, of course, was also the kaiser of the entire empire).
This system allowed Bismarck (as he concurrently served as imperial chan-
cellor and Prussian minister president) to act as a coordinator. Bismarck thus
strongly supported this rule when he was in power. Wilhelm II, however,

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rescinded it soon after ascending to the throne, allowing Prussian ministers

to bypass the minister president and have direct contact with the kaiser. The
minister president’s coordinating functions vanished.
Wilhelm II’s policymaking process relied largely on a small group of
personal advisors. In order to demonstrate the absoluteness of imperial
authority, he tended to work with a small group of individuals with whom he
had tight personal connections, rather than going through official channels, in
order to make policy. In many cases, the functional organs of government had
little idea what was going on. Philipp, Prince of Eulenburg-Hertefeld, provides
an example. He never held the highest official posts in government (in 1890,
he was Prussian ambassador to Württemberg, in 1891 Prussian ambassador
to Bavaria, and from 1893 to 1902 German ambassador to Austria-Hungary),
but he had a close personal relationship with Wilhelm II that predated the
latter’s coronation. Thus, he exerted noticeable influence over his monarch.
The appointment of Bernhard von Bülow as secretary of state for foreign affairs
in 1897 and his later selection as chancellor were both based on the prince’s
recommendations. Holstein also gained direct access to the kaiser through
the prince’s political protection.3 When Germany began a naval rivalry with
Great Britain in the early twentieth century, Wilhelm II’s actions typified this
aspect of his rule. He did not work through the foreign ministry, but instead
directly reached out to his personal friends and Albert Ballin, the head of the
Hamburg-America Line, to send feelers to the British. The foreign ministry
was essentially left in the dark about these communications. On the whole,
key government agencies of Wilhelm II’s Germany often manifested a form of
systemic breakdown as standard policy practices were abandoned. They were
replaced by methods that were largely informal and casual in nature. Given
the already existing fractures within the German policymaking system, this
over-reliance on personal friends simply made communication and coordi-
nation between the various agencies of government even more problematic.
It merely intensified the problem of each agency doing its own thing in its
own way.
Additionally, Wilhelm II was often unwilling to play the role of final
arbiter in many concrete policy areas. This increased his direct interference
in the operational units of government, particularly the foreign ministry.
He enjoyed jotting orders and observations on the margins of diplomatic
documents and telegrams. Not only were these excessive in number, they
were also often highly emotional, strongly worded, and struck others as
superfluous. Beyond this, he often interfered in the actual management of
affairs. As the final decision-maker, he often made rash decisions that left the

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Fragile Rise

high officials under him uncertain about what to do. Adolf von Marschall,
secretary of state for foreign affairs for much of the 1890s, once complained,
“He interferes persistently in foreign policy. A monarch ought to have the
last word, but H[is] M[ajesty] always wants to have the first, and this is a
cardinal error.”4 Even more significantly, Wilhelm II simply did not possess
the ability to coordinate or to understand things as a comprehensive whole.
Intuition and emotion guided most of his interference in the operations
of government. Continuity of policy was completely missing. As he rashly
cast his influence through the various departments of government, he aided
the growth of competition and contention between those departments and
allowed the splits in the power structure to grow wider. This trend conversely
served to weaken the kaiser’s coordinating abilities. Thus, the personal rule
that Wilhelm II sought was actually only “limited to occasional, incoherent
interference with ministry-level work.”5 Wilhelm II’s function in German
policymaking was never the decisive one during his reign. After the 1908
Daily Telegraph incident, his direct interventions in the functioning of the
government noticeably diminished, and a number of important decisions
were made without his initiative.6

Military Policymaking Systems

Military policymaking was the area most impacted during the era of Wilhelm
II’s rule. He believed in the divine right of monarchs and strongly clung to the
traditions of the Prussian royal house, which held that the king had absolute
power over the military. Bismarck, upon his retirement, warned Wilhelm II
that “so long as you have this present officer corps, you can of course do as
you please. But when this is no longer the case, it will be very different for
you.” The kaiser, however, lacked any concept of how to wield his control
of the military effectively. He understood his command authority to mean
that he could use his power at any time. For instance, he believed that all
appointments of military officers should come from him. He thought that the
competition and the separation between the various parts of the military were
advantageous to strengthening his position as the final arbiter. He completely
failed to understand the deleterious effects of his personal rule on the func-
tioning of the entire system, or that in the end it would simply serve to weaken
his own power.
Within the German Army, the fragmentation of different systems and
agencies had already been a serious problem. After 1883, the General Staff
operated completely independently of the War Ministry, while the power to
appoint and dismiss army officers had devolved from the War Ministry to

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the Army Cabinet. These three equally-ranked entities—the General Staff, the
War Ministry, and the Army Cabinet—competed with one another and were
closed to each other. Germany never had a high-ranking, effective organization
equivalent to the British Committee of Imperial Defence (founded in 1902
with the prime minister as chair and a membership included high-ranking
army and navy officers, as well as representatives from other ministries) that
could coordinate common policymaking.7 Instead it had a Commission of
National Defense comprising only army and navy officers, which coordinated
army-navy war planning. Wilhelm II, however, abolished the committee in
1897 in order to concentrate power in royal hands. Germany thereby lost the
one mechanism that coordinated army and navy affairs, and the compart-
mentalization of the military worsened. The kaiser consistently opposed the
creation of any similar coordinating institution. After the 1904 Anglo-French
Entente, for instance, some naval officers advocated for a Strategy Committee
to be made up of the kaiser, important army and navy officers, and the chan-
cellor. This committee would coordinate plans for war against Britain and
France. Wilhelm II vetoed the idea.8
Simultaneously, Wilhelm II moved to strengthen his coterie in the
military. After taking the throne, he enhanced and reorganized the military
advisors attached to the royal house (maison militarie) and renamed it the
Royal Headquarters (in the past, this name had only been used in wartime).
In practice, this was an imperial retinue that included officers from the Army
Cabinet and the Navy Cabinet. They often accompanied him on journeys
and were responsible for recording and transmitting his military orders. The
responsibilities of this organization were completely amorphous. Given the
close relationship between the kaiser and members of this retinue, it acted
as an important tool for his interference in military policy and operations.9
Wilhelm II sought to tighten his connection to military leaders and to demon-
strate his authority to the army by granting the right of imperial audiences
to large numbers of high-ranking officers. During the time of Bismarck
and Wilhelm I, this number had been tightly controlled. Even the Chief of
General Staff had not received this right until the 1883 military reforms.
Under Wilhelm II, the leaders of the various military institutions as well as
close to fifty army and navy officers were granted direct access to the kaiser.
This served to intensify conflict within the Germany military and to make
high-level coordination even more difficult.10
Wilhelm’s meddling with the navy eclipsed his interference with all other
parts of the German military establishment. The Germany Navy’s history was
much shorter than the German Army’s. The competition between and mutual

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restraint of its internal subdivisions was also much less than that of the German
Army. Its decision-making and operational systems were also comparatively
well-functioning. After his coronation, Wilhelm II took a great interest in
naval construction and thus quickly reorganized the navy’s structure. First,
he copied the army and established a Navy Cabinet in March 1889 that would
be responsible for personnel issues. Its chief would also be tasked with trans-
mitting the kaiser’s orders to all of the relevant agencies and units. That same
month, he also split the Imperial Admiralty, which had been the highest naval
command center, into two separate units: the Imperial Naval High Command
and the Imperial Navy Office. The High Command was primarily tasked with
strategic orders and deployments, while the Navy Office was responsible for
the construction and maintenance of the fleet. This latter agency in theory did
not have the power to order deployments, but in fact it was quite powerful.
This bureaucratic reorganization did not fully satisfy Wilhelm II, however.
The concentrated power of the High Command over orders and planning
proved to be great enough to restrict the monarch’s absolute control over
the navy. After Alfred von Tirpitz’s appointment as head of the Navy Office
and state secretary of the navy in 1897, Wilhelm II (with Tirpitz’s support)
engaged in yet another naval reorganization. The Navy High Command was
abolished in 1899, and a Navy General Staff was established. Tirpitz, in order
to prevent the emergence of an independent, powerful General Staff along the
lines of the Prussian General Staff and preserve the status of the Navy Office,
implemented a series of restrictions on this new entity.
As a result, the Navy General Staff had only thirty-five officers serving
under it. Its functions were sharply restricted. In peacetime it was responsible
for strategic planning, training staff officers, conducting naval intelligence,
and drafting orders for the routes to be taken by deployed naval vessels. In
wartime, it would be responsible for all naval operations, subject to the kaiser’s
approval. In fact, however, during wartime, command authority would not
rest with the Navy General Staff, but with the fleet commander. Wilhelm II
himself took the title Supreme Admiral of the German Imperial Navy, and
in theory had oversight over all naval affairs. The combined effects of the
1889 and 1899 reorganizations seriously damaged the principle of command
unity that had been established in 1871. These reorganizations created
fissures between the various parts of the naval bureaucracy. On the surface, it
appeared to strengthen the throne, as only the kaiser had the power to oversee
all aspects of the navy. After the 1899 reorganization, Tirpitz promised the
kaiser, “Your Majesty can now be your own admiral.”11 In practice, however,

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 Institutions, Society, Popular Opinion, and Grand Strategy

the German Navy—just like the army and the government as a whole—had
fallen into a state of serious fragmentation.
Thus, ironically, the ancient power of the Prussian royal house to absolute
control over the military that Wilhelm II wholeheartedly sought to protect
through this process of bureaucratic fragmentation became increasingly
impossible to wield. Inside the Germany military establishment, each of the
major agencies constituted its own power center—and there was no organi-
zational coordination between them. In theory, this fractured environment
could have allowed power to concentrate in the hands of the kaiser, who could
function as the final arbiter. In practice, however, it would require powerful
abilities and a strong political foundation to dominate such an environment.
In the absence of these, the kaiser was downgraded to one of many centers of
power. In the end, this exacerbated the disorder within the decision-making
system, making grand strategy—or even the realization of the most basic
forms of coordination—increasingly impossible.

Societal Change and Cartelized Structures

If the influence of decision-making structures on grand strategy can be seen

as direct and visible, then the impact of social power structures (defined as the
distribution of power between the various major domestic interest groups)
should be understood as indirect and subtle. This distribution of power could
be manifested in explicit ways, such as the balance of power between political
parties in a representative assembly, or in implicit ways, such as using covert
activities to influence national politics. The distribution of power determines
the outcome of compromise and competition between the various interest
groups and, to a great extent, delineates the boundaries within which national
policy choices operate. The changes in German social power structures
between 1890 and 1914 is thus also a necessary angle from which to analyze
changes in German grand strategy.

Cartelization
Many scholars of international politics have explored the relationship between
social structures and grand strategy. Political scientist Jack Snyder has noted
that at times, countries embrace irrational, self-defeating strategies of over-
expansion. This trend is most easily manifested in countries with “cartelized”
social systems.12 “Cartelization” refers to the division of domestic society into
several large, evenly matched interest groups. No single interest group, in

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this type of society, is able to effectively dominate the other groups. Interest
groups thus must participate in a process of “log-rolling,” in which they accept
the policies of other groups in exchange for the unfettered right to pursue
their own goals. As a result, there are no natural barriers to expansion; the
risks associated with this, even if initially small, can accumulate over time. In
the end, this can lead to “strategic over-commitment and self-encirclement.”13
From the perspective of grand strategy, cartelized structures encourage each
interest group to go its own way, thus preventing effective, comprehensive
coordination, and ultimately making it more difficult to devise or maintain a
grand strategy.
Cartelized social structures are not only marked by the existence of
evenly matched large interest groups, but are also characterized by the lack
of a powerful center of authority. As Thucydides pointed out in his analysis
of Athenian overreach during the Peloponnesian War, Periclean Athens
had a power center, “what was nominally a democracy become in his hands
government by the first citizen.” After Pericles’s death, however, this center
vanished: “More on a level with one another, and each grasping at supremacy,
[his successors] ended by committing even the conduct of state affairs to the
whims of the multitude.”14 Thucydides’s ancient analysis criticized the harms
caused by a cartelized society—namely, that it lacks an effective power center
that could coordinate between major interest groups. This lack allowed the
balance between the interest groups to degenerate into political instability as
each group engaged in unrestrained political log-rolling.
A third characteristic of cartelized societies is imperfect domestic
political processes. Under a comparatively well-functioning political system,
the existence of the previous two characteristics might result in interest
groups holding each other in check throughout the policymaking process,
resulting in paralysis. With imperfect political institutions, however, the lack
of commonly accepted political procedures, combined with the significance
of public opinion for policymaking, can result in extremely negative conse-
quences. Samuel Huntington noted this in his discussion of “praetorian”
societies:

The phrase “praetorian society” is used to refer to such a politicized

society with the understanding that this refers to the participation
not only of the military but of other social forces as well.… In all
societies specialized social groups engage in politics. What makes
such groups seem more ‘politicized’ in a praetorian society is the
absence of effective political institutions capable of mediating,

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refining, and moderating group political action. In a praetorian

system social forces confront each other nakedly; no political insti-
tutions, no corps of professional political leaders are recognized
or accepted as legitimate intermediaries to moderate social group
conflict. Equally important, no agreement exists among the groups as
to the legitimate and authoritative methods for resolving conflicts.…
In a praetorian society, however, not only are the actors varied, but
so are the methods used to decide upon office and policy. Each group
employs means which reflect its peculiar nature and capabilities. The
wealthy bribe; students riot; workers strike; mobs demonstrate; and
the military coup. In the absence of accepted procedures, all these
forms of direct action are found on the political scene.15

In a certain sense, a praetorian society can be seen as an extreme example

of cartelization that has expanded throughout all aspects of society. Its results
are basically similar, namely that all kinds of forces and interest groups appeal
directly to popular opinion and directly engage in social mobilization in
order to exert pressure on the government. As a result, the nation is unable
to fashion a coherent, stable policy. It is this flaw in political decision-making
institutions that allows negative effects of the balance of power between
interest groups and the absence of a political center to fully emerge.

Social Economic Development and the Cartelization of German Social Structures

The social structures of Wilhelm II’s Germany are a classic case of the type
of cartelized society defined above. As argued in Chapter 1, German devel-
opment, and particularly German industrial development, occurred in an
extremely short timeframe. Thus Germany differed from countries such as
Great Britain and France that industrialized slowly over a long period of time.
These countries had ample time to eliminate their traditional ruling elites or
to absorb that strata into new socioeconomic structures. Germany, instead,
preserved its feudal-military elite in its entirety, and this group occupied the
“hard core” of stable political power. As the power of the commercial and
industrial capitalist classes grew, they began to demand greater political
power. This formed the struggle between two major interest groups at the time
of German unification. After unification, economic development and indus-
trial growth accelerated, and the superiority of industry and commerce over
traditional agriculture became ever more apparent. During the period from
1870 to 1874, agriculture, forestry, and fishing accounted for 37.9 percent of
the nation’s economic output, while industry provided only 29.7 percent. By

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the period from 1900 to 1904, the respective amounts were 29 percent and
36.6 percent. Industry had surpassed agriculture and its related occupations.16
These changes objectively strengthened the position of the capitalist class and
intensified the struggle for social and political power between the Junker
landlords and the industrialists.
This polarization between the Junkers and the industrialists, however,
cannot be called cartelization. In 1879, German domestic politics and
social structures experienced a significant change that could even be seen
as a watershed moment. That year Bismarck, in a bid to solidify the govern-
ment’s position, broke with his previous allies, the German liberals. Domestic
politics shifted toward conservatism, and economic policy from free trade
toward protectionism. Bismarck imposed high protective tariffs to satisfy the
demands of agriculture and industry (particularly heavy industry). Politically,
this caused the two interest groups that supported the tariff—the Junkers and
the industrial capitalists—to unite in the so-called marriage of iron and rye.
This alliance strengthened Bismarck as the representative of conservative
forces in domestic politics. Simultaneously, it dismantled the bipolar structure
that had existed between the Junkers and the industrialists.
This transformation, however, was only temporary. From the perspective
of the entire structure of society, this marriage of iron and rye only amelio-
rated tensions with German society, and this alliance held a leading role in
German politics only briefly. As the economy continued to develop, a new
change occurred in German structures of social authority, and new interest
groups began collecting strength and exerting their own political influence.
After the marriage of iron and rye, the political and economic demands of
industrial workers increased, the workers’ movement expanded, and the
Social Democratic Party grew powerful. These became important elements
of German political life. At the same time, differences within the industrial
capitalist class emerged. The interests of the manufacturing industry, the
textile industry, and the chemical industry diverged from those of the heavy
industries that demanded tariff protection. The former industries had greater
dependence on export markets for their products and desired to import raw
materials at a cheaper price. The conflict with the heavy industries over the
tariff continued to grow until they formed their own interest group in oppo-
sition to the marriage of iron and rye. German Catholics, living in a nation
with a Protestant majority and a state-supported Protestant church, formed
their own interest group and their own political party, the Centre Party. By
the later part of the Bismarckian era, several large interest groups (or perhaps
a stalemate between several large political forces) had been formed. These

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included conservatives (representing heavy industrialists and the Junker

class), the Social Democratic Party (representing industrial workers), the
Catholic Centre Party, and the liberals (based in the bourgeois class and
supported by commercial capitalists).
Yet, during Bismarck’s rule, this balance of power between interest groups
did not cause a cartelization of German social structures. Bismarck’s own
status and abilities allowed him to be the strong center of authority and the
effective coordinator that could stand in the middle of these forces and prevent
cartelization. Most important, he was able to organize and rank the demands
of these interest groups such that their long-term interests and those of the
nation-state were one and the same. Thus, the domestic political structure
did not fundamentally influence German foreign policy or grand strategy. It
should be pointed out, however, that Bismarck’s abilities had their limits, such
as his ineffective carrot-and-stick response to the workers’ movement, which
relied on providing social insurance and implementing an anti-socialist law.
In the Reichstag, he likewise had to resort to a variety of tactics to maintain
majority support for the government, such as the 1879 protective tariff, orga-
nizing a “cartel” out of conservatives and right-wing liberals, and others.
By the era of Wilhelm II, the cartelization of German social structures
had already reached an advanced state. First, Bismarck’s retirement removed
the pre-existing center of authority. Neither Wilhelm II himself nor any of
his chancellors were able to direct or coordinate the various interest groups.
The Reichstag provides an example. All of the chancellors who followed
Bismarck had difficulty earning majority support within the legislature. The
Caprivi chancellorship (1890–1894), seeking to change Bismarck’s repressive
policies toward the Social Democratic Party and the communist movement,
promoted social policies, abolished the anti-socialist law, and legalized the
Social Democratic Party. The goal was to gain the support of leftists and the
Social Democratic Party. This policy incited the opposition of conserva-
tives (with the marriage of iron and rye at the center). The split between the
Caprivi government and the conservatives led to its fall from power. During
the Hohenlohe era (1894–1900), the government enacted a policy of rallying
together, aimed at uniting capitalists to resist the Social Democratic Party. The
Catholic Centre Party ultimately split with the other pro-capitalist groups,
bringing the policy to a crashing end. Bülow’s chancellorship (1900–1909)
also saw the construction of a fragile alliance between liberals and conserva-
tives, the so-called Bülow Bloc, which followed a policy of oppressing leftists
at home and a “strong policy” overseas. Early on, this alliance had a level of
stability, but later the appetites of the relevant interest groups proved greater

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than Bülow’s ability to satisfy them, leading to a slow dissolution.17 After the
Daily Telegraph incident, the Bülow Bloc disintegrated. Liberals split into
several groups, with the left wing forming its own political party, the Progres-
sives, that immediately allied with the Social Democrats. During Theobald
von Bethmann-Hollweg’s time in office (1909–1917), party politics and
legislative politics became even more unmanageable. In the 1912 Reichstag
elections, conservatives won 57 seats, right-wing liberals (the National Liberal
Party) 45, the Centre Party 91, left-wing liberals 42, and the Social Democrats
110.18 None of the realistic combinations could form a majority in a house
of 397. The Reichstag was thus deadlocked, and the government could not
depend on majority support in the Reichstag. As a result, social legislation
stopped.19
Parliamentary deadlock was only one of the manifestations of the entire
social power structure. In fact, after Wilhelm II ascended to the throne, the
balance of power between the various large interest groups became even more
deadlocked. This received its impetus from the continued development of the
German economy and society, particularly industrialization and urbanization.
Between 1890 and 1913, German industrialization continued its quick pace of
development, and the importance of industry compared to agriculture only
increased. The ratio of capital invested in the two sectors illustrates this. In
1890, 34 billion marks were invested in industry, as opposed to 11.5 billion
in agriculture, making a ratio of 2.95:1. By 1910, investments were 43 billion
marks and 10 billion marks respectively, for a ratio of 4.3:1. Urbanization
followed industrialization at a similarly rapid pace. In 1890, 57.5 percent of
the German population lived in the countryside and 42.5 percent in towns
and cities. By 1900, the urbanized population had eclipsed the rural popu-
lation, with 45.5 percent of the population in the countryside and 54.4 percent
in the urban areas. By 1910, only 40 percent of the population remained in
the countryside, while 21.3 percent of the population lived in large cities and
another 27.4 percent in medium-sized cities.20
Generally speaking, such rapid industrialization and urbanization
are major forces promoting the transformation of social structures. These
processes benefit newly emergent classes and accelerate the decline of old
classes. In Germany, however, these developments were limited to the economy
and society, while politics remained distorted by the imperial political system.
Although the economic and social position of the Junker landlord class had
been eroded, its traditional political position and authority had been, in great
measure, preserved. The capitalist and working classes had grown strong, but
a glass ceiling that prevented the rise in their social status existed. Working-

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class political parties were, in particular, seen as alien, enemy forces. As indus-
trialization and urbanization advanced, these political distortions became
ever more pronounced and the pressures inside German society became
ever more intense. In the final era of Wilhelm II’s reign, the various interest
groups were squeezed into a deadlocked balance-of-power situation created
by their own strong pressures. This stasis persisted for a relatively long period
that created not only the political problems of the Wilhelmine era, but also
contributed to the collapse of the Weimar Republic and the rise of Nazism in
the 1930s.

Imperfect Political Processes and the Cartelization of German Social Structures

Domestic German political processes and institutions were imperfect in
comparison to those of early industrializing nations such as Great Britain.
Particularly, as industrialization and urbanization created significant wealth
and capabilities in society, the political system proved unable to control or
direct these new forces. Although the state tolerated the political demands
of ordinary people, it lacked rational processes and pathways to guide them.
Universal suffrage and the legislative system were far from sufficient. The
foundations for interaction between the people and the government were
irregular. This ultimately produced a variety of extra-institutional methods
and pathways, thus further degrading the political process. As Bismarck
wrote ruefully, “We have been teaching the nation a taste for politics without
satisfying its appetite, and it has to seek its nourishment in the sewers.”21
The collective manifestation of these extra-institutional methods was the
large number of political, nongovernmental organizations. The limited powers
of the Reichstag meant that political parties could not play a truly significant
role in the political life of the German Empire. This led the interest groups
to directly construct popular organizations to engage in social mobilization
(which consisted of using propaganda and agitation to create popular opinion
for a particular political or economic purpose) and exert political pressure on
their behalf. These political forces directly originating from society have been
called Germany’s “secondary system of social power.”22 These organizations
had already emerged in large numbers during Bismarck’s time. Examples of
this include two organizations founding in 1876, the Central Union of German
Industrialists, established by manufacturers, and the Association of Tax and
Economic Reformers, organized by farmers east of the Elbe River. These two
groups can be seen as the concrete social manifestation of the marriage of iron
and rye. The publicity, organizational, and social mobilization efforts of these
two groups played a profoundly important role in the enactment of the 1879

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protective tariff. Beyond groups such as these, which reflected major interest
groups, smaller, more complex groups also appeared in the Bismarckian era.
These groups typically promoted specific issues. In 1882, for example, pro-
colonial intellectuals and merchants established the Colonial Union. Within
two years, it had over 9,000 members, had branches in 43 locations, and
had received financial support from banking and heavy industrial interests.
Leaders from the academic world, such as Adolf Wagner, did publicity work
for them.23 A Society for German Colonization was founded in 1884 and
the two pro-colonial societies merged in 1887 to form the German Colonial
Society, which created a more unified, influential voice for the promotion of
overseas expansion and the seizure of colonies. Each group’s mobilization of
public opinion caused Germany’s originally conflict-laden political system to
take on even greater pressures. During Bismarck’s chancellorship, however,
this was controllable. During his 1884–1885 foray into colonial expansion, for
example, Bismarck kept these groups on a tight leash, using them at times and
repressing them at others, leaving his policy basically free from their inter-
ference.
This situation changed greatly during Wilhelm II’s rule. First, the number
and scale of the interest groups increased dramatically. Examples of influ-
ential groups with large memberships included the 1893 German Agrarian
League, the Industrial League (which broke away from the Central Union
of German Industrialists in 1895), the 1900 Trade Treaty Organization, and
others. Second, organizations became even less scrupulous in their social
mobilization efforts and built stronger bonds with the political parties. This
allowed the interest groups to become organic combinations of socioeco-
nomic foundations, social organizations, and political parties, thus strength-
ening their ability to act in domestic politics. The German government was
fundamentally unable to control these organizations and was often forced
into a reactive mode. Taking conservative forces as an example, when Chan-
cellor Leo von Caprivi attempted to lower German tariffs in order to build
a Central European trade zone that would integrate the German, Austrian,
and other continental economies, large farmers in the East were virulently
opposed and formed the 1893 Agrarian League. This group came to wield ever
more influence over the leadership of conservative political parties, causing
the social foundation of the conservatives and their political parties to form
a tight, compact systemic whole. In this end, this caused Caprivi’s policy to
be abandoned. Thus, “Prussian conservatism in the age of Frederick Wilhelm
IV had been a political worldview and even in the Bismarckian era it still

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embodied an intellectual tradition, but by the Caprivi period it was purely an

interest group.”24
During Wilhelm II’s reign, another sort of social organization with
definite political objectives also developed. The interest groups represen-
tative of this kind of organization had common political agendas but lacked
common socioeconomic bases and thus could encompass different social
classes. The rapid development of this kind of group was an important char-
acteristic of domestic politics during the era of Wilhelm II. In 1891, the Pan-
German League was founded. This was a right-wing extremist organization
that had noticeable influence on domestic public opinion and foreign policy.
The philosophy of its founder, Ernst Hasse, essentially represented the organi-
zation’s political program. His views were: First, that the human ethnic groups
are not equal and the German people should be in the leading role. Second,
all people of German descent should form a single nation-state, which the
current German Empire was not, as over a million people not of German
descent lived inside Germany and over a million Germans lived outside of
Germany’s borders. Third, global competition was not between states but
between ethnicities, thus Germany need to strengthen itself, otherwise, “How
can the 53 million Germans in the German Empire hope to compete with
more than one hundred million Anglo-Saxons, Yankees, and Russians?”25
This extreme nationalistic perspective propelled the Pan-German League to
the forefront of those advocating German colonial expansion and hard-line
policies. The league significantly influenced domestic public opinion on a
number of international disputes. In the First Morocco Crisis, for instance,
the chairman of the league, Heinrich Class, wrote a pamphlet entitled, “Is
Morocco Lost?” that emphasized the importance of Morocco for Germany
and stirred up popular emotions. During the Second Morocco Crisis, the
league advocated annexing a portion of Morocco and was able to bring strong
political pressure to bear on the government. Thus, although the league’s
membership was never very large, it played an important role in German
politics. As one leader of the Social Democrats pointed out, it set the direction
for many other social groups.26
Other examples of this type of organization included the Navy League
and the Army League. The Navy League, founded in 1898, had deep connec-
tions to government and industrial concerns. It was created singlehandedly by
Alfred von Tirpitz, state secretary of the Imperial Navy Office, with the sole
objective of gaining greater popular support for the construction of a large
blue-water navy. Soon after its establishment, this organization boasted more

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than 80,000 members. Krupp, the arms manufacturer, provided over a million
marks per year in funding.27 Through the publication of pamphlets, holding
of mass meetings, and collecting opinions or writings from famous people,
the Navy League successfully mobilized German society, thus transforming
the German people, who lacked a sea-going tradition, into enthusiasts for the
ocean and the navy. It also transformed the construction of a large fleet into a
popular movement. Nothing similar existed for the army. Several retired army
generals, seeking to change this situation, formed the Army League in 1912.
In structure and activities, it modeled itself on the Navy League. It adopted
forceful slogans pointing to German “encirclement” and claiming that “war
is imminent” in order to increase public support for the army and to gain a
greater share of military expenditures for the army. By the outbreak of World
War I, the Army League had grown to 36,000 members.
In conclusion, German social structures during the age of Wilhelm II
displayed all of the characteristics of cartelization. Faced with this state of
affairs, the comparatively weak government had no ability to plan compre-
hensively or to coordinate the large interest groups and political forces.
Domestic politics descended into stasis, under which it became impossible
to form an overarching grand strategy, Foreign policy vacillated directionless
under the influence of various interest groups and political forces. Most
critically, these various social organizations would simultaneously pursue
contradictory interests. Not only did this result in policies that worked at
cross-purposes, but it also served to displease other countries that were in a
position to take offense. For example, naval construction was aimed at Great
Britain, and thus the interest groups associated with it hoped to reconcile with
France and Russia in order to concentrate on Great Britain; liberals and Social
Democrats hated Russia and tended to seek an accommodation with Great
Britain; finance capitalists hoped for a strong relationship with France, while
pro-colonial forces advocated the containment of France; and so on. These
factions combined together to form the worst possible outcome: each group
exerted itself in pursuit of its own interest, leading to all attempts to reconcile
with any one foreign power to be vetoed by parties opposed to that power. The
end result was “excessive expansion” in all directions. The British historian A.
J. P. Taylor’s analysis of the interconnection between Germany’s foreign policy
problems and its domestic problems points to this squarely:

Each group in Germany had a single enemy and would have liked to
make peace with the others. But Germany lacked a directing hand
to insist on priorities. It was easier to acquiesce in all the aggressive

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impulses and to drift with events. Germany lay in the center of

Europe. She could use this position to play off her neighbors against
each other, as Bismarck had done and as Hitler was to do; or she
could abuse her position to unite her neighbors against her, not
from policy, but by having none…German policy, or rather lack of
it, made the Triple Entente a reality.28

The Impact of Public Opinion

The late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries were a period of enormous
social and economic change and development in Germany. Due to the
increases in material wealth and technology, ordinary Germans felt more
powerful and had high expectations for the future. Many Germans truly
believed that the skills, intelligence, and hard work of the German people
would allow Germany to become a world power. Large numbers of people
hoped to contribute to this process. In other words, Germany was in an era
of fervent passion. The feelings of many Germans could be represented by
the words of the wife of a famous German writer who recalled in a letter to a
friend, fifty years later, “My thoughts always wander back to that time when
you and my husband co-operated in that fine effort: work for the Grössere
Deutschland, peaceful expansion and cultural activities in the Near East…
Vienna the gateway for these policies. Hamburg the portal to the seas and
other continents.… A peaceful Germany, great, honored, respected…Our
methodical thought should be translated into technology and enterprise.”29
Eras of passion, however, are also often eras in which the temptations of
irrationality loom large. A particularly prominent manifestation of this was
the increasing power of the German people to voice opinions about foreign
policy. As a result, the German government’s strategic policymaking could
only accede to the demands of the people and follow a hard-line policy.
Why did this happen? There were several important causes. First, politics
had been democratized. Democratic politics had become a powerful tide
sweeping across the Western world by this time, and Germany was no exception.
Yet Germany’s political system, unlike those of other Western countries, could
only provide a few limited outlets for this pressure. Thus, popular enthusiasm
for political participation and deliberative politics could only exist within an
irregular framework. Second, the use of public opinion became an effective
political tactic. It became a useful political tool for all kinds of political forces.
As argued above, German society presented a classic case of cartelization in

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which various powerful interest groups were balanced against one another.
It was only through the direct mobilization of public opinion to pressure
the government that these groups could achieve their goals. These methods
of deliberately influencing, organizing, and promoting public opinion and
popular sentiments quickly became ordinary in domestic politics, thus magni-
fying the impact of public opinion. Third, German public opinion preferred
hard-line stances. If it had just been a case of public opinion influencing policy-
making, the problem probably would not have been that significant. The
situation in late nineteenth and early twentieth-century Germany, however,
was that the influence of public opinion pushed in the direction of a pref-
erence for expansion and support for expansionist and hard-line policies.
Any retreat or sign of weakness in foreign policy became increasingly unac-
ceptable. Public influence of this sort undoubtedly removed flexibility from
policymaking, making Germany, as a rising power, increasingly unable to
respond to its complex security environment. The first two of these factors
have already been discussed elsewhere, so the following discussion will
primarily focus on analyzing the preference within popular opinion for
expansion and hard-lines.

Social Ideologies and Popular Opinion

The preference of German public opinion for expansionism and hard-line
policies is tightly linked to prevailing social ideologies. In Chapter 3, this book
analyzed the three major social ideologies of the Bismarckian era: nation-
alism, democracy (also called liberalism), and imperialism. By Wilhelm II’s
reign, democracy as an ideology had experienced little change, but nation-
alism and imperialism had developed substantially. Both had become deeply
intertwined with notions of Social Darwinism and filled with an aggressive
spirit. Nationalism and imperialism themselves became fused into a single
ideological system that began to manifest extremist tendencies. The 1891
Pan-German League, an extreme nationalist group that advocated a Greater
Germany comprising all people of German descent, provides an example.
This group pointed to the 1871 unification as merely a temporary stop on
the road to building this larger state, and advocated the use of war to resolve
the “living space” problem of the German people. The 1911 book Germany
and the Next War, by General Friedrich von Bernhardi, serves as a typical
example of this marriage of extreme nationalism with extreme imperialism.
This book argued that a healthy people needed to continually engage in terri-
torial expansion in order to settle its excess population. Conquest was the only
means for accomplishing this; it was a law of necessity. Germany had only one

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option: “we must fight it out, cost what it may.”30 Ernst Basserman, leader
of the National Liberal Party, approvingly commented that the “twentieth
century is dominated by the imperialist idea…the concept of international
brotherhood and the idea of disarmament are increasingly forced in the back-
ground by harsh reality.”31
In addition to these extremists, radical nationalist and imperialist calls
emanated from intellectuals and university professors. A large number of
famous scholars favoring “pan-Germanism” entered these ranks, allowing
these extreme social ideologies to be cloaked in terms like “science” and
“rationality.” The effect on Germans from all walks of life was profound. This
may look like an extremely strange phenomenon: intellectuals, a group that
should help society become more rational, instead became the forerunners
of mass irrationality. The irrationality of the intelligentsia allowed the irratio-
nality of the masses to also be cloaked in the term “science” and allowed it to
be “rationalized.” In the end, this forced the few clear-sighted, rational people
in functional government departments into retreat.
Even scholars as influential as Max Weber held pan-Germanist beliefs.
Weber, along with pan-German historian Heinrich von Treitschke, served
as important spokespeople for nationalism and imperialism. They proposed
that German history had three different evolutionary stages: the eighteenth-
century expansion of Brandenburg into Prussia, the nineteenth-century
expansion of Prussia into the German Empire, and the (just beginning)
twentieth-century expansion of the German Empire into a world power. In
an 1895 lecture at the University of Freiburg, Weber told his audience, “We
have to grasp that the unification of Germany was a youthful prank which
the nation committed in its olden days and which would have been better
dispensed with because of its cost, if it were the end and not the beginning of
a German ‘Weltmacht-politik.’”32 Other famous intellectuals who advocated
nationalism and imperialism included the liberal Friedrich Naumann and the
moderate conservative historian Hans Delbrück. Essentially all of the Second
Reich’s major scholars were involved in nationalist and imperialist propa-
ganda. The more than 270 so-called fleet professors who supported expanded
naval construction (itself associated with imperialism) were essentially a
“Who’s Who?” of German intellectuals.
This propaganda deeply affected people’s minds because it matched the
predominant attitude of the times. It had taken less than forty years after
unification for Germany to become the strongest, most technologically
advanced power on the European continent. The gap remaining between
Germany and Great Britain, the reigning hegemon, narrowed daily. Germans,

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including the lowest class of factory workers, strongly embraced the concept
of “German” ethnic identity and felt pride in their country’s rapid rise. Yet
post-Bismarckian Germany had experienced real setbacks in international
politics. The contrast between these two realities caused Germans to desper-
ately prove their strength to the world and made them ever more willing to
accept Social Darwinistic notions of “survival of the fittest.” Thus, at least
in Wilhelm II’s Germany, imperialism as a social ideology that promoted
external expansion was not what we might think that term would imply—a
trend promoted by monopoly capitalists and groups with overseas interests.
Instead, it was a social ideology tightly intermeshed with nationalism that
included the government and interest groups, intellectuals and the general
public, those with direct interests at stake and those without. Some historians
term this “social imperialism.”33
Once this societal environment is formed, it produces a strong selection
effect: political programs that complement it succeed, while those that do
not (or that oppose it) are repressed. When the final expression of imperi-
alism and nationalism becomes “patriotism,” this selection effect becomes
even more pronounced. As a leader of the pan-German movement said, the
desire “‘to co-operate for the honor and greatness of the fatherland” should
animate the entire political spectrum: “the Conservative and the Left Liberal,
the National Liberal and the Centre-man.” 34 Once patriotism had become a
political trend that directly appealed to public opinion and demanded that
all take a public stance, support for a hard-line in foreign policy and foreign
expansion increased. Advocacy work by the Pan-German League and other
extremist organizations only contributed to this trend. Any person or group
who openly proposed either compromise with foreign countries (particularly
with Great Britain) or the slowing of overseas expansion could be labeled as a
“traitor” or as “soft.” Any political force that did not wish to commit political
suicide had to accommodate itself to this reality.
After the beginning of the twentieth century, the major political parties
that had opposed the Weltpolitik and objected to the naval armaments race
slowly began to revise their positions. When the Catholic Centre Party, for
example, began to move closer to the government in 1907, the party newspaper,
party leaders, and various bishops argued that “we Catholics are not second-
class citizens, but first-class patriots.” The left wing of the German liberals
(which would later become the Progressive People’s Party) had encountered
the same issues. This party’s stance on the issues was similar to that of the
Social Democrats: they opposed the naval arms race and favored repairing
relations with Great Britain. In an era of overflowing patriotic sentiment,

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however, the party assumed that it would be politically dangerous to be open

about its true beliefs. As a result, the party newspaper and public speeches
became suffused with a “patriotic” tint. The largest socialist party in the
Western world, the German Social Democratic Party, came under increasing
pressure as well, although it maintained its opposition to war and foreign
expansion. The national consciousness of the working class, the party’s very
base, had grown in tandem with its class consciousness. The appeal of patri-
otism to the working class thus continued to expand. August Bebel, leader of
the Social Democrats, was forced to explain on numerous occasions that the
party was not unpatriotic and that it would support the nation in a crisis.35
With the outbreak of World War I, the words of one working-class leader in
the party demonstrated the pressure that so-called patriotism sweeping the
nation had brought to bear on the German workers' movement:

The conflict of two souls in one breast was probably easy for none
of us. [It had lasted] until suddenly—I shall never forget the day
and hour—the terrible tension was resolved; until one dared to be
what one was; until—despite all principles and wooden theories—
one could, for the first time in almost a quarter century, join with a
full heart, a clean conscience and without a sense of treason in the
sweeping, stormy song: Deustschland, Deustschland über Alles.36

The Post–Great Man Effect and Popular Opinion

Great men and powerful politicians often leave voids in their wake. These
voids exist not just in the structures of political authority, but in thoughts
and concepts as well. For a great power during its rise, the departure of a
leader who led the country to strength and prosperity will lead not only to
an increased admiration for that figure, but also to idealization. The policies
implemented by that leader, particularly the hard-line elements of his foreign
policy, will often be retained, while the accommodating and compromising
aspects of the policy will be dropped. These policies become part of the
people’s spiritual support and the foundation for expressing dissatisfaction
with the current government.
In Wilhelm II’s Germany, the post–Great Man effect was fully evident
in the national psychology. Bismarck had acquired many political enemies
during his long time in office and thus was not met with much popular
support at the moment Wilhelm II forced him into retirement. Conversely,

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the power struggle between the two men made the new kaiser appear strong
and decisive. With the passage of time, however, the aged former chancellor,
due to his immense contributions to German unification, became a hero of the
German nation and a symbol of Germany’s rise. The ineffective foreign and
domestic policies of the new kaiser and his new chancellors soon provided a
contrast with this image and served to enhance the deification of Bismarck.
As one of Bismarck’s biographers commented,

At first, hundreds of thousands of Germans had regarded the

dismissal of Bismarck as a somewhat harsh but salutary action, indic-
ative of the emperor’s genius and tact. Now it was plain to everyone
that [Wilhelm II] had neither the one nor the other. Consequently,
the last feelings of hostility toward Bismarck in the country were
dispelled by an outburst of popular acclamation, such as had never
before greeted, in Germany, any man who wore neither a crown nor
a uniform.37

Adulation of Bismarck and lack of confidence in the kaiser and his

government were brought together by the 1896 “Bismarck revelations.”
After Bismarck’s departure, German diplomacy had experienced numerous
setbacks: Russo-German estrangement, the Franco-Russian alliance, and the
worsening of relations with Great Britain caused by the Kruger Telegram.
Together, these had combined to isolate Germany within Europe. In September
1896, the new Russian czar, Nicholas II, visited Germany and met with the
kaiser at Breslau. The kaiser and the German Foreign Ministry were excited
about these developments and imagined that they could use the occasion to
restore ties with Russia and break the Franco-Russian alliance. This would
redeem their foreign policy. The czar, for his part, deliberatedly concealed his
next destination from his German hosts. Thus, when he was warmly greeted
in Paris the next month, the German government’s illusions were shattered.
Moreover, as French, German, and Russian newspapers pointed out, the czar’s
trip to Paris represented a significant change in European diplomacy. German
newspapers in particular pointed out that this change should be seen as a
victory for France and a defeat for Germany. Media criticism soon directed
itself at the government. At this moment, the retired Bismarck began using
the media to attack the government, revealing the origin of the whole slew of
post-1890 foreign policy failures: the split with Russia.

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The Hamburg News, perhaps under Bismarck’s influence, was the first to
print an editorial critical of the current situation. It claimed that Germany’s
international isolation and encirclement by two hostile powers was a “conse-
quence of the fact…that during the first year of his administration Count
Caprivi had given up the well cultivated relations with Russia and Austria-
Hungary of the old course as being ‘too complicated.’” On October 24, 1896,
Bismarck himself announced in the Hamburg News that he had negotiated
a Reinsurance Treaty with Russia that his successors had failed to renew—
and thus fault for the worsening relationship between the two countries lay
with Germany, not Russia. Before this statement, the existence of the Rein-
surance Treaty (as well as its annulment) had been government secrets. Once
this secret was disclosed, it created a controversy in Germany and a heated
debate began in the print media. The majority of newspapers, including right-
wing and moderate papers, criticized the government. Only those Social
Democratic Party and other left-wing papers that saw czarist Russia as a reac-
tionary force expressed support for the government.38 This controversy had
a powerful impact. By linking for the first time veneration of Bismarck with
concerns about the government and the royal house, the monarchy’s authority
sustained a blow. In a letter to Prince Eulenburg, Holstein wrote, “People no
longer take the sovereign seriously. This is a great peril. For when the hour
of danger comes, when the question arises: ‘Is the Emperor a man who can
be depended upon?’—how will that question be answered, in Germany and
outside it?”39
When Bismarck passed away in 1898, the post–Great Man effect inten-
sified. By this point, it was no longer expressed solely in popular feelings and
actions—the German government involved itself, too. The government hoped
to change Bismarck’s image through active publicity efforts. In particular, it
hoped to redeem itself from the impressions left by the “Bismarck revelations”
two years earlier. At the same time, authorities wanted to create momentum
behind their Weltpolitik. In the words of one historian:

Official initiatives naturally succeeded best where they exploited

and manipulated spontaneous and undefined grassroots emotion,
or integrated themes from unofficial mass politics.… The German
government, countless tons of marble and masonry to the contrary,
failed to establish the Emperor [Wilhelm] I as father of the nation,
but cashed in on the unofficial nationalist enthusiasm which erected

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"Bismarck columns” by the hundred after the death of the great

statesman.40

These activities did little to repair the government’s image, but they did much
to simplify Bismarck’s image. All of Bismarck’s immense efforts during the
period of unification were reduced to his determination during three dynastic
wars and his post-unification foreign policy was reduced to the pursuit of a
hard-line policy. His numerous compromises, his patience, and his detailed,
flexible planning were all completely forgotten.
Even the publication of Bismarck’s political last will and testament, his
Thoughts and Reminiscences, did not change this. In these memoirs, Bismarck
spared no effort in reminding Germans to pay attention to the hidden dangers
created by German power and in emphasizing the need for action. Yet the
German people and government did not seem to notice. During his life,
Bismarck made countless public speeches and many famous utterances, yet
after he was gone it seems that only three were frequently repeated by the
German people and organizations such as the Pan-German League: “We
shall have to serve as the anvil if we do nothing to become the hammer,”41
“Not by speeches and votes of the majority, are the great questions of the time
decided—that was the error of 1848 and 1849—but by iron and blood,”42 and
“We Germans fear God, but nothing else in the world.”43 The last of these
three quotes illustrates the problem clearly, as many Germans only knew
that particular sentence but did not know the sentence that Bismarck had
uttered after it: “and it is the fear of God, which lets us love and foster peace.”
Bismarck’s political legacy became ever more divorced from his original
intent, even as the German people expressed their admiration and nostalgia
for him. His name became synonymous with hard-line policies and the will-
ingness to use force. He became an important source for the preference for the
hard-line in German public opinion and a weapon for the political parties, the
interest groups, and the general public to attack the government.

Public Opinion and the Government

During the era of Wilhelm II, public opinion exerted a significant influence on
the government. In general, German policymakers were extremely sensitive
to public opinion. Compared with the relatively mature political structures
of other Western capitalist countries such as Great Britain and France, the
German political system was a mixed one that lacked effected pathways
or procedures for making use of popular political power or responding to
the political demands of the masses. As the scope of popular participation

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in government increased (by 1910, eleven million people casts votes in the
election), Germany’s weakness in this area became increasingly evident.44 As a
result, the ability of the German government to handle the pressure of public
opinion was significantly less than was the case in older capitalist countries
such as Britain and France. Even more important, during the age of Wilhelm
II, domestic conflicts continued to accumulate, yet the prestige of the kaiser
and the government remained low; collectively, these trends increased
popular criticisms of government policy and image and reduced the ability of
the government to handle public opinion.
This process, of course, was not unidirectional. In fact, the influence of
so-called public opinion on the government developed slowly and was the
product of mutual interactions between the government and public opinion.
In the years around 1895, German public opinion had yet to settle into a
concrete form, and its impact on government policy was naturally still indis-
tinct. The Kruger Telegram provides a good example of this. At first, German
newspapers praised it, and the German Colonial Society and the Pan-German
League passed motions in support of it. Once its drawbacks became evident,
however, public opinion shifted and the image of the government dropped
sharply among the people.45
This situation began to change after 1897. This is the year that Germany
began a high-profile implementation of a so-called world policy (Weltpolitik)
that emphasized overseas colonial expansion and the construction of a High
Seas Fleet. A major goal of this policy was to use diplomatic achievements to
revive the images of the monarchy and the government, thus consolidating
the power of the Hohenzollern ruling house by “rallying the ‘loyal’ elements
around the Kaiser.”46 The German government was, in fact, the leading
partner in its interactions with public opinion during the early phases of the
Weltpolitik. It shifted popular attention from domestic issues to foreign policy,
highlighted the government’s image of strength and power, and held forth on
the fruits of the Weltpolitik in order to please the masses and earn popular
support.
Newspapers published congratulatory telegrams and celebratory propa-
ganda for each new colonial acquisition (including Jiaozhou Bay in China,
Samoa, and the Caroline Islands). All foreign policy victories, real or imaginary
(such as the resignation of French Foreign Minister Delcassé), were reported
in great detail. The purpose of this was to guide public attention to “the world-
shaking and decisive problems of foreign policy.”47 To better achieve this goal,
the German government exerted powerful influence over the media, particu-
larly during Bernhard von Bülow’s tenure as chancellor. Every day that he was

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in Berlin, Bülow met with the director of the foreign ministry’s news office
(while away from Berlin, he would send brief written instructions), suggesting
which newspapers should make what kinds of reports, or demanding that
Prussian administrative officials or the court system interject themselves into
a particular newspaper’s business, demanding punishment of reporters whose
work had “negative diplomatic repercussions.” As a result of Bülow’s efforts,
some newspapers (such as the Kölnische Zeitung) wrote foreign policy articles
and editorials entirely in accord with government orders, precisely reflecting
the minute changes in Bülow’s foreign policy.48
Beyond simply publicizing its diplomatic achievements, the German
government also intentionally made use of the rising tide of nationalism.
As Bülow himself clearly pointed out, “the way to win popular support
for the monarchy was to revive the ‘national idea.’”49 This was particularly
manifested in the use of national anti-British sentiment to build support for
construction of the High Seas Fleet. After Tirpitz took control of the Imperial
Naval Office in 1897, he immediately began propaganda efforts designed to
strengthen popular awareness of oceanic and naval issues. The most truly
effective method was to make the public feel that Germany faced humili-
ation and bullying at the hands of Great Britain, the world’s dominant naval
power, and then use this to excite popular enthusiasm for naval construction.
The German government—Tirpitz and Bülow in particular—frequently and
skillfully used this tactic. During the Boer War, for example, Great Britain
searched and seized a German ocean liner heading toward Southwest Africa
based on suspicion alone. Germany’s protests proved ineffective, and it was
forced to threaten a reconsideration of its neutrality until finally the British
government, more than two weeks after the incident began, releasing the
impounded ship and admitted that no contraband had been found onboard.50
Great Britain’s blatant disregard for international law provided an impetus
for German anti-British sentiment, which is a natural and normal response
when a people have been treated unfairly. The German government, hoping
to use this opportunity to gain greater support for naval construction, sought
to utilize these nationalistic feelings. Chancellor Bülow, for instance, imme-
diately rushed to the press office after learning of the incident and issued an
order to use the occasion to promote naval construction, specifically noting
that “my latest speech for the fleet…can also be alluded to.”51
The German government’s manipulation of public opinion undoubtedly
contributed to its preferences for expansion and for hard-line policies. Given
Germany’s existing social structures, however, this was playing with fire. As

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events proved, once this kind of expansionistic and hard-line public opinion
developed, the government’s ability to control events quickly dissipated. In
this early period, the government was still able to use its hard-line attitude
and the results of expansion in order to satisfy public opinion, but soon
popular demands eclipse what the government can provide. Even more
important, compromise and setbacks are normal in international relations.
The German government’s hard-line attitude could not continue to bring the
fruits of expansion forever. Public opinion would not be able to accept this;
displeasure with, and criticism of, the government would rise dramatically.
After the 1908 Daily Telegraph incident, popular confidence in the throne and
the government plummeted. Pressure from public opinion on foreign policy
increased and the government was criticized for being weak. During the
Second Morocco Crisis in 1911, popular pressure on the government reached
unprecedented heights. The German retreat at the end of the crisis brought
heated complaints of governmental and royal softness from not only extremist
organizations such as the Pan-German League or the German Colonial
Society, but also from organizations and newspapers that had traditionally
supported the royal house. Die Post, the same newspaper that ran the “War in
Sight?” editorial in 1875, complained, “Oh! Would that we had been spared
this moment of unspeakable shame, of deep ignominy, far deeper than that
of Olmutz! What has happened to the Hohenzollerns?”52 Ernst Bassermann
of the National Liberal Party accused the government of fearing and avoiding
war, and claimed that the German people were ready to fight but that the
cowardice of the government and the kaiser made the people lose heart.53
Some began calling the kaiser “Wilhelm the Peaceful.” Historical documents
reveal that this strong popular pressure had an impact on Germany policy-
makers. They would not dare again engage in activities that could be criticized
as soft and were determined to maintain a hard-line in the next crisis, even if
that meant running the risk of war. Thus the psychological stage was set for
outbreak of war in 1914.
A turbulent and overflowing public opinion characterized German
society in the age of Wilhelm II. The increasingly powerful pressure created
by public opinion squeezed the government’s room for maneuver in foreign
policy into a narrow space. Hard-line policies became the only option. The
German system’s multiple semi-autonomous policymaking entities and
cartelized social organizations made the situation even worse. Anything that
resembled a grand strategy became impossible. To a great extent, Germany’s
rise had now become dependent on luck.

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 6

From Weltpolitik to Encirclement

“We are supposed to pursue a World Policy. If one only knew
what that is supposed to be.”
Alfred von Waldersee

A fter the preceding discussion of domestic society, we can again

return to the topic of German grand strategy itself. Two years after the
Kruger Telegram, Germany again engaged in a major strategic reorientation
and began to implement its so-called world policy (Weltpolitik). This reori-
entation was not a deeply considered, sophisticated strategic shift. Instead, to
a great extent, it was a political risk taken against the backdrop of a security
situation and domestic political environment that could not be changed. The
implementation of this policy took German grand strategy one step closer to
disintegration and degraded Germany’s foreign policy environment.

Origins of the Weltpolitik

Generally, 1897 is seen as the starting point of the Weltpolitik. It should be

pointed out, however, that this policy change had its origins in 1894. During
Leo von Caprivi’s chancellorship, Germany had embarked on a new course
in foreign policy that focused on continental Europe. This policy aimed to
solidify Germany’s leading role on the continent by strengthening the army
and consolidating trade relationships with other European powers. During
the period from 1891 to 1894, Germany signed twelve-year mutual-tariff
limitation agreements with Austria-Hungary, Italy, Bulgaria, Romania,
Serbia, Sweden, and Russia.1 By the final years of Caprivi’s tenure, however,
Germany’s energies had already slowly begun to shift in the direction of
overseas expansion. Tensions emerged with Great Britain over Samoa, the
Congo, Morocco, and other places. Germany’s 1895 participation in the Triple
Intervention, which forced Japan to retrocede the Liaodong peninsula to
China, and the 1896 Kruger Telegram represented this shift.
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs Bernhard von Bülow openly claimed
during an 1897 Reichstag debate that Germany needed to seize its “place in
Fragile Rise

the sun.” This statement was directly pointed at Great Britain, the reigning
hegemon and ruler of the world’s largest colonial empire. In November of
the same year, Germany, using the death of two missionaries as a pretext,
occupied the Jiaozhou Bay in Shandong, China. This constituted an unusually
public announcement of the new Weltpolitik. Germany’s traditional position
as a continental nation was turned on its head, and distant overseas colonies
suddenly became a core national interest closely bound up with Germany’s
status as a great power. The immediate threat of the Franco-Russian alliance
seemed at the same time to evaporate into almost nothing. Beginning in
1897, Germany busied itself with abandoning the traditional policies that had
gained it an advantaged position in Europe and diverted its energies outside
of the continent.

The Motives behind the Weltpolitik

Typically, analysis of Germany’s transition from a continental strategy to
a world strategy begins with considerations of economic factors. During
Germany’s rapid economic growth in the 1890s, its overseas interests
expanded. Thus, it was a natural choice for Germany to attempt some sort of
policy focused on its overseas interests. Germany’s Weltpolitik, however, was
not only a foreign policy that sought overseas interests. A close examination
of the Weltpolitik reveals that the only clear idea at its core was the Tirpitz
Plan for the construction of a High Seas Fleet. The foreign policies associated
with the Weltpolitik were complicated and vacillating for both European
issues and colonial issues, without an overarching or unifying theme. To a
certain extent, the Weltpolitik was political posturing that lacked substantive
content or purpose. Field Marshal Alfred von Waldersee, who succeeded the
elder Moltke as chief of the Prussian General Staff, complained that, “We are
supposed to pursue a World Policy. If one only knew what that is supposed
to be.”2
Vladimir Lenin’s later conception of overseas colonial expansion notwith-
standing, German actions between 1897 and 1914 are better understood as
a political performance: when a crisis arose overseas out of tensions with
Great Britain or France, it became an issue for the whole society at home and
became an important release for popular political sentiments. Yet in terms of
its actual contents, it is hard to argue that German policymakers cared about
it deeply. Many times, German policy on colonial issues vacillated or even
reversed itself. In the dispute with Great Britain over Samoa, for example,
the German government first instructed its ambassador in London, Paul von
Hatzfeldt, that the acquisition of the islands was of utmost importance and

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that it must be accomplished. Two months later, however, Hatzfeldt learned

that the issue had already “been completely forgotten in Berlin.”3 Moreover,
there were few concrete achievements to point to. A popular topic in Germany
at the time was that Germany was a fast-growing giant that acutely needed
“indispensable” colonies acquired through a Weltpolitik in order to absorb its
excess products, capital, and people.4 In fact, however, the colonies held by
Germany on the eve of World War I had largely been acquired by Bismarck
in the 1880s. The widely trumpeted Weltpolitik had not led to the acquisition
of many new colonies. Even more important, the notion of the indispens-
ability of colonies seems to be profoundly mistaken—a kind of myth—from
today’s perspective. In reality, Germany’s colonies had little productive value.
In 1913, only 7.6 percent of all German exports ended up in all of Asia and
Africa (including German colonies). Investments in the colonies were even
smaller, given German industry’s substantial need for investments at home.5
In terms of absorbing excess population, as Eric Hobsbawm points out, “the
idea that emigration to colonies would provide a safety-valve for overpopu-
lated countries was little more than a demagogic fantasy. (In fact, never was
it easier to find somewhere to emigrate to than between 1880 and 1914, and
only a tiny minority of emigrants went to anyone’s colonies—or needed to.)”6
In 1910, 30,000 Germans resided in Africa and only 4,000 in Asia, totaling 0.8
percent of all Germans overseas.7
Thus, the primary motive for the Weltpolitik must be sought elsewhere.
Existing documentation suggests that domestic politics played the leading
role. As economic and industrial development proceeded, the original bipolar
conflict (tensions between the two ruling classes—industrial capitalists and
Junker landlords—as well as the tensions between those ruling classes and
the working class) deepened. To face this challenge, German policymakers
felt the need to unite the ruling classes in order to stabilize political authority.
The best route for this would be a forceful foreign policy that could earn the
support of domestic society. This could be used to tame and conquer leftist
forces, as represented by the Social Democratic Party. Johannes von Miquel,
appointed assistant minister president of Prussia in 1897 and tasked with
managing domestic politics, claimed that he wanted to focus domestic public
opinion on colonial issues and to pull foreign policy into Reichstag debates.
Thus foreign policy victories could be used to heal divisions in domestic
society, and the socialist movement could be countered.8 Chancellor and State
Secretary for Foreign Affairs Bülow also believed that promotion of a forceful
foreign policy could act as a cohesive force for domestic society: “I am putting
the main emphasis on foreign policy…only a successful foreign policy can

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help to reconcile, pacify, rally, unite.”9 These men were important political
leaders when the Weltpolitik was introduced. Their opinions, therefore, are
relatively representative.
The Weltpolitik did also contain a level of diplomatic calculation. In
the seven years following Bismarck’s forced departure from office, German
foreign policy experienced a number of serious setbacks. Although Germany’s
policymakers feigned composure (the documents they composed betrayed
little discussion of the situation’s seriousness), the series of events from the
failure of the new course to facilitate a reconciliation with Great Britain, the
establishment of the Franco-Russian alliance, and the damage inflicted by the
Kruger Telegram on Anglo-German relations was clear for all to see. German
foreign policy in Europe had already fallen on hard times, making it difficult
to achieve anything in a short period of time. At the same time, Germany
hoped to claim a global status befitting its power. Thus, Germany simply
decided not to concentrate on European affairs but instead to push its way on
to the world stage. In the words of one historian, “the anxiety which was felt
about the direction of German foreign policy in the world was accompanied
by a growing fear about the problems created by urbanization and industrial-
ization.”10
In conclusion, the logic that produced the Weltpolitik was an extremely
strange one: domestic political needs required it; it would be difficult to forge
foreign policy achievements inside Europe, so a Weltpolitik that could go
beyond Europe was necessary. By this time, German foreign policy was no
longer a tool for achieving any long-term national objective or core national
interest. Instead, it was something to be used in pursuit of short-term interests
and to be subordinate to sentiment. It was nothing more than a form of
political risk-taking. The unemotional calculations of national objectives and
careful strategic planning of the Bismarckian era had been abandoned, as had
(even more important) the concept that Europe and the immediate security
environment were Germany’s top strategic priorities. Germany’s new leaders
only had eyes for their own power and their own short-term interests; they
could not discern dangers in the distance. For a rapidly rising great power,
such dangers might prove to be existential issues.

Implementing the Weltpolitik

The content of the Weltpolitik was even stranger than the motives that led to
the policy. As argued above, other than the acquisition of colonies, the only
long-term consideration to receive concrete instantiation in the policy was
the construction of a High Seas Fleet. After 1897, German naval construction

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gradually increased to unprecedented levels. Naval expansion was no longer

a part of national grand strategy or a means to achieve specific objectives; it
had become a strategic goal in and of itself. German foreign policy, essentially,
had been made to serve the needs of German naval expansion. Bülow, the
secretary of state and chancellor, admitted that his primary task was to pave
a path for the construction of a large fleet without sparking a confrontation
with Great Britain: “the creation of a German fleet without a collision with
England, who we were in no way a match for.”11 This backward prioritization
not only greatly reduced the strategic space available to German foreign
policy, but it also revealed serious problems in Germany’s ability to coor-
dinate its goals and its means. Arguably, Germany no longer had anything
that could truly be called a grand strategy once the Weltpolitik began. From
another perspective, this position gave German foreign policy an impossible
mission: on the one hand, it must have an anti-British inflection, in order to
provide reason to construct a fleet; on the other hand, it cannot go so far in
that direction that it incites British “preemptive actions” against a still-weak
German fleet. The fundamentals of German foreign policy thus contradicted
one another, making setbacks and failures inevitable.
The personalities of individual policymakers associated with the Welt-
politik also played a role in destabilizing German grand strategy, causing
diplomatic and military predicaments that were difficult to escape. Caprivi’s
successor as chancellor in 1894, Hohenlohe, had once been German ambas-
sador to France and had been an administrator in Alsace-Lorraine. He was 75
years old when he assumed office (several years older than Bismarck himself
had been) and had a cautious personality. As one contemporary pointedly put
it, Hohenlohe’s motto might as well as be that, although he was weak, at least
he wasn’t a bully. Wilhelm II had appointed him with the hope that he would
command respect yet still be easy to control, and secretly doubled his salary.12
Yet Hohenlohe proved able to resist some of Wilhelm II’s more extreme ideas.
Two aspects of his personality helped with this: stubbornness and a talent for
evasion. A colleague from his time in Paris recalled, “It is quite impossible
to make him do anything of which he disapproves. He flutters away like a
little bird when you try to catch him.”13 Thus, although he may not have been
entirely suitable for the chancellorship, Hohenlohe was at least able to block
some of Wilhelm II’s riskier plans.
His successor, Bülow, was very different. His record indicated ample
foreign policy experience: he became a diplomat in 1873; in 1878 he was
secretary at the Berlin Conference where he assisted Bismarck; from 1888 to
1893 he was an envoy to Bucharest, Romania; from 1893 to 1897 ambassador

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to Rome, after which he replaced Adolf von Marschall as secretary of state

for foreign affairs. In 1900 he assumed office as chancellor. Bülow had more
foreign policy experience than all of the others who had served as chancellor,
Bismarck excepted. This advantage, however, was offset by his sycophantic
political personality. He was able, but also unctuous; he blindly catered to and
accommodated Wilhelm II’s notions in order to stay in his good graces. As
early as 1895, the kaiser had considered replacing Hohenlohe, complaining
that he “is too old, and he can no longer handle both foreign affairs and the
Ministry of State, and the present Vice-Chancellor [Bötticher] is a cowardly
washrag. Bülow shall become my Bismarck, and as he and my grandfather
pounded Germany together externally, so we two will clean up the filth of
parliamentary and party machinery internally.”14 After Bülow entered the
highest circles of policymakers, Wilhelm II’s flaws and fleeting but strong
notions not only were no longer controlled or opposed, but were welcomed,
encouraged, and thoroughly implemented by Bülow. The kaiser thus came
to have an even higher view of himself. Wilhelm II’s personal friend Albert
Ballin, director of the Hamburg-America Line, regretfully commented,
“Bülow is a misfortune for us and is destroying the [Kaiser] completely.”15 For
the whole country as well, Bülow’s methods would prove even more disastrous.
Another important person was Alfred von Tirpitz. Unlike many other
military and political leaders, Tirpitz was not born into the nobility. He father
was a lawyer and his mother the daughter of a doctor; both belonged to
Germany’s middle class. Tirpitz joined the navy in 1865 at the age of 16. After
graduating from the naval academy, he struggled up the ladder step by step,
quickly revealing outstanding talent based on his abilities and vigorous spirit.
In 1892, he was appointed chief of the Navy General Staff. By this time, his
views on the development of the German Navy had already been formed. He
believed that Germany should build a large fleet, centered on battleships, in
order to achieve command of the seas. At this time he also developed another
talent—the ability to promote his ideas to others. Soon after he took office,
he quickly moved his colleagues from their traditional support for “cruisers
above all else” to “battleships above all else.” This was a complete remaking
of the navy. Admiral Senden, a member of the Navy Cabinet, commented,
“Tirpitz is a very energetic character…he has too big a head of steam not to
be a leader. He is ambitious, not choosy about his means, of a sanguine dispo-
sition…he has been very spoiled in his naval career and with the exception of
the Chief of Admiralty [Stosch] never had a superior who could match him....
I believe that Tirpitz is the right man to push the Navy onwards in these
difficult days.”16 In fact, Tirpitz was the heart and soul of the construction

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of the German Empire’s High Seas Fleet. After taking command as secretary
of the Imperial Navy Office, he played pivotal role in whipping up popular
enthusiasm for the navy and in planning a massive expansion of the fleet.

The Middle Road, 1897–1904

Naval construction was the main thread of German foreign policy during the
era of the Weltpolitik. Foreign policy during this period can be divided into
two segments: before 1904, a self-confident Germany followed a middle road;
after the Anglo-French Entente in 1904, however, Germany became more
impatient and, under pressure at home and abroad, veered toward highly
risky policies.
During the first period, German foreign policy was based on the flawed
assessment that insoluble conflicts existed between Great Britain and the
Franco-Russian alliance. Thus Germany could follow a “middle road” that
would maintain distance from both sides but could also allow Germany to
draw close to one side or the other, if the right price was offered. In the words
of one German diplomat, “The task of the German government in the future
is to maintain good relations with both Great Britain and Russia and, with
the possession of a powerful navy, to keep cool and calm while awaiting the
development of events.”17

Maintaining Distance from the Franco-Russian Alliance

Given the international situation at the time, the preceding assessment was
not entirely unreasonable. After 1897, Germany was not at the center of inter-
national conflict. Conversely, it was Great Britain (which would prove to be
the country most sensitive to the Weltpolitik) and the Franco-Russian alliance
(which had been directed at Germany) that were locked in heated conflict over
territories in Africa and East Asia. These tensions escalated, and both powers
sought German help. Suddenly, Germany seemed to be in an advantageous
position. Germany’s problems, however, arose from the shortsightedness of
its policymakers: they failed to recognize that Germany’s own tensions with
all of these countries would be even more difficult to reconcile. Rising great
powers often find themselves at the center of conflict; it is rare for such nations
to be able to remain aloof. The pendulum of international conflict will inevi-
tably swing back. Germany’s problems secondarily came from the inability of
German policymakers to maintain a Bismarck-like control over the various
tensions. They could not conceptualize how to create an advantage for them-
selves between two opposing forces, as Bismarck had been able to do between

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Austria-Hungary and Russia. Thus, Germany’s middle road policy between

1897 and 1904 was little more than policy drift. Its refusal to draw closer to
either combination (as neither side had yet offered the right price) ended up
bringing the two sides themselves together, foreshadowing Germany’s later
isolation.
Maintaining distance from the Franco-Russian alliance was a compar-
atively simple process for Germany. After the Kruger Telegram incident,
Germany had schemed to build a Continental League with those two powers
to bring pressure on Great Britain, but nothing came of it. A change began
in Franco-German relations in 1898. Its origins lay in the continuing French
desire to wrest control of the Upper Nile from Great Britain and thus resolve
the Egyptian Question in France’s favor. Great Britain’s reconquest of Sudan,
however, had dashed these hopes. In September 1898, a French exploration
team lead by Jean-Baptiste Marchand made an extraordinary trek from
West Africa to the upper reaches of the Nile Valley and occupied the town
of Fashoda. The French government strongly supported this action. By this
time, the British Army had already completed its reconquest and the French
exploration team in Fashoda was immediately placed under surveillance by a
superior British force. A stand-off ensued and the Fashoda Crisis began.
Given the large gap between the two sides’ forces, along with Russian
unwillingness to damage relations with Great Britain over Egypt, the isolated
French had no choice but to retreat. In November 1898, Marchand’s explo-
ration team withdrew from Fashoda. An Anglo-French agreement reached
in March 1899 excluded the French from the Nile Valley. For the French,
this crisis not only ended any possibility of ejecting Britain from Egypt, it
also became a significant political crisis that substantially influenced French
popular sentiment. France, as a result, naturally desired better relations with
Germany. In 1900, the German ambassador in Paris reported that passion-
ately anti-British sentiment existed in France, while anti-German revanchism
had abated. Thus the possibility for improved ties existed. Yet Germany did
not attach much significance to this. On June 13, 1901, Holstein and Bülow
instructed the new ambassador to Paris, Prince Radolin, “If the new French
government decides that rapprochement with Germany will not offend the
instinct of the masses there will easily be found areas in which cooperation
promises advantages to both sides. Nevertheless, any premature attempts
of this type could result in mutual suspicion and shyness.” They suggested
cooperation in the cultural and social realms. The French government reacted
positively and soon produced concrete proposals for cooperation. Germany,
however, quickly backed away, claiming that true cooperation with France

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would be difficult until “both parties announced their intention to guarantee

each other’s possession.” This was essentially a demand for France to publicly
renounce claims to Alsace and Lorraine, which it could never consent to.18
Germany would similarly reject Russia. After the outbreak of the Boer
War in 1899, it appeared that Germany, France, and Russia had found a
common objective: forcing Great Britain to end the war. In January 1900,
Germany proposed to Russia that the two countries exert pressure on Great
Britain. Furthermore, Germany asked Russia to solicit France’s opinion. This
proposal, however, was only a tool to threaten Great Britain. After France
expressed willingness to participate in this mediation, Russian Foreign
Minister Mikhail Muravyov made a formal proposal to Germany that the
three countries work together to exert “friendly pressure” on Great Britain
to end the Boer War. Germany, however, changed its tune. Chancellor Bülow
instead suggested that the three countries first mutually guarantee each other’s
European territories. This, too, was a demand for a renunciation of French
claims to the lost provinces. It brought negotiations to an immediate end.19
When Wilhelm II heard of Muravyov’s proposal, he directly said, “If Russia
desired to mediate, then let Muravyov go do it on his own, or with France.”20

Negotiations for an Anglo-German Alliance and German Drift

A complicated relationship developed between Germany and Great
Britain. One would expect that the country most impacted by Germany’s
1897 adoption of the Weltpolitik would be Great Britain, with its extensive
overseas interests and immense naval strength—and that relations between
the two countries would soon sour. The logic of history, however, does not
always work so directly. During the first few years of the Weltpolitik, British
diplomacy was at a crossroads. Some form of alliance with Germany was one
potential policy choice open to the British. Between 1898 and 1902, the dete-
rioration of relations caused by the Kruger Telegram was largely reversed. The
two countries sporadically toyed with the notion of an alliance.
Great Britain’s interest in an alliance sprang from its lack of other choices.
After 1895, British defense spending increased dramatically in the face of
threats of war with France, Russia, and Germany. Its fiscal situation had grown
desperate. More important, despite this fiscal crunch, defense spending still
did not satisfy all defense needs. This was manifested most clearly in the
Royal Navy, the mainstay of British power. In the 1895–1896 fiscal year, Great
Britain constructed 12 battleships and 37 cruisers, while France and Russia
together built 19 battleships and 20 cruisers. In 1901, Britain possessed 45
battleships, compared to 43 for the combined Franco-Russian fleet, 14 for

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Germany, 7 for the United States, and 5 for Japan. If Britain maintained its
current rate of growth, by 1906 both the Royal Navy and the Franco-Russian
combined fleet would have the same number of battleships, 53.21 Great Britain
would then be unable to resist a naval challenge from those two countries. Yet
fiscal constraints meant that Great Britain could not afford to spend more.
An end to isolation was the only viable policy choice. Germany, a powerful
country in its own right, was a natural choice for a partner. Once the British
Admiralty’s plan for naval expansion was rejected by the cabinet, consider-
ation of an alignment with Germany became possible. First Sea Lord Selborne
explained that: “I can see only one possible alternative and that is a formal
alliance with Germany. I do not pretend to have examined this possibility
in all its bearings—it may not be feasible or the price we should have to pay
might be too high; all I can say now is that it seems to me the only alternative
to an ever-increasing Navy and ever-increasing Navy estimates.”22
Even more significantly, the German occupation of Jiaozhou Bay in
1897 had increased the likelihood that China would be partitioned by the
great powers. Great Britain’s position in China faced challenges from the
other powers, particularly Russia. Great Britain’s original policy had been to
maintain China’s nominal territorial integrity, so that China could serve as a
single open market. Britain, relying on its industrial and commercial strengths,
would claim an advantaged position. Once Germany seized Jiaozhou Bay,
however, other powers began clamoring for Chinese territory as compen-
sation (such as the Russian occupation of Port Arthur) and China appeared to
be on the verge of dismemberment. If this were to happen, Russia’s geographic
position would allow it an enormous advantage over Great Britain. To
counter this, Great Britain took two steps. First, it sought a direct agreement
with Russia. Great Britain’s calculation was that it could accede to Russian
demands for compensation in exchange for Russian recognition of existing
treaty arrangements and the opening of the Russian sphere of influence to
British commerce. Russia saw through these designs, however; the czar later
wrote to Wilhelm II that these British promises had merely “showed us clearly
that England needed our friendship at that time, to be able to check our
development, in a masked way, in the Far East.”23 Russia had no inclination
to negotiate these issues with Great Britain and, on March 3, 1898, presented
the Qing government with a proposal to lease Port Arthur. Second, Britain
ended its isolation and sought to work with other countries to resist Russian
expansion in China. The prime advocate of this policy within the British
government was the powerful Liberal Party politician and colonial minister,
Joseph Chamberlain. In 1898, he pointed out that “if the policy of isolation,

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which has hitherto been the policy of this country, is to be maintained in the
future, then the fate of the Chinese Empire may be, probably will be, hereafter
divided without reference to our wishes and in defiance of our interests.”24
Initially, Great Britain sought the United States and Japan, rather than
Germany, as partners. The United States, however, was unwilling to become
involved, as it was just then gathering its forces for a war with Spain and it
was still unwilling to surrender its freedom of maneuver by forming alliances
that could draw it in to European conflicts. Japan, too, proved unresponsive.
Its considerations primarily focused on the fear that, once allied with Great
Britain against Russia, it would feel the brunt of Russian pressure—and Japan
was not yet ready for that. Germany thus became Great Britain’s only viable
alternative.
Beginning in the fall of 1897, Great Britain began systematic attempts
to draw Germany closer. First, Queen Victoria exerted influence on the
print media to dampen its anti-German tone. Next, the British government
recognized the occupation of Jiaozhou Bay. Once the relationship improved,
Conservative Party leader and Chancellor of the Exchequer Arthur Balfour
held talks on March 25 with the German ambassador, Hatzfeldt, in which he
hinted that an alliance might be feasible. Four days later, Chamberlain himself
sought out Hatzfeldt and directly proposed the notion of an alliance. On
May 1, Chamberlain held further discussions with Hatzfeldt, suggesting that
Germany act as the protector of Shandong and the surrounding region. This
was, in practice, a proposal for Russia, Great Britain, and Germany to divide
China into three spheres of influence—and that the German sphere should act
as a buffer zone between the Russian and British spheres.25 Chamberlain also
proposed British concessions in Africa in exchange for German concessions
in Samoa, to mitigate against colonial tensions between the two countries.
The German response, however, was negative. From the perspective of the
German Foreign Ministry, British hostility toward Germany ran too deep for
an alliance to be possible in the near term, as no such proposal could pass the
House of Commons. If a treaty were drafted and then rejected, then Germany
would be left, embarrassingly, to face Russian and French hostility directly.26
As for Chamberlain’s notions of resolving colonial disputes between the two
countries, Tirpitz understood these colonial struggles, by contrast, as bene-
ficial to building domestic support for German naval construction, and thus
forcefully advocated their rejection. This would be the policy taken by the
German government. This saddened Hatzfeldt, who wrote in a telegram to
Holstein that “if our foreign policy depends on the views of Herr Tirpitz, we
will not go far in the world.”27

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Results of the Second Anglo-German Alliance Negotiations—the Yangzi

Convention
Even though the first attempt to ally with Germany bore no results, the
pro-German groups within the British government, represented by Cham-
berlain, did not abandon the idea. Chamberlain himself declared in 1899 that
“the natural alliance is between us and the great German Empire.”28 After
the outbreak of war between Great Britain and the Boer Republics, British
military strength was diverted to South Africa, and the need to find an exit
from the country’s “splendid isolation” became increasingly acute. As one
high-ranking official in the Indian colonial government, George Hamilton,
explained in 1901,

I am gradually coming round to the opinion that we must alter our

foreign policy, and throw our lot in, for good or bad, with some
other Power…. As we now stand, we are an object of envy and of
greed to all the other Powers. Our interests are so vast and ramified
that we touch, in some shape or other, the interests of almost every
great country in every continent. Our interests being so extended
makes it almost impossible for us to concentrate sufficiently, in any
one direction, the pressure and power of the Empire so as to deter
foreign nations from trying to encroach upon our interests in that
particular quarter.29

The 1900 Boxer Rebellion, and the frenzy to partition China that it sparked
among the great powers, caused Britain to again face the prospect of powerful
Russian threats to its interests in China. These considerations impelled the
British to again seek an arrangement with Germany. In a September 1900
memorandum, Chamberlain advocated cooperation with Germany in China:

Both in China and elsewhere it is our interest that Germany should

throw herself across the path of Russia. An alliance between Germany
and Russia, entailing as it would the cooperation of France, is the one
thing we have to dread, and the clash of German and Russian interests
whether in China or Asia Minor would be a guarantee of our safety. I
think then our policy clearly is to encourage good relations between
ourselves and Germany, as well as between ourselves and Japan and
the United States, and we should endeavor to make use of the present
opportunity to emphasize the breach between Russia and Germany
and Russia and Japan. We should then, without urging it, let it be

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known that we shall put no obstacle in the way of German expansion

in [Shandong], nor in the way of Japan’s ambitions in Korea. But,
in return, we should obtain written assurances recognizing our
claim to predominant interest and influence in the [Yangzi] Valley.30

Some within the British government, however, opposed an alliance with

Germany, Prime Minister Salisbury among them. From his perspective, Great
Britain did not need to fear that France and Russia would work together
against British interests in China. These two alliance partners had little in the
way of shared interests outside of Europe. Moreover, he had a fairly accurate
assessment of Germany’s security predicament and did not think a German
alliance against Russia to be practical. In a letter to the British Viceroy George
Curzon in India, he wrote, “As to Germany, I have less confidence in her than
you. She is in mortal terror on account of that long undefended frontier of
hers on the Russian side. She will therefore never stand by us against Russia;
but is always rather inclined to curry favor with Russia by throwing us over.
I have no wish to quarrel with her; but my faith in her is infinitesimal.”31
This opinion did not command a majority, however, and negotiations for an
alliance continued apace.
Germany’s negotiating posture, too, became somewhat more positive
around this time. Germany had hoped to use the opportunities presented by
the Boxer Rebellion to demonstrate its status as a global power. The kaiser,
through the intervention of the czar, had already secured command of the
allied armies in China for the long-retired former Chief of Staff Alfred von
Waldersee. These armies, however, had already occupied Beijing before
Waldersee arrived in China. Russia had even already proposed the army’s
disbandment. The kaiser felt humiliated by this and began to harbor doubts
about Russian intentions. Thus, he began to seek cooperation from Great
Britain. On August 22, 1900, Wilhelm II, during a meeting with the Prince
of Wales, suggested that, if the British government would continue its “open
door” policies in China, then Germany would offer its support for Great
Britain.32 Negotiations progressed and, on October 16, the Anglo-German
Yangzi Agreement was signed. This agreement, however, was not the anti-
Russian alliance that Britain had sought. Instead, it was vague and failed to
mention the two Chinese regions (Manchuria and Zhili province) in which
Britain hoped for German support. Thus, Salisbury sarcastically remarked,
this agreement was “unnecessary but innocuous.”33
After the conclusion of the Anglo-German Yangzi Agreement, Russian
expansion in China intensified. On November 8, 1900, the Russian Army

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commander forced Zeng-qi, the Qing general in Mukden (now called

Shenyang), to sign a secret treaty. Under this agreement, Qing troops in
Fengtian would disarm, withdraw, and allow Russian occupation of Mukden
and other points. Russia would set up an “independent administration” in land
earmarked for railway construction, while Qing military deployments in the
area would only be “determined by agreement with the Russian government”
at some point in the future.34 In practical terms, this treaty implied complete
legalization of Russian occupation of Qing territory. On January 3, 1901, the
London Times printed the text of this treaty, causing a furious reaction. The
Japanese, who had their own ambitions in Manchuria, claimed that Japan and
Britain together could have brought pressure on Russia. Britain, however,
had opted to work with Germany, which was unwilling to take any measures
except for an agreement to warn the Qing government not to accept this
agreement. By March 1901, the Japanese government had already decided to
oppose Russia. Fearing that France would enter any war on Russia’s side, Japan
asked Great Britain to ensure French neutrality. Great Britain sought German
assistance with this request, but was turned down by Bülow, who declared in
the Reichstag on March 15 that the Anglo-German Yangzi Agreement was
“in no sense concerned with Manchuria.” British illusions of an anti-Russian
alliance with Germany were dispelled. Even more important, the German
chancellor’s public rejection of Great Britain damaged the reputation of
pro-German British political figures such as Chamberlain and Lansdowne.
Arguably, the unnecessary injury done to these leaders undermined their
ability to strengthen the Anglo-German relationship.35

The Failure of the Third Attempt at an Anglo-German Alliance and the

Worsening of Anglo-German Relations
Attempts to form an alliance still continued. Chamberlain, in January 1901
talks with Hermann von Eckardstein, the first secretary in the German
embassy, stated his complete willingness to support an Anglo-German
alliance or British entry into the Triple Alliance. He suggested that a secret
agreement on Morocco could begin that process. If that proved unsuccessful,
then Great Britain would have no choice but to seek reconciliation with
France and Russia, regardless of the concessions that might entail.36 German
policymakers, however, clung to the belief that no understanding was possible
between Great Britain and the Franco-Russian alliance. Time, they thought,
was on Germany’s side; they could afford to wait. On January 21, 1901, Bülow
wrote a letter to the kaiser that fully reflected this flawed assessment: “Your
Majesty is absolutely correct in the belief that the English must now come

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to us.… Now everything depends on neither discouraging the English nor

allowing ourselves to be committed prematurely. England’s troubles will
increase in the coming months, and with them will rise the price we shall be
able to demand.”37
It is worth noting that Bülow’s letter clearly revealed Germany’s
continuing hopes for Great Britain during this time. This differed from
Germany’s attitude toward France and Russia. What did Germany hope to
gain from Great Britain in exchange for an alliance? Diplomatic documents
reveal that Germany’s preconditions were extremely high. First, the alliance
must be comprehensive, rather than limited to Africa, Asia, or other places
that Europeans consider “overseas.” Europe had to be included. In other
words, Great Britain would need to provide a complete security guarantee in
order to prevent the danger of a Russian attack. Second, Great Britain would
need to make a series of colonial concessions to the Germans. To convince
the British to accept such conditions, the German government believed that it
needed to make the British feel a sense of urgency. Germany needed to hold
fast to its “middle course” without angering either the British or the Russians
in the meanwhile.38 With these calculations in mind, Germany began to
respond to Britain’s 1901 proposal.
The role of the German embassy’s first secretary, Eckardstein, is worth
examining in the context of this process. He was a German nobleman
married to an Englishwoman, and a strong supporter of an Anglo-German
alliance. On March 18, 1901, perhaps in order to promote such an alliance,
he proposed a comprehensive defensive alliance between the two powers to
the British government. At the same time, however, he reported to his own
government that this idea had been suggested by British Foreign Secretary
Lord Lansdowne. This served to confirm the German government’s mistaken
impression that the British government would seek an alliance at any cost.39
On the British side, although Lansdowne was anxious for an alliance, he did
not believe that Great Britain was yet at the point where it needed to surrender
its diplomatic autonomy: “I also said that it seemed to me to follow from any
such arrangements that each of the allies would have a right to claim a voice
in guiding and controlling the external policy of the others. I was afraid that
in this country there would be a great reluctance to allow our liberty of action
in regard to questions of foreign policy to be restricted in this manner.”40
Thus, he declined the proposed alliance. On April 23, German ambassador
Hatzfeldt expressed his hope that Great Britain would join the Triple Alliance;
Lansdowne demurred, too, for the same reason. Yet he continued to search for
substitutes and, at the end of May, Lansdowne ordered the foreign ministry

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to prepare a draft treaty for some form of alliance limited to Great Britain and
Germany.41 This met with Salisbury’s firm opposition. In a May 29 memo-
randum he pointedly explained that, “The fatal circumstance is that neither
we nor the Germans are competent to make the suggested promises.” Great
Britain required domestic approval before the declaration of war; without
such approval, “the promise would be repudiated, and the Government would
be turned out.” Likewise, in Germany, “a promise of defensive alliance with
England would excite bitter murmurs in every rank of German society.”42 In
the end, Salisbury’s opinion carried the day and talk of an Anglo-German
alliance was set aside.
Despite this, Lansdowne continued to hope that cooperation with
Germany was possible on a number of concrete issues. The Morocco issue
had intensified, and conflict between French colonial expansion in North
Africa and the Moroccan sultan had sharpened, to the point where British
interests in Morocco were threatened. On two separate occasions in January
and March 1901, the French government proposed a partition of Morocco
into spheres of influence, but the British rejected both offers. Great Britain
hoped to use this crisis to work with Germany against the French. Ambas-
sador Hatzfeldt attached great importance to the British suggestion. As early
as 1899, he had warned his government that unless Germany supported
Great Britain on this issue, any Anglo-French compromise that might result
could lead to improved relations between those countries, to the detriment
of German diplomacy.43 Bülow, however, did not see things that way. He
believed Anglo-French tensions to be so deeply rooted as to preclude any
reconciliation. The cards were all in Germany’s hand. He continued to insist
that Germany strictly follow a middle course between Great Britain and the
Franco-Russian alliance, and had little interest in reaching agreements with
Great Britain on particular concrete issues. Instead, Bülow supposed that if
there was to be any alliance between Germany and Great Britain, it must be
a comprehensive one.44 He further insisted that not only would Great Britain
need to agree to aid in Germany’s defense, it would also have to extend that
same guarantee to Austria-Hungary and Italy. This clearly would be unac-
ceptable to the British. Even Holstein criticized this notion, saying “one has
the impression…that Bülow clung to all the obstacles which stood in the
way of the alliance.”45 Bülow likewise had little interest in cooperating with
Great Britain on the Morocco issue, claiming Germany “must behave like the
Sphinx.”46 By August, the German position was unequivocal. In response to
British requests for support, the Germans replied: “The Morocco question by

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itself is not sufficiently important for us to justify a policy by which Germany

might incur the risk of serious international complications.”47
After this, Great Britain essentially abandoned the fantasy of gaining
German support and, in a policy shift, looked toward an alliance with Japan
in East Asia and cutting a deal with France over Morocco. Significant progress
was made in negotiations with Japan in October 1901, and an alliance was
concluded in January 1902. This proved to be of critical importance for
Anglo-German ties, and its influence on European diplomacy was arguably
second only to the Franco-Russian alliance of 1894. After the alliance with
Japan, Great Britain had no strategic reason to rely on Germany again. Yet
another limiting factor that had prevented the worsening of Anglo-German
ties had been removed. German officials at the time, however, held the exact
opposite understanding: they thought the Anglo-Japanese alliance was a
welcome development that would help Germany’s middle course. Wilhelm
II himself conveyed his great “interest and satisfaction,” and moreover “he
expressed some surprise that the agreement had not been concluded earlier.”48
After their failure to conclude an alliance, relations between Germany
and Great Britain deteriorated. The German government, although it had
appeared to consider British requests for an alliance with great care, made
unscrupulous use of domestic anti-British sentiments. On October 25, 1901,
Chamberlain gave his famous speech in Edinburgh, in which he defended
the actions of the British Army in South Africa. Chamberlain argued that
the armies of other countries acted similarly (or worse) during wartime. He
raised the Prussian Army’s behavior during the 1870 Franco-Prussian War as
an example. This naturally provoked an enraged response in Germany. The
criticism of Chamberlain in German newspapers quickly blossomed into
an Anglo-German media war. Officials in both Great Britain and Germany
who favored close relations between the two countries hoped that Chancellor
Bülow would intervene to tamp down this intense anti-British sentiment.
His response to Chamberlain’s speech, issued on January 8, 1902, simply
encouraged it, however. He quoted Frederick the Great, saying, “Let the man
be and don’t get excited, he’s biting on granite.” Afterward, the phrase “biting
on granite” spread throughout Germany and became a means for counter-
attacking Great Britain. Bülow’s actions surprised even Holstein, who found
them difficult to understand.49
German anti-British sentiment immediately touched off an anti-
German press war in Great Britain. British papers defended Chamberlain

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and demanded that the British public take note of anti-British emotions in
Germany:

It denotes the rancor pent up for years, which has been gradually
growing throughout the country, which has become intensified by
the war, and which has at last found an outlet in the spontaneous
national demonstrations aimed at Mr. Chamberlain directly, but
indirectly against the British nation and the policy of Great Britain.
No greater mistake could be made than to regard these demonstra-
tions as artificial or to think they are not genuine. They reflect the
feeling of the Germans toward the British, a feeling of growing in
power and capable of becoming one day a serious menace to peace
between the two peoples.… The storm of vituperation…represents
no passing emotion, but a deep-seated and apparently incurable
popular disease of animosity toward the British Empire.50

British advocates of strong ties with Germany were the true victims of this
assault. George Hamilton, one of those advocates, said, “we have treated them
extraordinarily well…they seem to be more hostile to us even than Frenchmen
or Russians.” The most influential, and most consequential, result was the
change in Chamberlain’s own attitude. He transformed overnight from being
a leading advocate of ties with Germany to being a chief foe of such connec-
tions. From January 1902 on, he engaged in extreme anti-German rhetoric.51
These changes pushed the entire British government in an anti-German
direction. When one British noble arrived in London in January 1902, he
found that the official attitude toward Germany had shifted to a shocking
degree: “Everyone in the [foreign] office and out talks as if we had but one
enemy in the world, and that Germany.”52
Another critical element made its appearance at this time, too: the naval
question. Naval expansion after the passage of Germany’s second naval bill
put Great Britain on alert. In a November 16, 1901, memorandum, First Lord
of the Admiralty Selborne noted to the cabinet that “the [Kaiser] seems deter-
mined that the power of Germany shall be used all over the world to push
German commerce, possessions, and interests.”53 By August 1902, he claimed:

I am convinced that the great new German navy is being carefully

built up from the point of view of a war with us…. It cannot be
designed for the purpose of playing a leading part in a future war

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 From Weltpolitik to Encirclement

between Germany and France and Russia.… Sir F. Lascelles [British

ambassador to Germany] does not believe that the German [Kaiser]
or Government are really unfriendly to this country and he is
convinced that the true interests of Germany lie in maintaining
friendly relations with us, but he is equally convinced that in deciding
on a naval policy we cannot safely ignore the malignant hatred of the
German people or the manifest designs of the German Navy.54

In other areas, German competition encroached upon vital British interests;

naval expansion, however, touched the heart of the British Empire itself. It
was a direct threat to British hegemony and an existential challenge. It trans-
formed Germany into Great Britain’s principal enemy, and the disputes
between the two powers grew ever more difficult to resolve.

From the Anglo-French Entente to the Algeciras Conference

The 1904 Anglo-French Entente

Great Britain’s position in East Asia improved after concluding an alliance
with Japan. The deterioration of relations with Germany pushed Great Britain
closer to France. The Morocco Question played a significant role in that latter
process. The colonial secretary, Chamberlain, had been the main obstacle
preventing negotiations on that issue with France. When France had offered
a partition of Morocco in 1901, for example, Chamberlain had instead hoped
to unite with Germany against the French designs. Thus, he warned Foreign
Minister Lansdowne, “If we are to discuss such a large question as Morocco
please bear in mind that the Germans will have something to say—and both
they and we will want compensation.”55 By early 1902, however, Chamberlain
had become an advocate of working with France against Germany and
pushed for Great Britain to enter negotiations with France over Morocco. In
December 1902, Chamberlain (now out of office) told the French government
that he now believed that his country must abandon its policy of isolation
and that he was pushing the cabinet to reach an accord with Paris. Of course,
Anglo-French negotiations over Morocco were not merely fixated on that
particular colonial question. Instead, they used this opportunity to discuss a
broader array of diplomatic cooperation between the countries. Germany was
a particular topic of conversation. Moreover, once an entente was reached,
the existing treaty arrangements between France and Russia implied that the
odds of an Anglo-Russian rapprochement had increased dramatically: as

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British statesman Evelyn Baring discerned, “one of the main attractions in the
whole business to the authorities of the Quai d’Orsay is the hope of leading up
to an Anglo-Russian arrangement, and thus isolating Germany.”56
Germany, however, paid no attention to this. German policymakers
stubbornly believed that hostility between Great Britain and France was so
deeply rooted that the possibility of an agreement was remote. On January 30,
1902, Paul Wolff Metternich, the German ambassador in London, reported
that Chamberlain had met with the French ambassador in order to discuss
the resolution of outstanding colonial disputes.57 By September, Richard von
Kuhlmann, the German representative in Tangier, informed his government
that Morocco was the main topic of the Anglo-French negotiations.58 Yet
Bülow, Holstein, and other senior German decision-makers still refused
to believe that an accord was possible. Bülow insisted that Anglo-French
conflict remained deeply entrenched and compromise would be difficult.
Even more important, Anglo-Russian differences were vast. Any agreement
between Great Britain and France would shatter the Franco-Russian alliance,
and thus would not be in France’s national interest.59 An agreement between
Great Britain and Russia would be simply impossible in his estimate: “An
agreement of England with Russia would always be tantamount to England’s
declaration of bankruptcy in Asia and Europe. Time runs for Russia, and any
English paying court to Russia only accelerates the decline of English prestige
in Asia and Europe.”60 By May 1903, after Anglo-French efforts to reach an
understanding had become apparent, the German embassy in Great Britain
reported that a colonial arrangement between the British and the French was
taking form. Rather than resulting in a dissolution of the Franco-Russian
alliance, the report stated, it would lead to the creation of an entente between
the three states.61 Bülow shared this report and solicited views from Holstein
and the German ambassadors in Great Britain, France, and Russia; on May 20,
he reported to the kaiser that the collective opinion of senior officials in the
foreign ministry disagreed with the conclusions drawn by the report’s author,
Eckardstein. An Anglo-French agreement would be extremely difficult; an
Anglo-Russian one even less likely.62
Thus, Germany greeted the April 8, 1904, announcement of the Anglo-
French Entente with deep shock. Holstein understood at once that the entente
signaled the failure of Germany’s Weltpolitik, as “no overseas policy is possible
against England and France.” The entente also opened up a split in the Triple
Alliance, as Italy’s economy was virtually dependent on Great Britain (95
percent of its coal imports came from there) and its security was deeply influ-
enced by Great Britain and France. Once Britain and France had joined hands,

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Italo-German estrangement was unavoidable. Other foreign ministry officials

shared similar views. Many held the view that the entente represented “one of
the worst defeats for German policy since the creation of the Dual Alliance,”
and some suggested that a “diplomatic victory” was urgently needed to calm
domestic public opinion.63 Chancellor Bülow, however, did not fully agree.
He still thought the entente provided little cause for concern. One reason
for this was that Great Britain would never truly support a French revan-
chist war against Germany; it would only provide rhetorical aid to such an
endeavor. Another was that he saw the Anglo-French agreement to cooperate
on Morocco as unstable. Great Britain could never really follow through on
its duty to support France there.64 Above all else, however, he persisted in
thinking that the entente and the Franco-Russian alliance contradicted one
another, thus Germany could find an occasion to split Russia from France and
then establish an alliance with it.

The Two Main Themes of the German Diplomatic Counterattack

Disagreements among Germany’s policymakers did not affect their
unanimous conclusion that Germany needed to take measures to strike
back. After the entente was announced, two mutually interacting themes
emerged in Germany’s policy measures: pursuit of an alliance with Russia and
engagement with the Morocco Question.
For Germany, there were two issues implicated in allying with Russia.
First: was Russia even willing? Second: would such an alliance have value?
The mainstream answer for the latter question, as expressed by Holstein, was
initially negative. An alliance with Russia had its uses when Germany had
pursued a continental policy, but it would have no use under the Weltpolitik.
The reasoning behind this was that, as a land power, Russia would only be able
to assist Germany on land. It would be absolutely unable to help Germany
to confront “the jealousy of Great Britain and the United States.”65 The value
of such an alliance, however, dramatically changed upon the announcement
of the entente. Many German policymakers correctly predicted that France
would exert every possible effort to construct links between Great Britain and
Russia in order to form a Triple Entente. Concluding an alliance with Russia
would be the best method for Germany to thwart France’s scheme. Bülow
agreed, claiming that a Russo-German alliance would “destroy the possibility
of a Russian-French-British alliance.”66
Russia was, at that moment, caught in a predicament that seemed
favorable to the achievement of Germany’s objective. After the outbreak of the
Russo-Japanese War on February 8, 1904, the Russian military situation had

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slowly deteriorated. Russia urgently needed stable relations with Germany;

Germany, moreover, provided munitions and support. For a time, Russian’s
diplomatic environment manifested a curious transformation: France, an
alliance partner, acted as an indifferent observer, and Germany, a potential
foe, played the role of an ally. This led Germany to think that it could approach
Russia about an alliance. The kaiser telegraphed the czar on October 27, 1904,
claiming that Germany was facing pressure from Great Britain over its supply
of coal to the Russian fleet. The two countries thus needed to strengthen their
cooperative efforts and remind France of its duties as Russia’s ally.67 Nicholas
II quickly agreed, and proposed that the three countries work together. He
asked Germany to draft a treaty to that effect. According the draft developed
by the German Foreign Ministry, if either Germany or Russia found itself
under attack in Europe, the other country would be mandated to provide
assistance. An appendix obligated both countries to remind France of its
commitment to Russia. The Russian government understood clearly the
implications of these German proposals. On November 7, Russia responded
with its own revisions to the draft: first, it would be Russia alone that would
remind France of its duties as an ally; and second, Germany should cooperate
with Russia as it negotiated an end to the Russo-Japanese War. Thus, not only
did Germany not achieve its objective, it possibly might be pulled by Russia
into a conflict with the Anglo-Japanese alliance. It could not, of course, agree
to this. Thereupon Russia informed Germany on November 23 that the French
would have to see any Russo-German treaty before it could be signed. This, in
essence, constituted a rejection of the alliance proposal. Overall, this attempt
revealed the impossibility of an alliance between the two powers. The purpose
of such an alliance for Germany would be to strengthen its own position in
Europe while avoiding any commitment that would damage relations with
Japan or Great Britain.68 For Russia, however, the goal was to gain desperately
needed wartime assistance while maintaining the alliance with France. This
pushed both France and Germany to seek better relations with Russia, even as
they remained suspicious of one another.
The Moroccan Question also played a role in this context. Germany
did not act in pusuit of a specific, concrete objective. In June 1904, Holstein
wrote in a memorandum that “not only for material reasons, but also to
protect her prestige, Germany must protest against France’s intention to
acquire Morocco.”69 Many British and U.S. historians criticize and mock this
German motive, but objectively speaking its actions were excusable. Between
1903 and 1904, British hostility and wariness toward Germany had become
difficult to control. British Foreign Secretary Lansdowne even admitted,

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“The anti-German feeling here has been furious and unreasoning and has I
think produced a profound impression on the German mind. It has, however,
been allowed to go much too far.”70 The French Foreign Minister at the time,
Théophile Delcassé, was a leader of the anti-German faction in French politics.
Thus, not only did the entente have a profound anti-German strategic orien-
tation, but also its concrete actions directly served to suppress Germany. For
example, Germany demanded compensation for the arrangements developed
by the entente for Morocco and Egypt (which Germany, and all of the other
great powers, had interests in). According to the accepted international
practice of the time, Germany’s demand was reasonable. Germany’s specific
requests were not at all excessive, and included things such as compensation
for losses sustained by German citizens during the Boer War and a restoration
of trade links between Germany and Canada. Yet the British rejected them
all. Germany then filed a claim for a mere £70,000 in compensation. This also
met with refusal. The British and French had, by contrast, prepared to offer
compensation to Russia, Austria-Hungary, and Italy. It is easy to conclude
that Britain and France (but Britain in particular) had set out to deliberately
humiliate Germany.71 Therefore the German desire to use the Moroccan
Question to regain face or recover prestige is understandable.
The problem for Germany lay in the fact that the pursuit of prestige is an
amorphous goal. The situation in Morocco was complex, and the price and
consequences of this quest were unpredictable. Thus Germany rashly leapt
into muddy waters, its judgments and plans repeatedly failed, thus dooming
the enterprise.

The Outbreak of the First Moroccan Crisis and Germany’s Misjudgments

For the first six months after the April 1904 announcement of the entente,
Germany did not push for progress on the Moroccan Question. By November,
however, the combined total of Russia’s rejection of an alliance, the Anglo-
French rejection of compensation claims, and the unwillingness of Russia,
Austria-Hungary, and Italy to take the lead in opposing Anglo-French
colonial deals had left Germany in a precarious diplomatic position. German
public opinion mercilessly criticized the government’s impotent policies. The
pressure of this forced the German government to summon up the courage
to take active measures. Kuhlmann, the German diplomatic representative in
Tangier, proposed that the kaiser, who was then on a cruise in the Mediter-
ranean, land in Tangier and openly recognize the independent sovereignty of
the Moroccan sultan. Wilhelm II personally preferred to use more conciliatory
methods to entice France into a Continental League and was unwilling to take

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such a hard-line action. Yet in January 1905, a French military group was sent
to Fez, demonstrating that French Foreign Minister Delcassé would no longer
ask for Germany’s opinion, but would instead direct active measures to exert
control.72 As a result, Wilhelm II was forced to accept the suggestion of his
chancellor and foreign ministry. On March 31, 1905, he landed at Tangier
and made a forceful speech that acknowledged the sultan’s sovereignty and
argued for the necessity of an open-door policy. This visit instigated the First
Moroccan Crisis.
Germany’s timing was impeccable. In early 1905, approximately two-
thirds of the Russian Army was engaged in an East Asian war with Japan.
It lacked the strength to fight even a defensive war on its western frontier,
leaving the Franco-Russian alliance paralyzed. Delcassé’s haste in forming
the entente with Great Britain and launching a diplomatic assault against
Germany had been rash mistakes, leaving France in a fragile state, both
diplomatically and militarily. The initial results of the crisis revealed that the
kaiser’s trip had caught the French unprepared; Delcassé was forced to seek
negotiations with Germany. Great Britain feared that it would pay the price
for any Franco-German deal, leading Lansdowne to claim that “the French
Government might be induced to purchase the acquiescence of Germany
by concessions of a kind which we were not likely to regard with favor, in
other parts of the world.”73 To prevent this, Great Britain expressed strong
support for France, yet avoided making any precise commitment. Thus, at this
point in the crisis, Germany could easily have scored a diplomatic victory and
have created cracks in the new Anglo-French Entente, had it only devised an
appropriate strategy. German policymakers, however, assessed the situation
incorrectly yet again.
During the Bismarckian period, Germany had an unwritten principle for
managing crises: engage in bilateral talks when Germany itself is a principal
party to the dispute, in order to make the most of Germany’s power; seek
multi-party solutions when Germany is not central to the dispute, thus
dispersing responsibility and pressure while preserving initiative. During the
First Morocco Crisis, Germany’s policymakers completely forgot this maxim.
Holstein supported the need for an international conference that could
resolve the Moroccan Question and rejected bilateral talks with France. On
April 3, Chancellor Bülow accepted this, and eight days later he called for an
international conference of all the signatories on the 1880 Treaty of Madrid.
There were two major reasons for Germany’s decision. First, Germany’s oppo-
sition to French annexation of Morocco was an action in defense of an inter-
national treaty and, as such, would be supported by the majority of nations.

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 From Weltpolitik to Encirclement

Calling a conference would allow it to make fullest use of this advantage.

Although Morocco was, in name, governed by the local sultan, its politics
and economics were controlled by the European powers and the United
States. In 1880, these countries with rights and interests in Morocco had met
at Madrid to enshrine their “most favored nation status” by treaty. Looking
at the issue purely from the perspective of international law, French designs
to annex Morocco violated the treaty, while Germany’s behavior was firmly
grounded in it. Holstein calculated that a German proposal for an open-door
policy in Morocco would definitely win U.S. support. Given the British fear
of U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt, they, too, would be forced to support it.
Although Spain already had an accord with France on Morocco, it still feared
that French expansion there would ultimately harm its interests, and thus
would also support the German position. Italy and Austria-Hungary were
German allies, so their support was assured.74 Second, the conference would
be a blow to France, but not so much that it would damage French dignity,
and thus it would not prevent a Franco-German reconciliation once all was
said and done. Holstein saw international conferences as a form of collective
action. Of all the forms that a defeat for France could take, a conference would
be the least damaging. France’s defeat in 1814 at the hands of a coalition, for
instance, had felt less humiliating than its 1870 defeat by Prussia.75 Moreover,
Germany hoped to use the conference to attack French Foreign Minister
Delcassé himself: criticisms were to be directed at Delcassé’s policies alone,
while respecting French national feelings.76
Just as in the past, German strategic judgments contained a significant
dose of wishful thinking, particularly the assessment of the United States.
The Germans had assumed that the “open door” the United States sought in
China would translate into support for a similar policy in North Africa. In
fact, President Roosevelt turned the Germans down. He claimed that it had
already proved difficult to garner popular support for the open-door policy
in China. A similar policy in North Africa had no hope of being understood.
On April 20, 1905, Roosevelt repeated his lack of interest in a North African
open-door policy, claiming that U.S. interests in Morocco “are not sufficiently
great to make me feel justified in entangling our Government in this matter.”77
This did not attract much attention in Germany, however. Germany had
already made up its mind; it was determined to call a conference for the reso-
lution of the Moroccan Question and rejected all offers for bilateral negotia-
tions with France. Holstein even directed the German ambassador in France
to avoid all formal contact with the French Foreign Ministry.78

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A German Diplomatic Defeat

In the face of strong diplomatic pressure from Germany, splits developed
inside the French government. Delcassé had been the principal advocate
of the entente with Great Britain, and he sought British support even as he
offered to negotiate with the Germans. French President Émile Loubet saw his
policies as risky and potentially leading to war with Germany. Once Germany
learned of these tensions within the French government, it pushed even
harder. French divisions ultimately burst asunder. On June 6, 1905, Delcassé
resigned and Loubet, who had supported cooperation with Germany, added
the foreign ministry to his brief. He hoped that this could lead to direct nego-
tiations with Germany over Morocco. Loubet represented French financial
capitalists, who themselves favored improved ties with Germany and had little
interest in the entente with Great Britain. Thus Germany was confronted with
a favorable opportunity to resolve the crisis: if Germany had accepted the
French proposal, it would have aided the political position of the pro-German
French financial community and helped split the Anglo-French Entente.
Curiously, at this point German policymakers (except for Wilhelm II, who
wanted to end the matter and improve ties with France after Delcassé resigned)
all seemed to forget the original purpose of provoking the crisis in Morocco.
In their minds, Germany had already supported an international conference
and it could not back away from that. German policy began to be driven by
a simple desire to maintain face. Holstein himself admitted that Germany,
at that moment, no longer sought to “achieve anything in particular” but
wanted to display “that things can’t be done without us.”79 By late June 1905,
Franco-German disputes over whether or not to call a conference intensified.
Germany twisted the screws on Loubet’s government, forcing it to accept the
conference. In a letter to the German ambassador in France, Holstein claimed
to be unable to understand French insistence on direct bilateral talks, as an
international conference could resolve the issue while preserving face for
everyone involved. The only loser could be Great Britain, because it wanted
Germany and France to bicker over Morocco.80
In the end, France had to accept Germany’s demand, and the two sides
reached an agreement on July 8, 1905, to hold an international conference on
the Moroccan Question. This result was, on the surface, a German victory,
but it in fact planted the seeds for an eventual German defeat. As the British
historian A. J. P. Taylor concluded, Germany

could go from success to success so long as they negotiated with

France alone…by agreeing to a genuine conference they exposed

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 From Weltpolitik to Encirclement

themselves to the risk of a diplomatic coalition. Their mistake was

in large part that of all those who appeal to international confer-
ences: they imagined that somewhere there was an impartial ‘world
opinion,’ which would be voiced by the supposedly neutral powers.81

In July 1905, Germany still held an advantageous position. Great Britain

only supported the French diplomatically, while the Russian naval defeat at
Tsushima forced them to seek peace with Japan. If Germany could ensure
that the conference agenda entirely reflected its own proposals, there was
still a great possibility it could pull off a diplomatic victory. The improvement
of Russo-German ties, however, influenced the solution of the Moroccan
Question.
After the Russian defeat at Tsushima, revolutionary fervor grew inside
Russia while peace negotiations with Japan proceeded only slowly. Seeing
Russia’s predicament, Wilhelm II plotted a clever gambit: using his upcoming
meeting with the czar to try again for an alliance between the two countries. In
July 1905, the two monarchs met onboard naval vessels moored near Björkö
in the Gulf of Finland. Unexpectedly, on July 24, the kaiser persuaded the czar
to sign a treaty of alliance. This unanticipated course of events completely
changed German plans. The kaiser thought that now that a treaty existed
between Germany and Russia, the Franco-Russian alliance no longer existed,
and that France would be forced to exit the entente with Great Britain and join
the new German alliance system.82 Thus, Germany’s objectives in Morocco
were to maintain its own prestige, damage the Anglo-French Entente, and
improve ties with France in order for it to be easier for France to join the new
Russo-German alliance.
From Chancellor Bülow’s perspective, Germany needed to extricate itself
quickly from Moroccan affairs, thereby reducing Franco-German frictions
and demonstrating German magnanimity. He even considered allowing
France complete freedom of action in Morocco.83 As a result, Germany hastily
made concessions, particularly by making significant changes (in accord with
French opinion) to the structure of the planned international conference.
Unthinkingly, Germany paved the path to its own defeat at the conference.
Germany had violated a great taboo of international conflict: demonstrating
one’s own generosity before one’s opponent is truly defeated. In fact, the Russo-
German alliance inked at Björkö soon ran into problems. Many inside Russia
disliked the treaty. Foreign Minister Vladimir Lambsdorff, former Finance
Minister Sergey Witte, and other important officials opposed it and pressured
the czar accordingly. On October 7, 1905, the czar informed the kaiser that he

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Fragile Rise

would need to consult France before the treaty could take effect. The position
of the French government was perfectly clear: it rejected the alliance. The czar
formally notified the kaiser of this fact on November 23, claiming that it would
be difficult to persuade France to join anything like the original treaty. This
effectively cancelled the agreement the two monarchs had reached in July.
Any dream of an alliance between the three countries vanished into thin air.
None of these facts could be changed by Germany’s overly early conces-
sions to France over Morocco. On January 16, 1906, the conference opened
in the Spanish coastal city of Algeciras. The entire conference agenda favored
France. France and Great Britain had both prepared themselves fully for the
conference. Germany, by contrast, assumed that naturally it had the support
of other countries and so did little work in advance of the meeting. It failed
even to discuss Morocco with the other countries. Therefore, Germany
suddenly found itself isolated once the conference began: Germany wanted
to maintain Moroccan independence for the general benefit of the great
powers, while France wanted to strengthen its own control over the region—
and of the thirteen other powers represented at the conference, only Austria-
Hungary backed Germany while the rest, including Germany’s Triple Alliance
partner, Italy, essentially supported France. The conference could only result
in German concessions. In the final agreement issued at the end of the
conference, the key issue (control of the police in Morocco) was decided in
France’s favor. The agreement stipulated joint Franco-Spanish management of
police and maintenance of order, but this in fact meant French control. The
First Morocco Crisis ended in a German defeat.

Anglo-Russian Entente and German Encirclement

The Effects of the First Morocco Crisis on Germany

The First Morocco Crisis had profound and wide-ranging repercussions.
For Europe as a whole, this was the first time since German unification that
anyone had seriously considered the possibility and prospect of a general war.
Thus “it was a true ‘crisis,’ a turning-point in European history. It shattered the
long Bismarckian peace.”84 There were two major repercussions for Germany.
First, some in Germany policymaking circles regretted that they had not made
use of Germany’s temporary military advantage, particularly that Germany
had not risked war. A tendency for hard lines and risk-taking reared its head.
Russia’s defeat at Japan’s hands had placed Germany in a position more advan-
tageous than any since the 1894 Franco-Russian alliance was formed. Due to
poor application of strategy, however, Germany was unable to transform that

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moment of military superiority into a political triumph. Some policymakers

began to regret that Germany had missed this opportunity. One proponent of
using this window of opportunity, Alfred von Schlieffen, has been paraphrased
by another as believing that “in 1905, therefore, it was necessary either to
utilize the favorable military situation or to push through a complete under-
standing with France over Alsace-Lorraine.” Wilhelm II himself vetoed this
idea, to Schlieffen’s deep regret. Karl von Einem, the army minister, blamed
the kaiser for how events turned out: “having in the years 1905–06—to our
misfortune—prevented a collision with France.”85 These feelings caused future
policymakers to use ever more hard-line measures in international affairs,
particularly during crises, even to the point where they gladly ran the risk of war.
The second repercussion was that German military superiority and
diplomatic aggressiveness stimulated Great Britain and France to upgrade
their own military cooperation. In late June 1905, when the dispute between
France and Germany over Morocco was at its most acute, some in the British
government feared that Germany would attack France. The issue of aid to
France, if such a situation arose, fell under consideration. John “Jackie” Fisher,
first sea lord of the Admiralty, wrote in a late June memorandum that a second
French defeat would allow Germany to dominate the continent, “and it might
therefore be necessary for Great Britain in her own interests to lend France
her active support.”86 On January 10, 1906, British Foreign Secretary Edward
Grey informed the French ambassador to London that Great Britain would
not stand aside in event of a Franco-German war.87 Four days later. British
Secretary of State for War Richard Haldane ordered the British General Staff
and the French military attaché in Great Britain to meet. The result of this
discussion was a January 22 promise that, if needed, Britain could mobilize
and deploy 105,000 soldiers to France within fifteen days.88 These measures
had extremely important strategic significance. As Winston Churchill recalled
in his memoirs, at the Anglo-French military talks:

The minds of our military men were definitely turned into a particular
channel. Mutual trust grew continually in one set of military relation-
ships, mutual precautions in the other. However explicitly the two
Governments might agree and affirm to each other that no national
or political engagement was involved in these technical discussions,
the fact remained that they constituted an exceedingly potent tie.89

In other words, this level of tactical coordination demonstrated the treaty-less

alliance that had developed between the two countries.

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Fragile Rise

These two repercussions interacted with each other in a volatile manner.

This posed a special risk to Germany as a rising power. In 1906 and 1907, it had
come to be seen as a security threat. Other great powers had begun to unite
to block Germany. Germany’s responses had also grown ever more intense
and extreme. After the 1906 Algeciras Conference, German policymakers
and German society understood that they were diplomatically isolated. A
narrative of German encirclement became popular. On November 14, 1906,
Chancellor Bülow used this term for the first time in an open session of the
Reichstag: “A policy aiming at the encirclement of Germany and seeking to
form a ring of Powers in order to isolate and paralyze it would be disastrous
to the peace of Europe. The forming of such a ring would not be possible
without exerting some pressure. Pressure provokes counter-pressure. And
out of pressure and counter-pressure finally explosions may arise.”90 After-
wards, encirclement became a fixed phrase for policymakers and the media
alike in discussing German foreign relations. It became deeply implanted in
popular consciousness. As a result, Germany became ever less tolerant of
external pressure and the use of strong measures to break out of encirclement
seemingly became the only viable strategic choice.
The first result of German feelings of encirclement was a reappraisal of
the alliance with Austria. The Weltpolitik had directed attention outside of
Europe; ties with Austria were merely an important part of the continental
policy. After the beginning of the Weltpolitik in 1897, Austria-Hungary’s signif-
icance for German diplomacy had declined. Particularly during the period in
which Germany thought that it could maintain freedom of action between the
Franco-Russian alliance and Great Britain, Germany had essentially ignored
Austria-Hungary. Austria-Hungary had, for example, once warned Germany
about the likelihood of conflict with Great Britain arising from its naval
expansion, but Germany disregarded this.91 Once the Algeciras Conference
revealed that only Austria-Hungary would support Germany, the German
attitude suddenly changed. In a 1906 report to the kaiser, Bülow argued that
Germany’s relationship with Austria had become more important than ever, as
it was Germany’s only “reliable ally.”92 At the same time, Germany was forced
to reconsider the domestic political elements of the alliance with Austria-
Hungary. A 1906 constitutional crisis in the Austro-Hungarian Empire had
raised the specter of imperial dissolution. Germany feared that if Austria-
Hungary fell apart, then its German-majority areas might be absorbed into
Germany, creating enormous stresses on German society: “We shall thereby
receive an increase of about fifteen million Catholics so that the Protestants
would become a minority…the proportion of strength between the Protes-

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 From Weltpolitik to Encirclement

tants and the Catholics would become similar to that which at the time led
to the Thirty Years’ War, i.e., a virtual dissolution of the German Empire.”93
Germany’s heavy reliance on Austria-Hungary resulted in an inability to refuse
Austrian demands. Thus, Austria-Hungary could confidently ask Germany
to foot the bill for its expansionist policies. The phenomenon of the weak
leading the strong within the alliance, which Bismarck had struggled so hard
against, had now come into being. This was accompanied by risky changes in
Austrian policy. In fall 1906, there was a major change of personnel within
the Austro-Hungarian government: Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf became
the chief of the General Staff and Alois Lexa von Aehrenthal the foreign
minister. Both of these men were aggressive risk-takers and strongly hoped
to manufacture a foreign policy victory in order to restore their country’s
prestige. Their sights were set primarily on the sensitive Balkan region, which
intensified disputes with Russia and harmed Russo-German relations. At this
point, considerations of solidifying the alliance with Austria-Hungary pushed
other concerns off the German agenda. In May 1907, Germany offered full
support for Austro-Hungarian resistance to possible Russian expansion in the
Balkans. This greatly increased Germany’s own latent conflict with Russia.

The Anglo-Russian Entente and the Intensification of German Encirclement

Simultaneously, an anti-German alliance continued to come into being.
British Foreign Secretary Grey had proposed the notion of a three-way entente
between Great Britain, France, and Russia during the Algeciras Conference:
“The door is being kept open by us for a rapprochement with Russia; there is
at least a prospect that when Russia is re-established we shall find ourselves on
good terms with her. An entente between Russia, France and ourselves would
be absolutely secure. If it is necessary to check Germany it could then be
done.”94 The British War Office’s opinion was even more positive. On March
20, 1906, a memorandum from the army clearly pointed out:

By detaching her [Russia] from Germany we should have her on

our side if and when Germany reaches the Persian Gulf95—a contin-
gency which is far less to be desired than Russia’s presence there. It
would also tend to weaken Germany’s military position in Europe
and therefore strengthen our own as well as that of France, the
ally of Russia.… This course would, however, probably mean that
Germany’s enmity toward us would be increased, but her enmity is
almost certain to be increased (there is no just reason why it should)
if we succeed in coming to an agreement with Russia on any terms.

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Fragile Rise

Further, Germany’s avowed aims and ambitions are such that they
seem bound, if persisted in, to bring her into armed collision with us
sooner or later, and therefore a little more or less enmity on her part
is not a matter of great importance.96

Russia’s need to restrain Germany was not as pressing as Britain’s, but the defeat
by Japan had spurred a reorientation of foreign policy. The strategic focus
was brought back to Europe, and improved relations with Great Britain were
sought. The Russian Foreign Minister, Alexander Izvolsky, who took office
in May 1906, pointed out that “the foreign policy of Russia must continue
to rest upon the unchangeable base of her alliance with France, but that this
alliance must itself be fortified and enlarged by agreements with England and
Japan.”97 Arthur Nicolson, the new British ambassador to Russia, arrived in
St. Petersburg on May 28, and visited Izvolsky the next day to propose formal
negotiations for an alliance. More than a year of seesaw negotiations followed,
but an agreement on Persia, Afghanistan, and Tibet was signed on August
31, 1907. Those three regions were divided into clearly delimited spheres of
influence and buffer zones. Through this convention, the two countries rid
themselves of their most concentrated set of disputes. Although there was no
hint of anti-German coloring to this arrangement, objectively it was a blow to
Germany’s diplomatic and security environments.
The changing mindset of the British government during the course of the
negotiations with Russia, particularly its assessment of Germany as a threat,
is worthy of notice. Anglo-German relations had been openly decaying
since 1895, and by 1902, Great Britain already conceived of Germany as a
competitor. Yet, as the world hegemonic power, Great Britain faced a broad
array of threats. Germany’s rank within those threats was still not settled;
assessments of German threats underwent continuous refinement. In
November 1903, the Committee on Imperial Defence, Great Britain’s core
national defense advisory committee, concluded that India was the empire’s
primary defense problem and thus Russia, not Germany, constituted the
greatest threat to Great Britain.98 The rise of Anglo-German naval tensions
and Japan’s victory over Russia, however, forced a methodical reassessment of
these threats. In 1906, the British government carried out a new estimate of its
position and interests in the Middle East and India. It concluded that Anglo-
Russian tensions had been reduced to the point where reconciliation was
possible; requests from the British military command in India to augment its
forces in response to a threat from Russia were denied.99

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 From Weltpolitik to Encirclement

In January 1907, British diplomat Eyre Crowe penned a 24-page “Memo-

randum on the Present State of British Relations with France and Germany.”
This document played an extremely important role in British foreign policy,
particularly toward Germany. It can even be seen as a milestone. Crowe offered
a comprehensive assessment of British foreign policy principles, German
behavior and intentions, an analysis of British’s current situation, and policy
suggestions for the future. Both the document’s writing style and analysis
represent the wisdom and the traditions of British diplomacy. To a certain
extent, Crowe’s memorandum was comparable to George Kennan’s famous
“long telegram” of 1947. His core premise was that Germany had become
accustomed to adopting aggressive policies. Regardless of what the concrete
objectives of these policies were, Germany’s goal was to be a global power.
Germany’s quest for command of the seas, in particular, had created irrec-
oncilable conflicts between the two countries, because “a German maritime
supremacy must be acknowledged to be incompatible with the existence of
the British Empire.”100 This memorandum had far-reaching effects on British
policies. The document itself leaped beyond the fields of policy analysis and
advice to touch upon issues of history and philosophy, making it a useful
guide. Foreign Secretary Grey passed the document on to the prime minister,
the secretary of state for war, and other important members of the cabinet,
calling it “most valuable,” a “guide for policy, and something that should be
‘carefully studied.’”101 Beginning with this memorandum, the British policy of
containing Germany began to be systematized, clarified, and solidified.
German policymakers naturally recognized the seriousness of these
changes. After the First Morocco Crisis, Germany realized that not only had
it failed to loosen the Anglo-French Entente, but also the entente had become
closer and its role as an anti-German military alliance became more apparent
by the day. In early 1907, German ambassador to London Metternich
suspected that Great Britain and France already had some sort of military
arrangement between them. He reminded Bülow that if Germany attacked
France over Morocco, then Great Britain would aid France.102 The August 31,
1907, signing of the Anglo-Russian Convention was yet another serious blow
to Germany. In order to avoid the incitement of domestic sentiment, Chan-
cellor Bülow ordered all major German newspapers to treat the issue impar-
tially, to frame the agreement as the delineation of spheres of influence and not
a military alliance nor a threat to Germany. German policymakers themselves,
however, were in fact very clear about the agreement’s meaning. Wilhelm
II himself noted that the European situation had become less favorable to

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Germany.103 The same year, Anglo-German naval competition accelerated

into a full-blown arms race. After Britain’s launch of the first Dreadnought-
class battleship in 1906, Germany revealed its second supplemental plan and
decided to begin constructing its own dreadnoughts, launching a compe-
tition for construction of those ships between the two countries. Germany’s
move helped form a public consensus within Great Britain. German naval
expansion was now understood as Great Britain’s greatest threat since the
Napoleonic Wars. The country, of course, needed to respond with all of its
might.104 As the hostility between Great Britain and Germany deepened, the
Anglo-French anti-German relationship strengthened. In May 1908, French
President Armand Fallières’s visit to London was enthusiastically received
by British society. Metternich, the German ambassador in London, believed
that if Germany became involved in a war with France, it would spur the
immediate creation of a true Anglo-French alliance. Great Britain, France,
and Russia were already united against Germany and its Triple Alliance
partners, although the former group did not have a desire to attack.105 Still,
this increased the level of anxiety among German policymakers and made
their assessments even more pessimistic. On June 17, 1908, Chancellor Bülow
wrote:

There are, unmistakably, conspiracies against us everywhere now. I

continue to believe that for economic and financial reasons England
would only very reluctantly take the decision to go to war. I believe
that Russia needs and wants peace. And finally I believe that even
France, although she has not yet got over Alsace-Lorraine and the
loss of her 250-year-old prépondérance légitime on the continent and
has not given up the idea of revenge, has doubts about running the
unpredictable risks of a war. But at the same time I believe that it
is in the interest of these Powers to make us appear on edge and
restless. That is our enemies’ tactic if only because every real or
apparent threat from our side induces the French to fortify their
Eastern border even more, the English to build more Dreadnoughts,
the Russians to move even more troops to their Western border.…
We must work as quietly as possible to make our Army swift to strike
and ready for war, but outwardly we must avoid anything that draws
attention unnecessarily to our work and to us and exposes us to fresh
suspicions and intrigues.106

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 From Weltpolitik to Encirclement

Overall, the results of the Weltpolitik were apparent for all to see by the
policy’s tenth anniversary in 1908. Tremendous changes had occurred in
Germany’s diplomatic environment; the notion of strategic encirclement had
already become widely shared among the policymaking class. The Weltpolitik
had led to public defeats, and Germany’s security environment had seriously
deteriorated. Splits emerged within German policymaking circles about
the continued viability of the policy, particularly the naval plans associated
with it. Some proposed returning the focus to the European continent and
the army. In an August 16, 1908, letter to Holstein, Bülow first pointed out
that once German fiscal reforms were complete, the pace of fleet constriction
would drop: “If I am still Chancellor then, I will not permit any such Icarus
flight. Not only for reasons of foreign policy, but for domestic policy as well.
We cannot have both the greatest army and the biggest navy. We cannot
weaken the army, for our destiny will be decided on land.”107 These disagree-
ments between policymakers would not be resolved before the outbreak of
war in 1914. One point, however, remained unchallenged: both those who
favored strengthening the navy and those who favored strengthening the
army agreed that forceful measures were needed to break out of encirclement.
This tendency became increasingly evident in each successive crisis after
1908. German diplomacy came to resemble a game of chicken. Both the
Tirpitz Plan’s advocacy of a High Seas Fleet and the Schlieffen Plan’s vision of
complete victory on the western front served to transform German military
strategy into nothing more than a large-scale gamble.

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 7

An Obsession with Command of the Seas

“In the case of such commercial and industrial development,
points of contract and conflict with other nations increase.
Naval power is essential if Germany does not want to go
under.”
Alfred von Tirpitz

T he construction of a High Seas Fleet lay at the core of Germany’s

Weltpolitik. Taken on its own terms, the spate of naval construction that
began in the late 1890s was successful. Rooted in an obsession with command
of the seas, this program made use of Germany’s powerful industry, advanced
technology, and organizational ability. It stimulated a powerful wave of
public interest in naval construction in a country that had essentially no
naval tradition. As a result, within twenty years, this program transformed
an inconsequential navy into the second most powerful in the world. Yet this
partial triumph was disastrous when viewed from a more comprehensive
perspective. Germany’s “headlong advance” style of naval construction
represented a significant step in the dissolution of German grand strategy.
To a certain extent, naval strategy usurped the role of grand strategy. From
1897 to 1914, naval strategy became Germany’s only systematic, continuous
strategy. This abnormal situation not only led to the misallocation of national
resources, it also definitively worsened Germany’s security environment. The
massive scale of naval construction directly challenged the basis for British
hegemony and security—the Royal Navy’s command of the seas. Strategically,
this placed Germany and Great Britain directly at odds with one another. The
two countries slipped into a pernicious, inescapable security conflict. History
provides many examples of war between rising powers and established powers
becoming unavoidable once the situation reaches this stage.
Fragile Rise

The Origins of Germany’s High Seas Fleet

Changing German Understandings of the Navy

Traditionally, neither Prussia nor Germany had attached much importance
to sea power. Given that it was ringed on land by powerful countries, Prussia
had always prioritized its army. Before unification, moreover, the German
coastline belonged to numerous different states; this divided coastline and the
consequent separation of ports made the creation of a powerful navy impos-
sible. After German unification, the rise of German overseas trade and the
growth of colonial interests pushed issues of naval expansion to the top of the
agenda. Even so, Germany remained uninterested in a navy during Bismarck’s
tenure in office. This was in part due to the policymaker’s deep-rooted recog-
nition that land power must precede ocean power. A letter written by General
Edwin Manteuffel to Chief of the Military Cabinet General Emil von Albedyll
in 1883 reflected this widespread attitude: “I, too, belong to the uncultured
supporters of the policies of King F[riedrich] W[ilhelm] I, who sold his last
warship in order to create one more battalion.”1 This attitude was also due in
part to Bismarck’s own predilections. In keeping with his overarching belief
that Germany should not seek to maximize its power, Bismarck held that since
Germany already had the most powerful army in the world, naval expansion
would inspire nervousness in Great Britain, France, and Russia, and might
rouse them to form an anti-German alliance. The notion that Germany
needed to assure its own absolute security through the development of a navy
capable of protecting Germany’s overseas interests did not carry much weight.
In response to calls for a strong navy that could prevent British threats
to German overseas interests, Bismarck argued that a more effective method
of restraining Britain’s naval power would be to join with another second-tier
naval power in an armed neutrality pact. Given that the 1856 Paris Decla-
ration Respecting Maritime Law had expressed the right of countries to
protect their freedom of navigation on the oceans, it was entirely possible
for Germany to organize such an alliance. Bismarck believed this type of
guarantee was relatively safe, but he also warned that there was no absolute
security for German commercial and colonial interests, as any attempt to rival
British naval strength would be negated by an Anglo-French naval alliance.2
Under the influence of these two factors, the German Navy developed only
slowly during the Bismarckian era. Strategically, the fleet of this era focused
on the defense of coastal waters.
A mammoth change occurred in German attitudes toward the navy in
the 1890s. The construction of a powerful blue-water High Seas Fleet became

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a strategic objective. Even more surprisingly, Germany discarded its historical

indifference to naval force and energetically invested itself in the command
and control of the seas and the massive project of fleet construction. Support
for the High Seas Fleet became a popular national obsession. In many ways,
this was a moment of historical rupture rather than continuity. Behind this
change lay a complex but powerful series of motives.3
The first was the prevalence of navalism as an ideology. At the end of
the nineteenth century, the importance of naval power seemed paramount
as overseas imperialist expansion reached its high-water mark. Navalism,
much like Social Darwinism and other ideological currents, was widespread
in all of the great powers. The writings of strategist Alfred Mahan marked the
true starting point of the trend. Beginning in 1890, he successively published
The Influence of Sea Power upon History, 1660–1783 (1890), The Influence of
Sea Power upon the French Revolution and Empire, 1793–1812 (1892), and
Sea Power in Relation to the War of 1812 (1905). Collectively, his works not
only pointed to a theory of naval strategy based on battleships and seizure
of command of the sea, but they also raised the development of sea power
to the level of historical philosophy. Mahan pointed to the tight connection
between sea power and the rise and fall of nations, thus creating an abstract,
universally applicable model. British naval hegemony and the U.S. conquest
of its western territories provided strong examples for this principle.4 Under
Mahan’s influence, all of the great powers—including Great Britain, France,
Russia, and the United States—experienced a wave of enthusiasm for naval
construction. Even some of the middle powers, such as Portugal, Mexico, the
Netherlands, and Spain, participated as well, making navalism a powerful
international trend.5 These highly simplified theories and their promised
direct linkage to world power held an even greater attraction for a rapidly
growing great power like Germany. A large number of Germans saw a
powerful navy as a quick, and necessary, road that would take Germany to its
future status as a world power. In late 1897, Chancellor Hohenlohe claimed
in a speech to the Reichstag that: “Precisely because we want to carry out a
peaceful policy, we must make an effort to build our fleet into a power factor
which carries the necessary weight in the eyes of friend and foe alike.… In
maritime questions, Germany must be able to speak a modest but, above all, a
wholly German word.”6
The second was the need to respond to societal demands. Post-unifi-
cation German social structures were full of contradictions and tensions. By
the 1890s, the development of the German industrial and commercial capi-
talist classes had advanced to the point that a large middle class had formed.

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Actual power inside the country, however, was wielded by the Junker landlord
class (although after the 1870s, heavy industrial capitalists won a spot at the
table), and the social status of the middle class proved difficult to change. This
was readily apparent inside the military. In countries like Germany, where the
military enjoyed special status, enlisting and (especially) serving as an officer
was a major route for middle-class men to enhance their social standing. The
army (and particularly the Prussian Army), however, continued to see the
traditional Junker class as its main source of officers and was unwilling to
open up to the middle class. Between 1890 and 1914, the percentage of army
officers with aristocratic backgrounds declined, but still numbered some 30
percent in 1913. The percentage was higher in the upper reaches of the officer
corps. In 1900, 60 percent of colonels and above were aristocrats; in 1913, the
number was 53 percent.7 The navy, by contrast, did not take social status into
account for entry into the officer corps and was essentially completely open
to the middle class. In 1898, only 5 of the 32 officers in the Imperial Navy
Office were aristocrats. Between 1899 and 1918, only one of the 10 chiefs
of the Navy General Staff were titled aristocrats; during the same period, of
the 48 officers who managed departments within the Navy General Staff,
only 5 had aristocratic backgrounds and a mere two were titled aristocrats.8
Thus naval expansion fulfilled the demands of lower classes to improve their
social status.9 This formed a powerful social foundation of support for such
expansion.
The third was a changing security environment. In the late 1890s,
Germany’s overseas interests had expanded. From 1873 until 1895, German
shipping tonnage increased by 150 percent and overseas exports by 200
percent. Even more significantly, Germany had begun to rely partially on
overseas food supplies.10 This coincided with a worsening of the relationship
between Germany and the oceanic hegemon, Great Britain, leading many
Germans to worry that Great Britain would sever German shipping lines.
Spain’s defeat by the United States in 1898 had a sobering effect in Germany.
Chancellor Hohenlohe concluded that: “We must not expose ourselves to
the danger of suffering the fate from England that Spain suffered from the
United States. That the English are merely waiting for a chance to fall upon
us is clear.”11 Great Britain’s hard-line attitude toward Germany also hastened
these changes in Germany’s security assessments. After the 1896 Kruger
Telegram incident led to Anglo-German tensions, the British domestic press
called for the use of Britain’s naval superiority to teach Germany a lesson. On
September 11, 1897, the British Saturday Review ran a famous anti-German

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essay that, after discussing the commercial competition between the two
countries, opined that:

If Germany were extinguished tomorrow, the day after tomorrow

there is not an Englishman in the world who would not be richer.
Nations have fought for years over a city or a right of succession;
must they not fight for two hundred and fifty million pounds of
yearly commerce?... England is the only great power that could
fight Germany “without tremendous risk and without doubt of the
issue.”... The growth of Germany’s fleet has done no more than to
make the blow of England fall on her more heavily. The ships would
soon be at the bottom of the sea or in convoy to English powers;
Hamburg and Bremen, the Kiel Canal and the Baltic ports would
like under the guns of England, waiting, until the indemnity were
settled.... [afterwards, we could] say to France and Russia, “Seek
some compensation. Take inside Germany whatever you like; you
can have it.”12

Actual British behavior, too, could be extremely overbearing. In 1900, the

Royal Navy implemented a blockade of the Boer Republics and arbitrarily
seized German ocean liners, claiming that they contained contraband. After
searches revealed this to be false, the ocean liners were released. These actions
greatly offended German public opinion and provided another powerful
motive for naval expansion.
Fourth was the influence of individual policymakers. The kaiser himself
was a naval enthusiast. Even early in his youth, Wilhelm II had envied
British naval dominance. After reading Mahan’s The Influence of Sea Power
upon History in 1894, his interest in the navy and in command of the oceans
deepened. He would claim that he was “not reading, but devouring Captain
Mahan’s book.”13 His obsession with the navy also manifested itself in a
fondness for naval titles and uniforms. In addition to his title as Supreme
Admiral of the German Imperial Navy, he also held rank in the Russian,
British, Swedish, Norwegian, and Danish Navies, as well as an honorary
position in the Greek Navy. He enjoyed wearing his navy uniforms on public
occasions. He did not permit other members of the royal house to wear such
uniforms, however; this was his own special perquisite. His rank of captain in
the British Royal Navy had been granted in 1889 by his grandmother, Queen
Victoria, and thus was a particular favorite of his. He even at times wore his

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British naval uniform when meeting with the British ambassador. Wilhelm
II’s passion for the navy seems to have allowed him to find a sense of mission
as a monarch. On January 1, 1900, he declared in a New Year’s message to
officers in the Berlin garrison that: “As My grandfather [did] for the Army, so
I will, for My Navy, carry on unerringly and in a similar manner the work of
reorganization so that it may stand on an equal footing with My armed forces
on land and so that through it the German Empire may also be in a position
abroad to attain that place which it has not yet reached.”14
Even more critically, as Wilhelm II’s attention became ever more focused
on naval power, his understanding of foreign relations became reduced to an
extremely simplistic model: power counted above all. If Germany couldn’t
accomplish a task, it was due to a lack of power; given that naval power was
the most important component of national power, it followed that if Germany
couldn’t accomplish a task, it was due to a lack of sea power. For example,
in March 1897, Wilhelm II blamed Germany’s inability to exert pressure on
Greece, Germany’s limited share of the Chinese market, and the failure of
Anglo-German negotiations over a commercial treaty all on Germany’s insuf-
ficient naval power. In November 1897, he expressed his desire to use the navy
in response to British “egotism”:

In the face of such egotism finally nothing avails but the actual might
that stands behind one’s claims. All skill of diplomacy is of no avail
if it cannot threaten and induce fright through this threatening. And
this automatically leads to the ceterum censeo of the strengthening
of the German fleet—not only for the direct protection of German
transoceanic trade—although it is also essential for that—but also
much more effectively for the concentrated action of an armored
battle fleet which, protected by the North-Baltic Sea canal and
leaning on Heligoland—whose strategic value is still not recog-
nized—can any moment break out of this strong position against the
English Channel and threaten the English coastal cities, when the
English naval power was occupied in the Mediterranean against the
French or in the East Asian waters against the Russian fleet, perhaps
simultaneously…. Only if the armored fist is thus held before his
face will the British Lion hide his tail as he recently did in the face of
American threats.15

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Tirpitz’s Vision
Alfred von Tirpitz, secretary of state of the Imperial Navy Office, proved
himself a master of manipulating the four motives discussed above. He was
the person who led Germany’s rush toward being a global naval power and
served as the actual architect of German naval expansion.16 He had immense
organizational abilities and a profound understanding of domestic politics;
he could reasonably be called the soul of German naval expansion. He trans-
formed Wilhelm II’s naval enthusiasm into a practical, carefully designed
long-term plan and gained support for it from the nation’s various political
forces. In 1896, the kaiser had hoped to significantly increase the navy’s
budget, but such notions were unrealizable given Germany’s domestic political
situation at the time. He contemplated simply dissolving the Reichstag, which
could have led to a major domestic political crisis.17 Tirpitz’s methods were
completely different. After taking his position in the Navy Office, he resolutely
refused to be in opposition to the Reichstag. Instead, he indirectly influenced
and pressured the Reichstag through popular mobilization. Tirpitz was a
skilled publicist: he transformed naval publications from specialist, technical
magazines to popular magazines, so that the German public could have a
broad understanding of the navy. Inside the Navy Office, he established a
news division, responsible for influencing newspapers and magazines. He also
organized a team to translate Mahan’s The Influence of Sea Power on History
and distributed over 8,000 copies free of charge, as well as arranging for the
serial publication of this text in German periodicals. Tirpitz even sought the
support of famous scholars; nearly 270 university professors would provide
support for the navy’s propaganda, including Hans Delbrück, Max Weber, and
other world-class scholars. In the words of one historian, a list of these fleet
professors could function as a “Who’s Who?” of the German intelligentsia.18
He also lavished attention on political and business circles; many influential
figures in both were invited to visit the navy. In addition, he strengthened
connections with the news media and the publishing world. In 1898, the Navy
League was founded as a mass organization with his support. Its mission was
to “emancipate large sections of the community from the spell of the political
parties by arousing their enthusiasm for this one great national issue.” The
league’s publication, Die Flotte, quickly reached a circulation of 750,000.
Membership in the league grew from 78,652 in 1898 to 1,108,106 in 1914.19

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This organization played an important role in spreading publicity about the

High Seas Fleet.
The claim that German naval construction was intertwined with
Germany’s overseas interests formed the core of Tirpitz’s propaganda efforts.
He expounded upon this at length in a speech to the Reichstag, emphasizing
the extraordinary growth of Germany’s overseas interests since 1871. These
interests had already become a life-or-death issue for Germany; any harm to
them would damage the German economic and political situation. Defense of
such critical interests could only be ensured by a navy.20 He would continue
to make the connection between overseas interests and great power status:

Germany sinks in the next century quickly from her position as

great power, unless she now systematically and without waste of time
advances [her] general sea interests.... Both because a sea power has
to be established in the narrowest sense (fleet) and preserved as such
and because power is important in itself, Germany must keep her
population German. The development of Germany into an indus-
trial and commercial power is irresistible like a law of nature…in
the case of such commercial and industrial development, points
of contact and conflict with other nations increase. Naval power is
essential if Germany does not want to go under.21

Very quickly, the simplistic formula of “High Seas Fleet = overseas interests
= being a global power” proved to be a very effective piece of popular propa-
ganda. The people realized that no thinking was required to grasp this truth,
which could help the nation grow more powerful. This sparked a nationwide
fervor for naval construction.
In additional to his organizing skills, Tirpitz was also noted for his planning
abilities. He had a complete, long-term concept for building Germany’s High
Seas Fleet. Arguably, both the German Empire’s naval expansion and naval
strategy followed his concept from 1897 until 1914. The most noteworthy are
the objectives he set for naval development. Under Tirpitz’s guidance, German
naval expansion from the very beginning was oriented toward Great Britain,
the oceanic hegemon. In 1897, just before Tirpitz assumed his position at the
Navy Office, the impatient kaiser ordered Tirpitz’s predecessor to direct his
focus to the Franco-Russian alliance. Once Tirpitz took office, however, he
immediately overturned that order. In June 1897, he responded to the kaiser
with what would become known as the famous “Tirpitz memorandum.” This
document stated: “For Germany the most dangerous naval enemy at the

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present time is England. It is also the enemy against which we most urgently
require a certain measure of naval force as a political power factor.”22 He saw
Great Britain as the primary opponent because Germany was Great Britain’s
biggest commercial competitor, which made conflict inevitable: “We must
undoubtedly in the next century get into a conflict with England at some point
on the globe, be it from economic rivalry or as a result of colonial friction.”23
Tirpitz advocated seizing command of the oceans through a decisive
battle at sea. As a consequence, he emphasized the development of battle-
ships. He attached little importance to other classes of ships and harshly
attacked navy officers who emphasized the development and use of cruisers
(these were faster and had longer ranges than battleships, but had less armor
and firepower). He saw cruisers as useful for resolving colonial disputes or
repressing colonial rebellions, yet fundamentally useless in giving Germany
command of the seas. His view of submarines was even more negative. In
1904, he called them “second class weapons” that could only be used in certain
locations; the navy’s submarine fleet was merely “a museum of experiments”
and submarines could only be used in localized conflicts.24
Yet his concept of using a battleship-based fleet to challenge British
naval hegemony raised two issues: (1) Could Germany actually catch up with
British naval power? and (2) How could Germany respond to the fact that its
naval expansion (which was directed at Great Britain) raised the likelihood
that Britain might launch a preemptive attack?
Tirpitz had a series of responses to these questions. First, he argued that
German naval strength did not need to equal British naval strength. Once
German naval power reached a certain level, the Royal Navy—even though
it could still defeat the German fleet—would suffer such losses in any battle
with Germany that it could no longer respond to the naval challenge from
Russia and France, and thus lose command of the seas.25 This risk would be so
high that it would prevent Great Britain from launching a preemptive attack.
Tirpitz’s notion became known as his famous “risk theory.” Second, Germany
enjoyed the advantage of concentrated forces. From the very beginning,
Tirpitz rejected the notion of seizing complete command of the ocean from
Great Britain. In an 1897 memorandum, he proposed that German naval
strength be concentrated between “Heligoland (the German naval base in the
North Sea) and the River Thames.” His reasoning was that, although Great
Britain had the largest fleet in the world, that fleet was dispersed throughout
the various oceans. Its naval strength in its home waters, particularly in the
North Sea, was limited; a German concentration of naval forces in that region
could result in a local superiority that would threaten the British isles them-

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selves: “The lever of our [World Policy] was the North Sea; it influenced the
entire globe without us needing to be directly engaged in any other place.”26
Third, tactics could also help Germany cut into British naval superiority.
Historically, the British tended to adopt close shore blockades as a strategy—
naval commanders such as Sir Francis Drake and Admiral Horatio Nelson
had used such tactics in the past. Naval weapons, particularly torpedoes and
mines, had advanced greatly by the late nineteenth century, however. Tirpitz
believed that these technological improvements would allow the German
Navy to wear away at the superiority of the British fleet in coastal waters.
The geography of the North Sea, moreover, was favorable to the German
fleet’s launching a counterattack against a British blockade in a future conflict.
This would quickly change the balance of forces on the ocean. Fourth, it
was completely possible for German naval power to exceed that of Great
Britain. General opinion inside Germany was that Great Britain would never
cede command of the ocean and thus, once an arms race between the two
countries began, British naval power would continue to exceed Germany’s.
Tirpitz disagreed with this assessment. His reasoning was that although Great
Britain could lead Germany in ship-building, its lack of military conscription
would mean that eventually it would not have enough sailors for these new
ships. Tirpitz explained: “However many ships [Great Britain] built, crews for
them would be absent. We, on the other hand, could with the annual draft of
20,000 recruits into the navy build up a strong reserve in trained crews and
finally man the same number of ships as the English.”27
Of course, Tirpitz also recognized that before the Germany Navy became
truly strong, there would be a “danger zone.” During that period, the German
Navy would have grown to the point that it provoked Great Britain, but would
not be strong enough to actually resist a British attack. Britain, in order to
protect its command of the ocean, might launch a preemptive strike, thus
killing the German Navy in its cradle. Tirpitz estimated that the German fleet
would be in danger of a "Copenhagen-style" strike until 1914–1915, with the
period of greatest danger coming between 1905 and 1906.28 As a consequence,
he proposed that Germany maintain a low posture while building the navy,
do its best not to alarm Great Britain, and keep the fleet’s scale and mission
a secret: it was something about which “one can certainly think, at times
must [think], but which really cannot be written down.”29 Moreover, the navy
would require the assistance of German diplomacy to maintain good relations
with Great Britain until Germany had safely passed out of the danger zone.
At that point, Germany would have an effective deterrent or even a fleet that
equaled the Royal Navy. Bernhard von Bülow, the secretary of state for foreign

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affairs and future chancellor, fully grasped this: “In view of our naval inferi-
ority, we must operate so carefully, like the caterpillar before it has grown into
the butterfly.”30

The Flaws of Tirpitz’s Theory and the Innate Insufficiency of the German Navy
As related above, Tirpitz’s theories and his plans appear tightly interwoven
and interlocked. Yet, assessed carefully, mistakes and strategic flaws become
apparent. Several are worthy of note. First, the entire plan is permeated with
notions of “absolute security.” Bismarck, as mentioned above, was absolutely
opposed to this concept. For a rising great power, the pursuit of “absolute
security” necessarily results in absolute insecurity. Germany already had the
world’s foremost army, thus its quest for a powerful navy would definitely
cause worries in Great Britain, France, and Russia. It would stimulate these
countries to take countermeasures, resulting ultimately in a powerful anti-
German coalition.
Second, his plans overlooked the particular characteristics of Germany’s
geography. Germany is located in the center of Europe, and shared land
boundaries with three great powers: France, Russia, and Austria-Hungary.
On the north it faced the ocean. This configuration of boundaries meant
that Germany would simultaneously face threats from the land and the sea,
thus it would be difficult to concentrate enough power to seize command
of the ocean. Moreover, the ocean on Germany’s border was not open sea;
instead, there were straits, island chains, and other natural obstructions to
naval movements. During wartime, this would be easy for an enemy navy
to blockade. Mahan himself pointed out that “if a nation be so situated that
it is neither forced to defend itself by land nor induced to seek extension of
its territory by way of the land, it has, by the very unity of its aim directed
upon the sea, an advantage as compared with a people one of whose bound-
aries is continental.”31 The German Navy’s opponent, Great Britain, was just
such a country. Mahan once compared Great Britain and Germany’s oceanic
potential, and pointed specifically to Germany’s disadvantageous geographical
position:

The dilemma of Great Britain is that she cannot help commanding

the approaches to Germany by the mere possession of the very
means essential to her own existence as a state of the first order….
Sea defense for Germany [cannot] be considered complete unless
extended through the Channel and as far as Great Britain will have
to project hers into the Atlantic. This is Germany’s initial disad-

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vantage of position, to be overcome only by adequate superiority of

numbers.32

Tirpitz and his allies may have promoted Mahan’s theories, but consciously or
not, they ignored the limiting factors on Mahan’s notions of command of the sea.
Thus, to a great extent, they used Mahan as little more than a propaganda tool.33
Third, his assessment of the situation was overly optimistic. Strategy is
a multi-player game where everyone moves at the same time; it requires a
grasp of complex interactions. Tirpitz, however, saw it as a simple, static-
sum operation. He did not even think that Great Britain would quickly enter
into a naval arms race with Germany. He completely underestimated Great
Britain’s determination and sensitivity regarding control of the seas. He
thought that some tactical sleight of hand would be enough to keep from
alarming Great Britain, thus allowing Germany to pass safely through its
danger zone. Moreover, Tirpitz always assumed that Germany could maintain
good relations with Russia and might even rebuild ties with France. To a
certain extent, he believed as Wilhelm II did: that it was possible to construct
a Russian-German-French Continental League. These opinions formed the
preconditions for his so-called risk theory. Chancellor Bülow later described
Tirpitz as lacking political vision and an understanding of the finer points
of international relations, thus leading “him to entertain occasional illusions
about Russia and even about France, countries in which he sought support
against England, the land he especially hated.”34
These innate errors essentially sealed the fate of the Tirpitz Plan. In a
certain sense, the path of Germany’s rise as a great power was determined by
them, too. Regardless of whether German policymakers were willing or not,
the Tirpitz Plan propelled Germany to play a role in the reenactment of the
historical conflict between a rising power and an established hegemon. The
more successful German naval expansion proved to be, the greater the danger
that this game entailed.

The First and Second Naval Laws and Their Impact

The First Naval Law

For the development of the modern German Navy, 1897 and 1898 were two
critical years. During the former, Tirpitz was promoted to command the
Imperial Navy Office; during the latter, under Tirpitz’s influence, the same
Reichstag that had rejected the 1896 navy budget passed a much larger bill,
later called the First Naval Law. This bill clearly reflected Tirpitz’s vision

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of naval expansion centered on building battleships. It called for Germany

to build 19 battleships, 8 armored cruisers, 12 heavy cruisers, and 30 light
cruisers by April 1, 1904. The heavy cruisers would be automatically replaced
every 25 years and the light cruisers every 15. Construction costs could not
exceed 408,900,000 marks. The totals mandated in the bill included the 12
pre-existing battleships and other ships already built, so the final mandate for
new construction in the years 1898–1904 were 7 battleships, 2 heavy cruisers,
and 7 light cruisers.
Comparatively speaking, a fleet of this power would be enough to defend
against the navies of France and Russia, but would not threaten British naval
dominance. Tirpitz had been foresighted on this issue. He understood clearly
that even though the German people supported naval expansion, it would
create a domestic and international backlash if the first step was too large.
Moreover, Germany’s existing shipbuilding and military production capa-
bilities would have difficulty supporting the construction of a larger fleet, and
the capacity of the ports was limited. Thus, the pace of expansion in the First
Naval Law was not huge, but provided a foundation for a long-term plan.
Tirpitz wrote as much in a letter to the Chief of the Navy Cabinet, Admiral
Senden: “If it is possible to get the bill passed, then in the year 1905 very
good ground will have been gained to undertake the further rounding out
of the navy.”35 More important, the First Naval Law could become a legal
precedent for the planned expansion of the German Navy, particularly by
mandating the lifespan of particular classes of ships. This would transform
naval expansion from being haphazard, as it had been in the past, to being the
result of methodical, planned policy. Chancellor Bülow’s comments hit this
point on the mark:

The first fleet law switched the naval policy to an entirely new track.
Previously new constructions had been ordered from time to time
and in part approved, but the navy lacked the firm foundation that
the army possessed in the required strength of its formations. Only
by determining the useful life of ships and its effective strength in
serviceable ships did the navy become a firm part of our national
fighting forces.36

This bill was not without its opponents, however. At the foreign ministry,
Friedrich von Holstein, even with his narrow vision of the world and inability
to understand Bismarck’s subtlety, could clearly see the drawbacks of the
Tirpitz Plan. Holstein fundamentally opposed naval expansion and Wilhelm

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II’s single-minded devotion to a large navy. He complained that “the Kaiser

wants a fleet like that of England…and wants to direct his entire domestic
policy to that end.”37 He considered Tirpitz’s notion of expanding the navy
while avoiding conflict with Great Britain to be impossible. In a letter to the
German ambassador in London, he argued that naval expansion, moreover,
would remove one of Germany’s most effective tools for dealing with Russia—
namely, the threat of Anglo-German reconciliation.38 Holstein’s opinions were
quashed, however, as both Tirpitz and Bülow had the kaiser’s support. He was
left to complain in his private correspondence.
Dissent from Tirpitz’s ideas existed even within the navy. A retired naval
officer, Viktor Valois, penned a book-length criticism of Tirpitz’s strategic
concept of a battleship-centered fleet. Valois argued that Tirpitz’s theory was
actually a call for seizing command of the ocean through naval combat, even
though Germany would continue to have a weaker navy than Great Britain
for a long time. He thought that the objective of the German fleet should not
be to seize command of the sea, but instead to exist on the sea as “a fleet in
being” that could attack the enemy’s weakest point when needed: the large
number of inadequately protected merchant vessels. According to his point of
view, this strategy could inflict maximum losses on Great Britain, thus leading
the British to seek peace. Tirpitz took strong measures against dissent from
within the navy and banned the publication of Valois’s book. In 1899, Tirpitz
received the right to censor materials from Wilhelm II and used it to increase
pressure on alternative views from within the navy officer corps. Arguably, by
1900, there was no longer any force within Germany that could stop Tirpitz’s
plans.

The Second Naval Law and Great Britain’s Reaction

As early as the summer of 1898, just a few months after the first bill had passed,
Tirpitz began to mull proposals for increased naval production before the first
bill ended in 1905. In November 1898, he suggested to the kaiser an increased
pace of naval construction in 1902. In September 1899, he presented a new
plan for naval construction to the kaiser that he planned to submit to the
Reichstag in 1901 or 1902. This new plan called for Germany to possess a navy
of 45 battleships, 11–12 heavy cruisers, and 24 light cruisers when the plan was
complete in 1920. The effectiveness of Tirpitz’s propaganda and organizational
work, however, outstripped even his own expectations. After the First Naval
Law was passed, popular enthusiasm for the navy increased, and this new plan
received strong support from the public. Moreover, the international situation
was also favorable to further naval expansion. The 1898 Spanish-American

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War had attracted great popular interest in Germany. As a European country,

German opinion naturally inclined toward Spain, but Spain’s poor perfor-
mance provided a great stimulus for German naval advocates. Many thought
that Spain was humiliated by the United States precisely because it had a weak
navy. In January 1900, the Royal Navy impounded a German ocean liner near
South Africa on suspicion that it was carrying contraband. This high-handed
act caused a loud outcry in Germany, and some who had originally opposed
naval expansion began to change their minds. Chancellor Hohenlohe, for
instance, had opposed passage of a Second Naval Law in 1899 but began
to support it in January 1900, claiming, “we cannot subject ourselves to the
danger of experiencing at the hands of England the fate of Spain at the hands
of North America, and it is clear that the English only wait to jump on us.”39
Under these circumstances, Tirpitz’s plan for naval expansion was
naturally put forward earlier than planned. On June 14, 1900, the Reichstag
passed the Second Naval Law during a moment of intense anti-British
sentiment nationwide. This plan was smaller than the one Tirpitz had
considered in 1899, but was still nearly twice as large as the increase repre-
sented by the First Naval Law. Under it, the number of battleships would
increase to 38. According to the law, 2 of these 38 battleships would be desig-
nated flagships, 4 would be for a reserve fleet, and the remaining 32 would be
divided into 4 squadrons. Unlike the First Naval Law, the Second Naval Law
did not impose any financial limits on the construction. The preface of the law
itself explained that it was directed at Great Britain and even mentioned the
risk theory:

It is not necessary that the battle fleet at home is equal to that of the
greatest naval power. In general this naval power would not be in a
position to concentrate its entire naval forces against us. Even if it
succeeds in encountering us with a superior force, the destruction
of the German fleet would so much damage the enemy that his own
position as a world power would be brought into question.40

If the First Naval Law was a signal that Germany was sprinting toward status
as a world naval power, the Second Naval Law represented an all-out charge
for naval expansion. This naturally attracted British attention.
In December 1900, British naval intelligence estimated that the Second
Naval Law would allow Germany to outstrip Russian naval power by 1906.
Thus the Royal Navy’s standard of being as powerful as the next two navies
combined would now need to be based on the size of the French and German

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Navies. Naval defense of Great Britain itself needed to be beefed up as well, in

order to counter the German fleet.41 Tirpitz’s hope of expanding Germany’s
navy without alarming Great Britain had already proved a failure. In November
1901, Lord Selborne, the First Lord of the Admiralty, drafted a memo for the
cabinet that, while continuing to use the standard of measuring the Royal
Navy against the combined fleets of France and Russia, pointed to the threat
arising from Germany: “[Germany would be] in a commanding position if
ever we find ourselves at war with France and Russia.”42 Five months later,
Selborne admitted to Chancellor of the Exchequer Arthur Balfour that when
he submitted his memorandum, he had “not then realized the intensity of the
hatred of the German nation to this country” and that he tended to favor a
reevaluation of the Royal Navy’s plans for Germany.43
Selborne presented the British ambassador in Germany with four
questions on April 22, 1902: Is it safe for Great Britain to take only France and
Russia into account (and thus disregard Germany) when formulating plans
for British naval construction? Is German naval expansion directed at Great
Britain? How would the German government and people respond if Great
Britain were engaged in a war with France and Russia? What are German
policies toward Holland and the Dutch Navy? The ambassador, Frank
Lascelles, responded to each of the four queries: The Royal Navy should be at
least as strong as the combined navies of the next two strongest naval powers,
regardless of whether Germany is one of those powers or not; in a war between
Great Britain and the Franco-Russian alliance, Germany would observe and
hope for both sides to injure the other, but would not permit the French and the
Russians to gain an excessive advantage; although Dutch independence could
be assured, a portion of the German population did hope to annex Holland
and its overseas colonies. The response to the second question, however, was
more complex. In the text of his reply, Lascelles stated that German naval
expansion was not directed against Great Britain, but in a supplemental
reply claimed that, after a discussion with the naval attaché, Arthur Ewart, he
believed that “the German Navy is professedly aimed at that of the greatest
naval Power—us.”44 In August 1902, the British Parliamentary Secretary at the
Admiralty, H. O. Arnold-Forster, toured Germany, where he was shocked by
the pace of naval construction. He quickly reported this back to Great Britain.
On this basis, the Admiralty began a reassessment of the objectives and effects
of Germany naval construction. Selborne presented the cabinet with a memo-
randum on the 1903–1904 navy budget on October 17, 1902, which incorpo-
rated an assessment of Germany’s new navy:

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I am convinced that the great new German navy is being carefully

built up from the point of view of a war with us.… It cannot be
designed for the purpose of playing a leading part in a future war
between Germany and France and Russia…. Lascelles…is equally
convinced that in deciding on a naval policy we cannot safely ignore
the malignant hatred of the German people or the manifest design
of the German Navy.45

This conclusion did not lead to an immediate, concrete British response.

At the end of 1902, Great Britain was not anxious to revise its naval policies
radically, as disputes with Russia had reached a crescendo and half-hearted
negotiations with Germany were still underway. The “two-power standard”
thus continued to reference the French and Russian Navies.46 Yet prepara-
tions directed against the German Navy were also begun. In March 1903,
Great Britain established a North Sea Fleet, to be based on Scotland’s eastern
coast. Enormous changes took place in 1904, as Japan’s victory over Russia
freed Great Britain’s hand to respond to German naval expansion. First, the
Admiralty officially changed the two-power standard to France and Germany
in February 1904. In the summer of that year, the Admiralty drafted the first
set of plans for war with Germany. Next, Great Britain began to contemplate
the possibility of a preemptive strike against Germany. In November 1904,
articles advocating a Copenhagen-style preemptive strike on Germany before
it became a naval power ran in several British newspapers. The idea circulated
within British policymaking circles, too; new First Lord of the Admiralty and
Navy Chief of Staff Jackie Fisher proposed this notion to the king himself.47
Fisher even took concrete actions in support of his suggestion. At the end of
1904, he redeployed the Royal Navy, moving forces from the Mediterranean
to the home islands until the British enjoyed decisive naval superiority over
the Germans in the North Sea. Other naval officers, such as Admiral C. C. P.
Fitzgerald, echoed his call for a preemptive attack on German naval facilities.
In 1905, Admiralty Civil Lord Arthur Lee indirectly warned Germany that in
event of a war, “the Royal Navy would get its blow in first, before the other side
had time even to read in the papers that war had been declared.”48 Third, Great
Britain expressed sensitivity about, and attention to, German naval expansion,
in hopes of influencing German policy. In 1905, British papers printed an
essay (perhaps inspired by First Sea Lord Fisher) suggesting that “the frontier
of the British Empire [in the North Sea] has been threatened by the growth of
the German Navy, and it is as natural that Great Britain should safeguard her

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interests in this direction as that France, Russia, and Germany should patrol
their land frontiers with troops.” Selborne offered a similar assessment to one
of Wilhelm II’s associates: “What would the German War Office say if there
were suddenly created on the German land frontier a new Army, first class in
quality, which bore the same proportionate strength to the German Army as
the German Navy does to the British Navy?”49
Tirpitz’s hope of expanding the German Navy without alarming Great
Britain thus proved entirely untenable. Great Britain was not only extremely
sensitive to German naval construction, but also the moment the interna-
tional situation permitted, it sent clear signals to Germany. Great Britain was
even heavy-handedly prepared to settle the issue through force, this stoking
fears within Germany of a Copenhagen-style attack.

German Fears of a Copenhagen-style Attack

British actions in 1904, particularly Fisher’s redeployment of the Royal
Navy, made Germany nervous. The international situation—the formation
of the Anglo-French Entente and the diminishment of the Russian Navy at
Japan’s hands—provided an ideal opportunity for Great Britain to launch
a preemptive strike against the German Navy. Within Great Britain, anti-
German feeling ran high both among the populace and within government.
A war with Germany that entailed little risk might receive robust support.
Thus, Germany had reason to fear a Copenhagen-style attack.
Even more important, once the Russo-Japanese War began, Great Britain,
as Japan’s ally, began close surveillance of Russian naval activity. Germany,
in a bid to build better relations with Russia, actively supported Russia and
provided supplies to the Russian Navy. Germany and Great Britain thus were
already potential adversaries on the sea. In the latter half of 1904, Russia’s
position in East Asia reached a state of crisis; in October, the Russian Baltic
Fleet set sail to aid the Russian Army in East Asia. Fear of Japan ran rampant
in the Russian military, and rumors circulated that a secret Japanese fleet
was already operating near the North Sea. On the night of October 21, a
Russian fleet near the Dogger Bank in the North Sea mistook several British
fishing vessels for Japanese warships. In its confusion, the Russian warships
sank a number of the fishing vessels, creating an international crisis. Under
these circumstances, Germany naturally felt significant British pressure,
and relations between the two countries grew tense. On October 1, 1904,
the German ambassador in London reported that British domestic opinion
saw Germany as the principal enemy and that a Dogger Bank–like incident
between German and British ships might unleash popular passions that

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the British government could not control.50 On November 17, the German
naval attaché in Great Britain reported that the British fleet was preparing
for war. German policymakers thus worried about the potential for a British
preemptive strike. On November 20, Wilhelm II ordered the navy to make
preparations to repel a British attack in the spring of 1905. On December
5, Holstein, a firm opponent of the naval expansion program, wrote that he
now feared the possibility of an Anglo-German war that begins with a British
attack.51 In early December, the Royal Navy detained a German collier from
the Hamburg-America Line that supplied coal to the Russian Navy. At the
same time, the Royal Navy recalled its fleet from East Asia and cancelled all
leaves. Fears of a “Copenhagen” deepened in Germany, where many thought
these moves presaged a British attack. The commander of one German naval
base sent a secret report to Tirpitz, predicting that a British attack might be
imminent, and claiming that “England’s war aim is to destroy the German
merchant and battle fleets…the moment is favorable for carrying these aims
out.” In 1907, rumors that Lord Fisher would lead a sneak attack abounded.
Reports of “Fisher is coming!” spread throughout German port cities, partic-
ularly Kiel, and created a widespread panic. Some people even kept their
children out of school for two days.52
Fears of becoming another Copenhagen stimulated the further expansion
of the German fleet. On December 21, 1904, the kaiser called a meeting
with Chancellor Bülow, ambassador to Great Britain Paul Wolff Metternich,
Admiral Tirpitz, and Army Chief of Staff Schlieffen. Tirpitz proposed a new
Naval Law; none of the other participants, except Metternich, opposed this
idea. This time, however, Tirpitz acted with greater care in order to avoid
inciting the British. For example, he proposed increasing the quality, rather
than quantity, of German ships, thus the budget would increase without the
number of ships increasing. In his own words, “The bill is deliberately set up
so that it does not look like much, but requests more money than the fleet law
of 1900.”53 Tirpitz, however, opposed the kaiser’s and the chancellor’s insis-
tence on speeding up the pace of construction. One of his most important
reasons for this was to avoid obviously challenging Great Britain:

The fact that Germany would in the next four years start building
sixteen ships of 18,000 tons and, further, the realization that England
would in the future have to reckon with the presence of 50–60 first-
class German ships of the line would effect such a shift in the actual
power factors that even a calm and understanding English policy
must come to the realization that such an opponent must be knocked

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down before he has achieved a military strength so dangerous for

England as a world power. The prospect of war in the next four years
before a single one of the new ships of the line is ready would be
greatly increased.54

By 1906, however, Tirpitz could no longer remain patient. He believed

that German naval expansion needed to be speeded up and the production
of battleships increased from 3 to 4 a year. By December 1906, he had already
decided that German production needed to outpace Britain’s, regardless of the
effects of this on relations between the two countries. In other words, Tirpitz
had decided to openly challenge Britain’s command of the seas and to engage
in an open arms race. He began to transform himself from a long-term,
systematic planner of naval expansion into a supporter of an arms race. He
became ever more single-minded and ever more heedless of the cost. Victory
in the arms race became an end in itself, rather than a means to achieve other
objectives.
One primary cause for this transformation was that the British began
building dreadnoughts.

The Dreadnought Race and the Beginnings of Comprehensive

Anglo-German Naval Competition

On December 3, 1906, the first “all-big-gun” battleship entered the service

in the Royal Navy as the dreadnought. This vessel would lend its name to
an entire class of similar warships. The dreadnought marked a significant
milestone in naval history. It also elevated Anglo-German naval competition
to a higher level.

The Origin of Anglo-German Dreadnought Competition

After World War I, Tirpitz claimed that First Sea Lord Fisher’s decision to
begin building dreadnoughts in 1905–1906 was unwise, as it negated Britain’s
advantage in traditional warships and gave other great powers the oppor-
tunity to catch up.55
This, however, is not an accurate assessment of the situation. Realisti-
cally, Great Britain did not have many options when it came to choices about
whether or not to build a new type of super-battleship. First, the Japanese
victory over the Russian fleet at Tsushima had been clearly linked to the greater
speed of its fleet, its use of new high-explosive gunpowder, its fire control, and

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its guns, particularly its 30.5-centimeter cannon. These had already become
trends in naval warfare development. Second, many other naval powers had
the desire to build “super-battleships.” After the Russo-Japanese War, the
Japanese government, based on its wartime experience, began work on two
20-thousand-ton battleships. The United States made similar plans in 1904.
In March 1904, Germany designed an all-big-gun battleship, Type 10-A, that
would displace 14 thousand tons of water; in October 1905, a Type 10-C that
displaced 17 thousand tons of water and was armed with 8 same-caliber guns
was proposed. This would the embryonic form of Germany’s first dread-
nought, the SMS Nassau.
Thus, Great Britain’s decision to move first to construct super-battleships
was a natural choice that would allow it to retain its command of the seas. In
October 1904, First Sea Lord Fisher established a design committee charged
with planning this new kind of ship. In January 1905, Plan H was developed
for a ship that would displace 17 thousand tons of water, have a maximum
speed of 24 knots, and carry 12 standard-size (30.5 centimeter) guns. The
construction of this ship occurred under strict secrecy and efficiency. Work on
the keel began on October 2, 1905; the ship was completed by October 3 of the
next year, and entered service on December 3. The speed of construction was
record-breaking. Arguably, the construction process alone would have had a
shocking effect. The dreadnought’s performance, however, proved even more
stunning. It displaced 17,900 tons of water and was the first turbine-powered
large warship. Its most revolutionary aspect, however, was its weaponry. The
dreadnought marked a complete departure from the old style of mixing guns
of different calibers. Its ten main guns (divided into 5 pairs of 2) were all
30.5-centimeter, while the remaining 22 smaller bore guns were 7.6-centi-
meter. The placement of these guns was also revolutionary: one of the main
pairs of guns sat at the fore, two others at the aft, and the two remaining on
either side of the ship. Although the dreadnought had two fewer main guns
than earlier classes of battleships, when firing from the side it could bring
four pairs of main guns to bear, equaling twice the firepower of earlier ships.
In addition to this battleship, Great Britain also built a super-cruiser. In 1906,
the design committee proposed Type E, which became the Invincible class of
cruisers. Construction on the first of this class, the HMS Invincible, began in
April 1906 and was completed by March 1908. It displaced 17 thousand tons
of water and was armed with 8 30.5-centimeter guns divided into 4 pairs of
two (one on the bow, one on the stern, and one on each side). This type of
cruiser was also called a battle cruiser. In 1909, these ships were grouped with

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battleships in the category of “capital ships”; by 1912, this new name enjoyed
wide acceptance in the Royal Navy.56
The construction of the dreadnought was absolutely not the oppor-
tunity that Tirpitz later claimed; it was a challenge. Strategically, if Germany
followed Great Britain and began constructing dreadnoughts, then its
intention of challenging Great Britain for command of the seas would be
completely revealed. Further dissimulation or excuses would be useless: Great
Britain and Germany would be engaged in an open arms race. The technical
demands of dreadnought construction required a complete, and extremely
expensive, overhaul of existing German canals, ports, and shipbuilding facil-
ities. Yet at this time, construction of Germany’s High Seas Fleet was already
well underway. According to the German Navy Office, if the pace of German
and British construction did not change, then Britain’s lead in the balance
of naval forces, which had been 3:1 in 1903, would be reduced to 1.8:1, or
perhaps 1.7:1, by 1930. This would fulfill the requirements of Tirpitz’s risk
theory: “this is not adequate superiority to deliver a successful blow against
Germany and to set up an effective blockade…. England can hardly think of
concentrating her entire fleet in the German Bight of the North Sea without
running the danger of risking her power position.”57 From the perspective of
Tirpitz, if Germany did not respond to this challenge now, then all of the work
invested in developing its navy since 1897 would have been wasted.
Through the efforts of Tirpitz and others, the Reichstag passed a naval
amendment in May 1906 that began a new round of naval construction. In
addition to authorizing 6 cruisers, the amendment also earmarked 9.4 billion
marks for construction of dreadnoughts and the modification of canals, ports,
and dry docks. In total, this amendment allocated 35 percent more in funding
than the Second Naval Law of 1900, and mandated the construction of two
dreadnoughts and one battle cruiser a year.
The first class of German dreadnoughts, the Nassau, comprised 4 ships:
the Nassau, Posen, Rheinland, and Westfalen. Their keels were laid between
June and August 1907, and by 1908 the boats had been launched, with final
construction complete by 1909–1910. Each vessel cost 37.4 million marks and
displaced 18,870 tons of water. These German ships had thicker armor than
their British equivalents (300 millimeters as opposed to 279 millimeters) and
used a better watertight compartment design. In terms of firepower, however,
a vast gap remained: German dreadnoughts fielded 28-centimeter main guns,
smaller than the 30.5-centimeter guns mounted on British dreadnoughts.
Moreover, due to unresolved technical problems, the arrangement of the
German dreadnought’s six turrets was one on the bow, one on the stern, and

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two on each side. Thus, German ships could only fire four pairs of guns in
a side volley broadside and could not conduct a British-style “super” salvo.
Moreover, the first class of German dreadnoughts did not use turbine engines
for propulsion (Tirpitz considered them usable only on cruisers, and until
1905 the Navy Office’s construction department thought they were not appro-
priate for battleships). This, combined with their thicker armor, made German
ships slower than British ones, with a maximum speed of 20 (as opposed to
22) knots.58

Germany’s Second Naval Amendment of 1908 and the British Naval Scare
The Anglo-German dreadnought competition entered a particularly heated
phase in 1908. Great Britain still maintained its technological lead. In 1908,
Germany began construction of its second-generation dreadnoughts, the
Heligoland class, which displaced 22,800 tons of water, had a maximum speed
of 21 knots, and carried six turrets with 30.5-centimeter guns (one on the
bow, one on the stern, and two on each side). The placement of the guns,
however, had been inherited from the Nassau class and thus only four turrets
could fire a broadside. By 1909, Great Britain began construction of a new
class of dreadnoughts, the Orion class, with 34.3-centimeter guns, once again
seizing the lead from Germany. These guns were arranged in a completely
new “center line” configuration, in which five turrets were arranged along the
midline of the deck, two in the bow, two in the stern, and a middle turret
in a raised location. This allowed all of the guns to fire a broadside at the
same time, maximizing firepower and thus beginning the age of super-dread-
noughts. In response, Germany released a third generation of dreadnoughts,
the Kaiser class, whose turbine engines could reach a maximum speed of 22
knots and whose main guns were arranged in a new order. Although Germans
were not able to mimic the British “center line configuration,” this type of
dreadnought displayed an arrangement of five turrets, with one on the bow,
two on the stern, and one on each side. The placement of the side guns was
such that each could shoot on the other side, too.59 Yet, on the whole, this
class, too, lagged behind Great Britain’s newest design.
Despite this, German dreadnought production generated feelings of
intense pressure in Great Britain. In the second half of 1907, Germany
released a draft of a second naval amendment that indicated Germany
planned to quicken the pace of dreadnought construction. This aroused
a high level of alarm in Great Britain. The German ambassador to London
reported in January 1908 that it was commonly held belief in Great Britain
that German naval expansion was Britain’s “greatest crisis since the Napo-

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leonic Wars.”60 The Reichstag passed the Second Naval Amendment in March,
mandating an increase in dreadnought production from three to four a year
(as a temporary measure—the law also stipulated that the rate would drop to
two a year between 1912 and 1917). Three of these vessels would be battle-
ships and the other a battle cruiser. The amendment also reduced the service
lifespan of battleships and cruisers from 25 to 20 years in order to speed the
pace at which new ships replaced older models. In Great Britain, this law
inspired a famous “naval panic.” The pace of construction mandated by this
law—three battleships and one battle cruiser a year—meant that in four years
Germany would have 16 dreadnought battleships. British plans called for two
dreadnoughts in 1908, eight in 1909, and five each year in 1910 and 1911, for
a total of 20. This would leave Great Britain with only a narrow advantage
of 5:4 in dreadnoughts. Tirpitz furthermore ordered German shipyards
to stockpile large supplies of metal, particularly nickel. At the same time,
he signed contracts for the construction of a battleship and a battle cruiser
before receiving authorization from the Reichstag. This raised fears in Great
Britain that German construction might proceed quicker than the publically
announced pace. One historian noted that “henceforth, the British admiralty
had to base their plans on Germany’s potential shipbuilding capacity, not on
her published program.”61 This undoubtedly intensified Britain’s naval scare.
At this point, the Anglo-German naval competition had become a classic
arms race. It had also become a security dilemma in the full sense of the term:
the development of greater forces generated greater insecurity, which in turn
created the need for more forces, thus creating a vicious cycle.
Under the impetus of the naval scare, Great Britain began to accelerate
the pace of its naval production. “We want eight and we won’t wait!” became a
popular slogan. Yet there were those in the British government who disagreed.
The Admiralty hoped to raise the original annual rate of four vessels to a new
rate of six vessels. The left wing of the Liberal Party opposed this 50 percent
increase. In the end, the parliament compromised: the original rate of four
ships remained unchanged, but if German actions warranted, another four
could be added. The British government proposed joint inspections of each
nation’s shipbuilding facilities to the Germans, in order to assess German
behavior. This was, of course, rejected by Germany. The kaiser himself
remarked, “The British must be crazy!” Parliament thereupon authorized
the construction for four additional dreadnoughts on March 29. In response,
Winston Churchill commented, “The Admiralty had demanded six ships, the
economists offered four: and we finally compromised on eight.”62

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Germany responded with a fourth-generation dreadnought, the Koenig

class, totaling four vessels. Keels were laid between October 1911 and May
1912. The ships entered service in August and September 1914. On average,
each cost 45 million marks. Warships in this class displaced 25,800 tons of
water, reached speeds of 21 knots, and carried five pairs of 30.5-centimenter
guns arranged in a “center line” configuration. Yet even this class did not
change Germany’s losing position in the dreadnought competition. Arguably,
the strides taken by Great Britain in 1909 were so great that Germany essen-
tially already could not catch up. The “danger zone” anticipated by Tirpitz had
lengthened. Originally, he had calculated that the greatest danger of a British
preemptive strike would come in 1904–1905, with the danger decreasing after
that period. He no longer held that belief by 1908. Instead, another problem
rose to the fore that caused great difficulties for German naval expansion:
finances.

German Domestic Divisions over Dreadnought Construction

The dreadnought competition was a classic example of an arms race. Both
sides committed astronomical (according to the standards of the day)
amounts of money, and enormous fiscal pressures in both countries limited
naval construction. This situation was more severe in Germany.
Great Britain’s shipbuilding industry and nautical design capabilities
exceeded Germany’s. Thus, even though each of the three generations of
British dreadnoughts were more advanced than previous models, each also
cost less than their predecessors. A first-generation dreadnought cost £1.783
million, a second-generation £1.765 million, and a third-generation £1.754
million. Germany experienced the reverse: a first-generation dreadnought
cost 37.4 million marks, a second-generation 46.19 million marks, and a
third-generation cost slightly less at 45 million marks. Within three years, the
cost of a dreadnought had risen by 17.2 percent. By 1909, Germany had spent
20 percent more on dreadnoughts than Great Britain had. The cost of German
battle cruisers, too, rose more quickly than the cost for British ones: within
four years, the price tag had risen by 53.3 percent. The comparable figure
for Great Britain was 23.7 percent. During the period between 1906 and the
outbreak of war in 1914, German naval expenditures roles from 233.4 million
marks to 478.96 million marks, for an increase of 105 percent over nine years.
British naval expenditures only rose 28 percent in that period. Even more
important, Germany (unlike Great Britain) could not concentrate solely on
naval matters. Geography dictated that it had to maintain a strong army, too.

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As a result, total military expenditures became a heavy fiscal burden. In 1905,

Germany’s military budget of 928.61 million marks was 35 percent less than
Great Britain’s 1.25726-billion mark budget. By 1914, Germany spent 2.24563
billion marks, exceeding Britain’s expenditures of 1.6487 billion marks by 40
percent.
Although Germany had already surpassed Great Britain in steel and
chemical production by the early twentieth century, its overall level of
affluence still lagged behind. Under these circumstances, the dreadnought
race would naturally severely strain Germany’s finances. When Germany
passed the Second Amendment to the Naval Law in 1908, the government
was already 500 million marks in debt. During the period from the enun-
ciation of the Tirpitz Plan in 1897 to the outbreak of war in 1914, naval
expansion had added 1.04070 billion marks to the national debt. Arguably,
Germany’s tax collection system was hard-pressed to support the arms race
from the beginning of the dreadnought competition in 1906. Once attempts
to fundamentally restructure the tax system met with great resistance in the
Reichstag, dreadnought production faced a crisis. Objectively speaking, these
fiscal pressures were not fundamental problems for the Tirpitz Plan, nor were
they the only reason that German policymakers began to oppose the naval
arms race, but they do reveal a fundamental issue: Germany could not win
this arms race. In 1908, Albert Ballin, the director of the Hamburg-America
Line and friend of the kaiser, recognized: “We cannot let ourselves in for a
Dreadnought competition with the much richer English.”63
Among German policymakers, opposition to the Tirpitz Plan had been
growing. Generally, those who held this view thought that the naval arms race
with Great Britain was unwinnable, and the determination to expand the navy
not only deepened the hostility between Great Britain and Germany, but also
harmed Germany’s diplomatic position. This had become apparent with the
progress of events from the 1904 Anglo-French Entente to the 1907 Anglo-
Russian Convention. Moreover, the claim that Germany needed a large navy
also fell under suspicion. As hostility between Great Britain and Germany
grew while German fiscal difficulties increased, some officials began to recon-
sider the issue of balancing and coordinating the army and the navy, given
Germany’s specific security environment. Holstein played an important role
in this opposition group. Although he had resigned during the First Morocco
Crisis, Chancellor Bülow had secretly remained in touch with him and relied
on his advice on many foreign policy issues. Around a month after the passage
of the First Naval Amendment in 1906, Holstein sent Bülow a memorandum
that raised two core issues:

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(1) Can we ever, no matter how great our efforts, achieve naval parity
with the combined fleets of England and France? In our own right?
By alliance? (2) Will the sum total of German military strength be
augmented or relatively diminished by an extreme program of fleet
building.... We cannot conduct a war against the English without
allies. No allies in sight. Against Japan we might perhaps proceed
with America. Our conflicts with other Great Powers will be decided
on land.64

Arguably, Holstein’s questions touched on the crucial issues with the Tirpitz
Plan and exerted an influence on Bülow. By 1908, Bülow had begun to change
his mind and demanded that Tirpitz slow the pace of naval expansion in order
to relax the increasingly intense relationship with Great Britain. He may even
have considered reaching a naval agreement with Great Britain.
Faced with the chancellor’s opposition, Tirpitz counterattacked. His
opinions centered on several points. First, he did not believe that Great
Britain could maintain its “two-power standard,” and that the ratio of naval
forces between the two countries could be 3:2 or 16:10. If Germany caved to
Great Britain on the issue of naval construction at this moment, Germany
would forever be stuck in the danger zone. Moreover, he considered making
concessions to British threats to be tantamount to surrender and German
humiliation. Second, the only way to reduce the danger of war with Great
Britain was to continue following the construction plan and rely on force to
cow Great Britain. Third, his proposal for any naval discussions with Great
Britain were that, over the next ten years, Germany would limit itself to three
new battleships a year and Britain to four. This 3:4 ratio would be favorable to
Germany and would also be at the limits of British fiscal ability.65
This time, however, Tirpitz’s reasoning did not impress Bülow and other
German policymakers. Bülow assumed that Great Britain absolutely would
not accept that condition. In the margins of a communication from Tirpitz,
he even scrawled: “Then he ought to take it in hand himself! Let him try his
luck with the British and see what he can get.” 66 Instead, Bülow advocated
greater German concessions on naval issues. The German Foreign Ministry
generally supported Bülow’s position and considered that proposing a 3:4
ratio to Great Britain would be tantamount to declaring war.67 Tirpitz’s
hard-line reply was that, in response to British pressure, Germany’s best
course of action would be “to completely arm itself.” He dismissed the notion
that slowing the pace of German construction would result in British political

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concessions and considered British guarantees of neutrality to be mean-

ingless. These conclusions grew from his belief that a British declaration
of war was likely and that France and Russia would come to Great Britain’s
aid.68 A high-level meeting was held at Bülow’s official residence on June 3,
1909, during which the supporters of slowing the pace of naval expansion
(including Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg, who would soon replace Bülow
as chancellor; the younger Helmuth von Moltke, the Army Chief of Staff; and
Paul Wolff Metternich, ambassador to London) and advocates of continuing
the arms race (Tirpitz and the head of the Navy Cabinet) engaged in a
heated debate. Tirpitz, who had the kaiser’s support, emerged with the upper
hand. Not long after the meeting, Bülow was forced to resign. Divisions and
arguments over naval expansion continued within the policymaking estab-
lishment, growing ever more intense.69

The Final Phase of the Tirpitz Plan

Efforts to Slow the Pace of German Naval Expansion

State Secretary for the Interior Bethmann replaced Bülow as chancellor of the
German Empire in June 1909. Bethmann, nicknamed "the earthworm," was
much more open and guileless than Bülow had been. Historian Gordon Craig
provides this fairly balanced assessment of the new chancellor:

He possessed all the best and worst qualities of the Prussian bureau-
cracy. He was a careful and energetic administrator, an efficient
negotiator, and a man of courage and honor in time of crisis; but, like
Caprivi, he lacked creative talent, and his intellectual and political
horizons were narrow. His ignorance of foreign affairs was, as
Bülow had said, profound, and his knowledge of military problems
minimal; and this robbed him of any confidence in two fields that
were crucial to Germany’s future.70

He was one of the able servants of the post-Bismarckian era. Although he was
able to recognize the mistakes in German policy, as well as the dangers these
mistakes would bring, he was unable to do much about them. Much less was
he able to reconstruct a balanced grand strategy. For example, he wrote in a
letter about Germany’s military expansion that “the whole policy is of a sort
that I cannot co-operate with it. But I ask myself again and again whether the
situation will not develop even more dangerously if I go and then probably
not alone.”71 He was both clear-sighted and weak. As Germany’s material

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power grew stronger while its strategic and decision-making problems grew
deeper, he found himself pushed along by events.
Germany’s international situation was already tense when Bethmann took
office. The 1908–1909 Bosnia Crisis brought the European great powers close
to the brink of war. Germany presented Russia with demands that sounded
like a final ultimatum. Within German policymaking circles, it was commonly
believed that an armed contest between the Austro-German alliance and the
Franco-Russian alliance was unavoidable. This inspired some high officials,
particularly those in the army and the foreign ministry, to seek a naval accord
with Great Britain in order to reduce the tensions in that relationship. Such
thoughts had led to the confrontation at Bülow’s residence on June 3. Yet even
after Bülow’s dismissal from office, the army and the foreign ministry stuck
to this point of view. In the words of Moltke the younger: “We had no chance
whatsoever to fight a war with Britain with any success. An honorable under-
standing, perhaps on the basis of a slowing down of the building tempo, also
appeared desirable to him. Thereby one should not conceal that the failure of
attempts to seek an understanding could mean war.”72 This allowed Bethmann,
a supporter of this point of view, to play a central role in this faction’s efforts
to reach some kind of accommodation with Great Britain by limiting naval
expansion. This could also potentially result in British neutrality in the event
of war. In August 1909, Bethmann’s first foreign policy report to the kaiser
discussed the possibility of British neutrality “if we are attacked by France
and/or Russia, or if we have to assist Austria-Hungary on the strength of our
alliance with her, if she is attacked by Russia.”73
Bethmann’s proposals were doomed to reach a dead end. A package
deal of this kind clearly benefited Germany; Britain, which was ahead in the
naval arms race, would not be inclined to accept it. Even more important,
Bethmann was powerless to actually limit German naval armaments, for
three important reasons. The first of these was social: naval expansion had
become a nationwide movement, and neither the passions of the populace
nor the prestige of the throne could accept this sort of end to it. Moreover,
naval expansion created a large number of beneficiaries, particularly among
the heavy industrialists. In 1912–1913, naval orders accounted for 12 percent
of Krupp’s business, for a total of 53 million marks.74 Germany’s large ship-
building plans also affected employment in many other industries. One
Foreign Ministry official remarked to the British ambassador that slowing the
pace of naval construction would “throw innumerable men on the pavement,
without their being able to find work elsewhere.”75 The second reason was
political: under the German political system, the government and the military

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Fragile Rise

were completely separate; within the military, the army and navy each
managed their own affairs. Thus, the chancellor as the head of government
had no ability to interfere with naval issues, nor could the army bring any
direct influence to bear on the navy. Wilhelm II, the highest authority in the
land, supported naval expansion, while Tirpitz and the chief of the Navy
Cabinet wielded immense influence in German politics. These factors made it
very difficult for opponents of naval expansion to advance their agenda. The
third reason was security: after the 1908 naval scare, the Anglo-German naval
race had become a classic case of the security dilemma in which the increase
in one side’s power sparks countermeasures from the other side, creating an
ever-increasing sense of insecurity. Within one year, Great Britain laid down
the keels for eight battleships. Germany felt increased pressure on its own
security, which required strengthening its own naval forces. From there it fell
into a vicious cycle of wanting to stop but being unable to.
Thus, the Anglo-German negotiations promoted by Bethmann were
rocky from the very start. German policymakers themselves held disparate
views on these talks. Tirpitz and other supporters of a continued naval arms
race refused to negotiate, and thus made demands that the British were bound
to reject. For example, Bethmann hoped to exchange a slowing of German
naval expansion for British neutrality in a continental war, yet Tirpitz
proposed a dismantlement of the Anglo-French Entente and a 3:2 battleship
ratio. The injection of Tirpitz’s two demands into the negotiations made it
difficult for talks to escape stalemate. For the British, it seemed that Germany
plotted to achieve goals at the negotiating table that it could not through the
arms race. Germany, at the same time, appeared to hope to overturn the most
recent fruits of British diplomacy to nefarious ends.76 The two sides quickly
deadlocked. Great Britain demanded that Germany unconditionally reduce
its navy before political reconciliation could be discussed, while Germany
demanded that the two sides reach a comprehensive political reconciliation
before making any concessions on naval armaments. Fitful negotiations
occurred from August 1909 until June 1911 without reaching any conclusion.
Throughout this process, the struggle between the two factions within
the German government continued. The 1908 Second Naval Amendment
mandated the production of four battleships per year between 1908 and 1912,
with the pace to drop to two per year after 1912. Thus, one of Tirpitz’s main
objectives after 1908 was to remedy the post-1912 deficit by raising production
back to three ships annually. He announced two reasons publically. First,
once production dropped from four ships to two in 1912, it would be difficult
to raise this back to three unless a law was then passed. Second, if such a

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law was not passed, then the naval gap between Germany and Great Britain
would stop shrinking, rendering the previous fourteen years of naval policy
a waste.77 At the same time, Tirpitz moved to obstruct the Anglo-German
naval talks. With his support, Captain Wilhelm Widenmann, the German
naval attaché in London, acted as a spoiler. Widenmann, for example, would
claim that all British proposals were disingenuous and contained concealed
ulterior motives. He also told the British that the German objective was to
negotiate a 3:2 ratio. Bethmann, in response, saw this as giving the British
“incorrect notions concerning the goals which German policy is currently
pursuing relative to the question of an accord over the naval armament of
the two Powers” and seriously undermining the trust of both sides. The
kaiser, however, supported Widenmann. A dispute over the negotiations
erupted between Metternich, the ambassador to London, and Widenmann in
1912. Metternich demanded Widenmann’s recall, claiming that he harbored
excessive hostility toward the British and was creating unnecessary diffi-
culties for the bilateral relationship. Yet, in the end it was Metternich who was
recalled. This incident accurately reflects the balance of power between the
two groups within German policymaking circles. As the Frankfurter Zeitung
assessed at the time, Metternich’s recall symbolized the complete victory of
Tirpitz’s naval policy.78
The Second Morocco Crisis broke out in July 1911. Tirpitz acutely recog-
nized that the passions unleashed by this crisis created an excellent oppor-
tunity to pass a new naval law. Thus he went back to work and proposed a
Third Naval Amendment. Yet, at this moment, there was still a small chance
of a breakthrough in the Anglo-German naval talks. As the crisis pushed the
continent to the edge of war, some in the British government felt that overly
tense relations with Germany were a liability, so they pressed for a thaw. Under
pressure from the group, Foreign Secretary Edward Grey agreed to further
explore naval issues with Germany. Lord Haldane visited Berlin in February
1912, ostensibly on a vacation, to hold talks on naval limitations. Arguably, the
British had already made a concession this time: originally, they had insisted
that Germany slow the pace of naval expansion before discussing other issues,
while they now said that once Germany agreed to reduce its naval plans, a
political agreement could be considered (without any promise of neutrality
in a war between Germany and France, however) and colonial concessions
could be mulled. Yet, from another perspective, the British did not attach
too much importance to Haldane’s mission. Grey’s objectives were mainly
to do enough to satisfy demands within his own government to make an
effort at improving ties with Germany. In his own words, this mainly entailed

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“find[ing] out whether Germany’s recent overture was serious or not.”79 Yet
there was no way for Haldane to see this sort of sincerity. Bethmann and
the German Foreign Ministry were anxious for an agreement with Haldane,
yet Tirpitz (who was promoting his Third Naval Amendment) resolutely
obstructed any substantive talks. Wilhelm II took a dim view of Haldane’s
visit from the very start. He saw German naval expansion as a purely domestic
issue and equated British desires to limit German naval expansion with an
interference in German sovereignty. As a result, the Haldane mission ended
without an agreement.

The Third Naval Amendment and the End of the Naval Arms Race
Tirpitz’s Third Naval Amendment passed the Reichstag in April 1912. This
law authorized the construction of three battleships annually between 1912
and 1917, an increase from the previously mandated pace of two vessels a
year. It also increased naval personnel by 15,000. At this rate of production,
the German Navy would have 41 battleships (one flag ship, with the reminder
divided into five squadrons), 28 cruisers (including battle cruisers) and 40
light cruisers. Total naval personnel would reach 100,500 sailors. Most
important, this fleet would be maintained at a state of constant war-read-
iness.80 The law’s passage was a signal victory for Tirpitz, yet it would also
be his last. The Second Morocco Crisis may have provided Tirpitz with the
opportunity to pass this law, but it also created conditions for restricting naval
expansion. During the final years of Bülow’s chancellorship and the first years
of Bethmann’s, one important reason for opposing navy expansion was the
need to strengthen the army. Bethmann had even made army expansion a
condition for his agreement to navy expansion. Yet, with the strong support
of the throne and political momentum generated by Tirpitz, the navy’s share
of the budget had grown without interruption: in 1898, it was 20 percent the
size of the army’s budget; in 1903, 34.1 percent; in 1909, 48.5 percent; and
in 1911, at its peak, it was 54.8 percent.81 After the Second Morocco Crisis,
German policymakers believed that war was on the horizon. At this moment,
the particularities of Germany’s geography became policymakers’ principal
concern: Germany had land as well as maritime boundaries and battles on
land would decide the nation’s fate.
This consideration favored the army. The Prussian War Minister, Josias
von Heeringen, proposed strengthening the existing three army groups in
1911. After Turkey’s defeat in the First Balkan War of 1912, Germany lost a
potentially powerful ally (the younger Moltke had always held this opinion),

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and the pressures for army expansion continued to rise rapidly. Heeringen,
who feared that a large-scale expansion would damage the army’s purity,
proposed to Bethmann that the chancellor seek a new army bill. The Reichstag
passed this bill in 1913, investing a further 898 million marks in the army and
increasing its size by 136,000 soldiers. Thus the army reclaimed the favored
position between 1911 and 1913 and increased its size by 175,000 men, or
approximately 32 percent.82 Naval expenditures, compared the army’s budget,
consequently began to fall: from 1911, when the navy budget equaled 54.8
percent of the army’s budget, its share fell to 49.4 percent in 1912 and 32.7
percent in 1913.83
Diplomatically, Germany’s naval arms race had also found itself at a dead
end. After Winston Churchill took over as Lord of the Admiralty in October
1911, British naval policy exhibited greater decisiveness and aggressiveness.
In response to Germany’s Third Naval Amendment, Churchill declared in
Parliament in March 1912 that Germany was Britain’s only potential enemy
at sea. The British government decided to build two battleships for every one
built in Germany.
At the same time, Churchill undertook two important initiatives. The
first was a reorganization of strategic deployments. Great Britain had already
begun to redeploy its fleet to the North Sea after Fisher assumed leadership
in 1904. Once Churchill took office, he began investigating further strategic
reorientations. In May 1912, Churchill accompanied Prime Minister Herbert
Asquith on a trip to Malta, Great Britain’s most important Mediterranean naval
base. He believed that, given the expansion of the Austro-German alliance’s
(including Turkey) naval power in the Mediterranean, Great Britain alone
could not maintain command of that sea. Thus, talks began with France that
produced quick results. In July 1912, Churchill announced a redeployment of
the Royal Navy’s Mediterranean Fleet to the North Sea. Ships based at Malta
were moved to Gibraltar, and those at Gibraltar to the North Sea, in an effort
to strengthen the home fleet. In September 1912, the French Atlantic Fleet was
redeployed to the Mediterranean. British and French naval strategies became
complementary, even in the absence of a written agreement. The French fleet
would focus on control of the Mediterranean, while the British assumed
responsibility for the defense of France’s west coast in wartime. The two sides
also worked out plans for joint military operations in the English Channel and
the Mediterranean in April 1913. The Anglo-French Entente had transformed
into a curious arrangement: although there were no overt political guar-
antees made between the two sides, and in theory both still enjoyed freedom

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of action, the technical details of their arrangements had already created an

alliance relationship. Its planning and stipulations far exceeded those of the
formal, written Austro-German alliance.
Churchill’s second initiative was to increase the Royal Navy’s strength.
He saw Germany's Third Naval Amendment as a serious challenge with
“no example in the previous practice of modern naval powers.” In response,
Churchill decided to build five Queen Elizabeth–class super-dreadnoughts
in 1912. These were the first warships in British—and world—history to be
powered by oil. They were the fastest battleships in the world, with a speed
of 25 knots, and displaced between 31- and 33-thousand-tons of water. These
ships were armed with 38-centimeter guns. Calculations had revealed that
eight 38-centimenter guns had more firepower than ten 34.3-centimeter
guns, thus the middle raised turret was removed for this class, and two pairs
of guns were placed on the bow and the stern each. This, once again, gave
Great Britain a lead in the naval arms race. Originally, the Germans had been
unconcerned with Great Britain’s adoption of 34.3-centimeter guns, believing
the performance of their own 30.5-centimenter guns to be superior. Yet the
advent of 38-centimeter guns left Tirpitz with no choice but to respond. The
two Bayern-class warships that began construction in 1913 also incorpo-
rated four pairs of 38-centimeter guns. These ships were turbine-powered,
displaced 28,600 tons of water, and had a maximum speed of 22 knots. They
would be the last two dreadnoughts built by the German Empire.84
Moreover, Great Britain began to reconceptualize naval tactics. The
British recognized that the development of mines, torpedoes, and other
weapons had made close shore blockades much more costly. By 1912, the
Royal Navy resolved to abandon that traditional strategy and replace it
with a more distant form of open water blockade.85 Foreign Secretary Grey
explained to the Russians that the British fleet would not enter the Baltic Sea,
as “assuming Germany to succeed in laying hands on Denmark and closing
the exit from the Baltic, the British fleet would be caught in a mouse-trap.
Accordingly, Great Britain would have to confine her operations to the North
Sea.”86 Tirpitz’s notion of wearing down the Royal Navy through engagements
near the shoreline had become irrelevant.
In the face of British advantages, Tirpitz clung to his utter opposition
to any measure that might moderate or slow naval expansion. His response
to Churchill’s 1913 proposal of a “Naval Holiday” was a classic example. The
concept of the Naval Holiday was that both sides refrain from building battle-
ships for an entire year. Churchill privately proposed this to the German
military attaché in London. This official reported the proposal to Tirpitz first.

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His immediate response was that, considering that domestically “long term
reconciliation with Great Britain was a common desire,” that the Reichstag
and foreign ministry might accept this proposal—which would be unfor-
tunate. Thus, the attaché must be as brief as possible in his report to Berlin,
but must add his personal impression that Churchill hoped this move would
delay and hinder the pace of German naval expansion, as Great Britain feared
that it could no longer maintain its advantage at sea.87 Afterward, Tirpitz
passed a Navy Office report to the kaiser. The report began by proclaiming,
“In respect to naval policy, the English are at the limit of their strength in
terms of finances, politics, and naval technology.”88 Thus, Churchill’s proposal
went nowhere.
Tirpitz’s actions, however, no longer affected the overall situation. By
1913, the majority of German elites had come to recognize that it would be
impossible for the German Navy to catch up to the British. The great naval
buildup that had begun in 1898 was in its final phase; the outbreak of war
in 1914 would bring this enormous project to a sudden end. The efforts of
Tirpitz and others had given German naval development an enormous push:
the German Navy had ranked the sixth-strongest in the world in 1898, but
second in 1914.89
This remarkable outcome came at a catastrophic price. Militarily,
Germany’s obsession with command of the sea created problems for its
allocation of strategic resources. The army, which should have received
investment, was overlooked. If Germany had foregone its plans for a massive
navy and instead concentrated on its army, it could have at least assured
victory for itself in any continental war: “As it was, when war came in 1914, the
German dreadnoughts remained uselessly in harbor; the steel that had gone
into them would have given Germany the heavy artillery and mechanized
transport with which to win the war on land.”90 From a strategic perspective,
the construction of the High Seas Fleet caused the regrouping of European
powers into arrangements unfavorable to Germany. This was particularly
true of the fundamental changes it wrought in Anglo-German relations. The
post–World War I German diplomat Richard von Kuhlmann reflected that
“Many years of political work in England before the war left me with the
conviction that the rapidly increasing construction of a German war fleet was
the ultimate motive that ranged England on the side of our enemies.”91 Before
the Tirpitz Plan, Germany and Great Britain repeatedly clashed over colonies,
security arrangements in the Mediterranean, and alliance negotiations, but
Germany was not Britain’s only opponent in Europe, nor was it Britain’s most
significant challenger. After the naval arms race began, however, Germany

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truly became Great Britain’s primary enemy. This spurred Great Britain to
compromise with its old enemies France and Russia, leaving Germany to face
strategic encirclement. A final showdown between the rising power and the
hegemon became increasingly unavoidable.

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 8

The Schlieffen Plan and the Retreat of

Grand Strategy

“Everything depends upon fighting a decisive victory in the

west.”
Alfred von Schlieffen

T he Schlieffen Plan, although itself only a blueprint for a military

offensive, was representative of the entirety of German strategic thought
before World War I. Its appearance symbolized the final demise of the harmo-
nized diplomatic and military strategies that marked the era of Bismarck
and the elder Helmuth von Moltke. The emergence of this plan signified the
complete retreat of German policymakers from the concept of grand strategy.
Tactical victories during wartime came to be seen as strategic goals in and of
themselves.

The Creation of the Schlieffen Plan

When the elder Moltke had been head of the Prussian General Staff, German
military strategy had focused on a two-front war. Strategy rested on the
concept that the goal of military victories was to ensure favorable conditions
for peace negotiations. The objective was limited victory. Germany adopted
a policy of “strike first in the east and then in the west,” which meant that
German military forces would initially be concentrated on the eastern front
to strike Russia’s main force, while the western front would hold its position in
prepared fortifications. Only once the eastern front was settled would troops
be deployed in the west to force France out of the war. The essence of this
strategy remained policy before 1891.

Schlieffen’s Rejection of the Elder Moltke’s Military Strategy

Upon taking over as chief of the General Staff in 1891, Alfred von Schlieffen
expressed reservations about this strategy. His reasoning was threefold. First,
Fragile Rise

it would be difficult to launch a successful attack in the east. At the end of

the nineteenth century, Russian strongholds on its western frontier, including
Brest-Litovsk and Warsaw, had been reinforced; the so-called Neuss defensive
line ran right through the elder Moltke’s planned avenue of attack. Second,
the threat of a French offensive was not insignificant. Schlieffen took a French
attack on the western front very seriously, much more so than his prede-
cessors, the elder Moltke and Alfred von Waldersee. The elder Moltke had
maintained that, if the situation required, the western front could be pulled
back, and command of the battlefield could be reclaimed later by a counter-
attack along interior lines. Schlieffen, however, believed that France would
attack through Belgium at the same time that it attacked Lorraine, leaving the
German Army without enough space for such flexibility.1 Third, Schlieffen
argued that Moltke’s strategy would result in a lengthy war of attrition, which
would be impossible for the Austro-German alliance, with its smaller armies,
to win. He wrote in 1891 that “our past victories were gained with superior
numbers.” If the elder Moltke’s strategy was retained, however, then “German
forces will have to shuttle between the fronts, pushing back the enemy here
and there…[while] the war drags on with growing disadvantages and debili-
tation of our forces.”2
Assessing this logic carefully, it becomes apparent that the first two
reasons were essentially just foils, while the third reason was actually the
critical one. This third point embodied the most elemental difference between
the elder Moltke and Schlieffen as military planners. The elder Moltke held
that a war with another great power, particularly France, could not be won
quickly. Thus, Germany needed to prepare for the duration, and its military
objectives needed to be limited. Military victories were only useful for
creating favorable strategic trends that could benefit the nation’s diplomatic
and political standing. Schlieffen, by contrast, assumed that a lengthy war was
no longer possible under prevailing conditions, because “in an age in which
the existence of nations is based on the uninterrupted progress of trade and
commerce…a strategy of exhaustion is impossible when the maintenance
of millions necessitates the expenditure of [billions].”3 More important, he
considered military victory itself the only objective, a speedy victory to be the
only route to that military victory, and the most reliable method for achieving
speedy victory to be a large battle of annihilation. Thus, all of Schlieffen’s
thoughts circled around fighting a decisive battle of annihilation. This deter-
mined that he would, in the end, abandon the elder Moltke’s “offensive in the
east, defensive in the west” strategy.

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 The Schlieffen Plan and the Retreat of Grand Strategy

In April 1891, as he was in the process of preparing his first memorandum

as chief of the General Staff, Schlieffen revealed his intention to prioritize a
western offensive and to seek a comprehensive yet quick victory.4 By summer
of the next year, he began consideration of a concentration of German military
deployments on the western front. He emphasized that Germany must make
full use of its geographical position between two adversaries by developing
a capacity for speedy mobilization and rail transport, so that each opponent
could be struck in turn. Given that French mobilization would be quicker
than Russian, it was necessary for the German Army to strike it first. Schlief-
fen’s concept had basically matured by December 1892. He doubted that an
offensive against Russia could bring Germany the speedy, decisive victory that
it needed. First, Russia had reinforced its westernmost fortifications, which
would complicate the German advance. Second, even if the German Army
overcame that obstacle, Russia’s territory was vast and the distance between
the German and Austrian Armies (between 375 and 450 kilometers) would
inhibit German attempts to win a decisive victory:

Should a German attack…be successful, the enemy would certainly

not withdraw to the south into Austrian hands, but rather to the east,
where the terminus of the railways upon which he is withdrawing
are found. We would not succeed in fighting a decisive battle and in
smashing the Russian army, but instead fighting a series of frontal
battles against an enemy who is offered respite by a retreat into the
heart of a powerful empire, while our own lines of communication
would be poor and greatly endangered.5

An alternative eastern front–only plan was developed under Schlieffen’s lead-

ership, however. The plan anticipated French neutrality and the near-complete
concentration of German military forces against Russia in the pursuit of a
decisive battle. The objective would be the complete destruction of Russian
military forces in the region. Yet the purpose of this plan was simply to
validate Schlieffen’s assessment that it would be impossible to defeat Russia
decisively within a short period of time. In practice, Schlieffen never took this
plan seriously.6
Conversely, Schlieffen devoted enormous attention to an attack on the
western front. He supposed that if Germany concentrated its troops for an
offensive against France, it could quickly win a decisive victory. Afterward,
using its developed rail network, Germany could redeploy its army to the east

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Fragile Rise

before Russia was fully mobilized. The 1893–1894 war plan, developed in late
1892, embodied this concept. The plan demanded that three quarters of the
German Army be deployed in the west. This would total 16 corps, 15 reserve
divisions, and 6 cavalry divisions, organized into 4 army groups. Twelve and
a half brigades of garrison troops (Landwehr) would also be added. This force
of 54 divisions would be primarily concentrated on the Franco-German
border in Alsace-Lorraine, from Diedenhofen (now called Thionville) in the
north to Metz in the south, with the rear located in the western part of Strass-
burg. Only 4 corps, 6 reserve divisions, and 14 garrison brigades would be
stationed in the east, for a total of 15 divisions. Of these, 11 would operate
in coordination with the Austro-Hungarian Army to launch a limited attack
from the Silesia region and southern Posen.7
The 1893–1894 war plan played a critical role in the pre–World War I
reorientation of German strategy. Although this plan differed in many ways
from what would later come to be the Schlieffen Plan—the allocation of forces
between the two fronts had fewer disparities and an offensive was still planned
in the east, among other differences—the foundational concepts were already
in complete alignment. With this plan, the German General Staff discarded
the elder Moltke’s strategy of “defend in the west, attack in the east” and the
pursuit of limited victory that it was based on. These were replaced with a
strategy of “attack in the west, defend in the east,” based on a quest for a quick,
decisive victory as the core of the German battle plan.
Objectively, Schlieffen’s decision to revise the elder Moltke’s military
strategy was not unjustified. Military plans are in a constant state of revision
and change in response to conditions. Yet there was something else at work in
the formulation of the 1893–1894 war plan: the General Staff began excluding
political elements from military considerations. A single quick and decisive
victory became the heart of the military’s calculations; it was seen as a magic
pill that could cure all problems. Once this tendency manifested itself, the
direction of German military strategy (or, perhaps more accurately, German
military planning) was set. The quest for a quick victory in a war between great
powers necessarily meant seeking a battle of annihilation. The pure pursuit of
a decisive battle of annihilation meant that Germany’s strategic goals would
grow ever more ambitious, and the demands for the concentration of forces
ever more absolute, until in the end the plan became a single, massive strategic
gamble. The development of the Schlieffen Plan would follow this road.

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 The Schlieffen Plan and the Retreat of Grand Strategy

The Development of Schlieffen’s Plans for a Two-Front War

As argued above, one primary reason Schlieffen called for an offensive against
France was that he initially feared a French attack. Once decisive victory itself
became the goal, however, he abandoned his earlier considerations and began
to worry about the opposite: that France would not attack. As early as April
1891, he correctly predicted that France was not likely to launch an offensive
on its own initiative, but would instead wait for a German attack on its
prepared fortifications on the upper Moselle River and the Meuse River. This
would result in a stalemate between the two armies, leaving Germany with the
problem of figuring out how to seize the initiative within a short span of time.
Schlieffen concluded that Germany must rely on offensive attacks in
order to maintain battlefield initiative. Yet the difficulty Germany faced was
that France had fortified their shared border. This defensive system essen-
tially constituted a “hermetically sealed” (in the words of the elder Moltke)
line from Belfort in the south extending all the way to Epinal, where a small
gap existed, and then from Toul to Verdun.8 Overcoming this defensive line
became the central issue for German military planning. It also became the
turning point in the development of the Schlieffen Plan.
Overall, the Schlieffen Plan passed through three stages before its final
formulation in late 1905. The period from the enunciation of the 1893–1894
war plan in 1892 through 1897 marked the first of these stages. In a July 1894
memorandum, Schlieffen first proposed encircling the French Army in the
north. He anticipated that the best route of attack would be to force a crossing
of the Meuse River near Verdun, as “French defensive works and troops are
few” in this sector. Once this attack succeeded in a breakthrough, it would
move south to outflank the rest of the French defensive line. In order to assure
the success of this attack, the German Army would also need to attack simul-
taneously in strength between Verdun and Toul in order to aid the advance on
Nancy.9 This plan, however, was far from the decisive victory that Schlieffen
sought. Thus, he continuously sought more soldiers in order to make a larger
strategic attempt. Through his efforts, the Prussian Army agreed in 1896
to establish the basic framework for five armies, which would become five
full armies at the outbreak of war. With these new troops, Schlieffen again
expanded his strategic ambitions. In an August 1897 memorandum, he
explained:

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The circumstances north of Verdun are the most favorable. The Meuse
will certainly be occupied, but not with considerable strength. Ere, at
least the right wing is free and there is the possibility of crossing the
river by means of an envelopment. If this is successful, one can direct
one’s march against the rearward communications of the enemy and
thus force the French army away from Paris.10

Yet more forces and greater strategic ambitions caused new problems: most
significantly, the region between Belgium and Verdun was too small for
a large army to pass. Sending an army through Belgium, however, would
violate Belgian neutrality, which Germany and other nations had guaranteed.
Faced with this, Schlieffen demonstrated the characteristics of a so-called
pure soldier: fundamentally, he did not worry about the limits imposed by
diplomacy. Belgium had reinforced fortifications along the German border
(but lacked any defenses along its border with France), causing him to doubt
its neutral status. More important, though, he saw military victory as more
important than any other consideration. Anything that could hinder victory
had to be pushed aside: “An offensive which seeks to wheel round Verdun
must not shrink from violating the neutrality of Belgium as well as of Luxem-
bourg.”11 Thus, in his August 1897 memorandum, he advocated for the first
time the violation of Belgian neutrality in order to ensure enough space for
German forces to envelope the northern end of the French defensive line. This
memorandum, however, was not a plan for action, as available troop strength
was insufficient. According to Schlieffen’s own calculations, his plan would
require an army comprising 25 divisions, plus two reserve divisions, as well as
significant garrison forces. This would mean that no troops could be spared
for defense of the eastern front.
The plan’s second stage lasted from 1898 until 1904. During this period,
Schlieffen’s plans for an offensive did not take the form of systematic, complete
memoranda, but instead were embodied in various staff rides, war games,
and annual operational plans. Schlieffen strengthened his concept during this
period, namely that in the early phases of a war, Germany needed to collect its
forces to strike first at one opponent. For example, in a document he produced
for the 1901 staff ride in the east, Schlieffen argued:

Germany must strive, therefore, first to strike down one of the allies
while the other is kept occupied; but then, when the one antagonist
is conquered, it must, by exploiting its railways, bring a superiority
of numbers to the other theater of war, which will also destroy the

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other enemy. The first blow must be delivered with the utmost power
and a really decisive battle must take place; a Solferino will bring us
nothing; a Sedan, or at least a Königgrätz, must be fought.12

Yet compared with the plan that would follow, Schlieffen had not fully decided
to place his entire bet on a single roll of the dice—in other words, he did not
yet place all of his hopes in a single, massive maneuver to outflank Germany’s
encirclement. Instead, these exercises and war plans had relatively limited
objectives and were cautious in their approach, even to the point of warning
German military commanders engaged in the outflanking maneuver not
to penetrate too deeply into enemy territory. In the process of determining
strategic objectives, these plans and exercises demonstrated significant flex-
ibility, mandating that a counterattack begin the moment the French Army
attacked Lorraine; if the French Army did not attack, then the Germans
should make use of the momentum to initiate encirclement. For example,
in the war plan of October 1898, Schlieffen anticipated two possibilities.
The first was that the French Army would go on the offensive (the Germans
required four weeks to mobilize, while the French only needed two or three,
so the German General Staff thought it likely that the French would use that
gap to launch an attack), but that the route of the attack would be through
Belgium and Luxembourg. The German Army could defeat this strategy
with a pincer attack. The second possibility was that the French Army would
not attack. If this happened, the German Army would go on the offensive.
The two army groups on the right, comprising eight corps, would force the
crossing of the Meuse River at the northern end of the French fortifications.
The Seventh Army Group (six reserve divisions) and the Third Army Group
(four divisions and two reserve divisions) would cross the Meuse from the
north and the south, respectively. In the center, the Fourth and Fifth Army
groups (eight corps in total) would march on Nancy and push on to Toul.
The Sixth Army Group (four corps and six reserve divisions) would screen
the advance.13 Evidently, what Schlieffen planned was still a limited battle of
annihilation, and its objective was the encirclement of French defensive forces
on the northern end of the Franco-German border.
Schlieffen continued to find problems with his concept. During the June
1904 General Staff ’s western staff ride, he doubted whether the encirclement
of Mézières at the northern end of the French defensive line would be enough
to force the French to abandon the entire line. Schlieffen felt that the French
might continue to defend their line and the German advance might be split
by that line into two parts. Thus, he began to consider a large-scale flank

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envelopment: “Another possibility is to by-pass the position entirely and to

march with the whole army, or at least its main part, round Verdun. In other
words, one would not attack the line Verdun-Belfort, but the line Verdun-
Lille, because one must extend that far west in order to achieve the necessary
freedom of maneuver.”14
The Schlieffen Plan entered its third stage in 1905. During this stage,
Schlieffen engaged in two major staff rides and war games, thus bringing the
Schlieffen Plan into its final form. In the summer of 1905, the Prussian General
Staff embarked on a western staff ride during which Schlieffen commanded
the blue forces (representing the German Army), thus demonstrating his new
concepts for warfare. During this exercise, Schlieffen made use of essentially
the entire German fighting force. Five divisions were deployed from the Dutch
border to the Metz line to act as the German right wing, while the Sixth Army
Group moved from Metz to the border with France and Luxembourg to act as
the German center, and the Seventh Army Group was sent to Alsace to act as
the left wing. Schlieffen calculated that France had four army groups and that
they were deployed further to the northwest than the 1898 German war plan
had anticipated. The German plan was thus to go through the northern part
of the French bases in order to encircle the main force of the French Army:

After one has outflanked the [French] position from the north, one
faces a new position, a complete fortified system along the Lille-
Maubeuge line and behind this La Fère, Laon and Reims. Before
one arrives at this line, one must pass Antwerp and one’s advance is
split by Liège and Namur. When one has overcome completely these
considerable difficulties, one will find the entire French army before
one. It is therefore advisable to bring the whole Germany army, or
at least all of the active army corps, on to a line from Brussels to
Diedenhofen. From here, the German plan of operations is self-
evident: one must stand firm at Metz-Diedenhofen and wheel left
with the entire army, thereby always advancing right in order to win
as much territory to the front and to the north as possible and in
order to envelop the enemy, wherever he may be. Such a maneuver
can only be made when the left wing is covered. Metz serves this
function, a large Metz with a strong southern front.15

Thus, the core of the Schlieffen Plan was formed: that a greatly strengthened
German right flank (along a line from Diedenhofen to Brussels) would take
responsibility for a flanking and encircling maneuver, forming a large wheel

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 The Schlieffen Plan and the Retreat of Grand Strategy

spinning left with its axis at the center front (the line from Diedenhofen to
Metz). The main French fighting force would be pushed to destruction on the
Franco-German border.
In November and December 1905, Schlieffen held a further set of war
games to test deployment plans for responding to attacks on both fronts.
These games differed from the summer’s planning exercise: Germany’s forces
were divided equally in order to defend against both Russia and France. The
games resulted a definite German victory. Yet two factors caused Schlieffen
to abandon this plan. First, the probability that both adversaries would attack
simultaneously was low, particularly given Russia’s instability after its defeat
by Japan. Second, the defensive works near Metz had been largely completed,
meaning more German soldiers could be allocated to the offensive while still
guaranteeing the effective defense of the axle of the German Army’s right
wing. A railroad to the German-Belgian border area had also been completed,
giving Germany the ability to deploy a powerful right wing on short notice.
These led Schlieffen to return to his original notion of encircling the main
force of the French Army on the western front. Just before this, the Prussian
General Staff produced a report that argued that the war with Japan had
weakened Russian military power, leaving France only the option of adopting
a defensive posture vis-à-vis Germany. Moreover, the report claimed, the
French military had already anticipated the possibility of a German flanking
of its defensive line, and thus was preparing to extend it northward. This
report did little to change Schlieffen’s thinking—and, instead, reinforced his
belief that the right wing needed additional forces. Thus, by late 1905 and
early 1906, Schlieffen had already completed his plans for war with France,
the famous Schlieffen Plan.

The Main Contents of the 1905–1906 Schlieffen Plan

The Schlieffen Plan referred to the plans for war with France that the Prussian
General Staff, under Schlieffen’s direction, completed in late 1905 and early
1906. The plan is laid out in a detailed memorandum.
The memorandum began with the suggestion that France might remain
on the defensive in a war with Germany, and that its defensive system would
be difficult to break through with a frontal assault. It then proposed several
options, such as attacking with the army’s right wing across the Moselle River
or attacking and occupying Nancy, but concluded that the likelihood of
success was limited.
Schlieffen predicted that the French military would take counter-
measures to prevent the envelopment of the northern end of its defensive line.

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Fragile Rise

This would create additional difficulties for the attacking German troops. This
could be counteracted, however:

An attack from the northwest directed against the flanks at Mézières,

Rethel, La Fère and across the Oise against the rear of the line appears
more promising than a frontal attack with an envelopment of the left
wing. For this to succeed, the Franco-Belgian border on the left bank
of the Meuse, with the fortified areas of Hirson, Maubeauge, three
small blocking forts, Lille and Dunkirk, has to be taken. To accom-
plish this, the neutrality of Luxemburg, Belgium, and the Nether-
lands has to be violated.16

In order to flank and envelope the French Army’s left wing and then anni-
hilate the main force of the French Army, Schlieffen concentrated forces in the
Germany Army’s right wing, in the line from Metz to Wesel, for a total of 23
army divisions, 12.5 reserve divisions, and 6 cavalry divisions. These would
move left, like a wheel, crushing the French defensive line between Verdun
and Dunkirk. Simultaneously, 3.5 army divisions and 1.5 reserve divisions
would be left on the right hank of the Moselle River. These would pin down
the French Army through an advance on Nancy, preventing this portion of
the French Army from reinforcing the north. (If the French Army did not
launch a counterattack from this spot, then two of these divisions could be
diverted to the right wing to assist the offensive through Belgium.) Afterward,
these forces would be tasked either with covering the left end of the right wing
or with joining that main attack force. Metz, with its extensive fortifications
and concentration of artillery, would form the fulcrum point of the entire
German line.
The memorandum dictated that German victory depended on
outflanking the French Army’s side and rear—and that the right wing would
be the key to this, and thus must be strengthened as much as possible. Eight
army corps and five cavalry divisions from the Metz-Wesel line were to cross
the Moselle River south of Liège, advancing toward the Brussels-Namur
line. A ninth corps was to ford the Meuse River north of Liège and meet up
with the main force. Seven reserve divisions followed, most of whom were to
besiege Antwerp. The remainder were to guard the right flank. Six additional
army divisions, one cavalry division, and one reserve division were to pass
over the Meuse River between Mézières and Namur, thus giving the Germans

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 The Schlieffen Plan and the Retreat of Grand Strategy

a total of 15 to 17 corps on the left bank of the Meuse. Eight other divisions,
accompanied by two cavalry divisions, were to strike the defenses between
Mézières and Verdun, while five reserve divisions defended the German left
wing at Metz. Ten brigades of territorial forces (used mainly to guard roads,
rail lines, and infrastructure) would cross north from the Meuse, while
sixwould proceed south across the same river, six would be stationed in Metz,
3.5 in the upper Rhine, and one in Lorraine.
Once the Germans broke the French defensive lines along the Meuse
River, the army would, according to plan, turn to attack the left flank of
French defensive positions at Mézières, Rethel, and La Fère. After pushing
past fortifications on the French-Belgian border and the difficult terrain of
the Ardennes Forest, the German Army would find itself in an advanta-
geous position. Schlieffen thought that at this point the French Army might
withdraw to the Somme River and take up defensive positions there, thus
obligating the German Army’s right wing to conduct a flanking maneuver
in the direction of Amiens or even Abbeville further west. Yet he judged this
to be only a small possibility, as the German Army coming from the Belgian
border would be advancing from behind the French Army’s left flank. The
French would need to defend against this, too, or else they would be forced
to retreat south of the Marne or Seine Rivers. Assuming the French did not
want to lose all of northern France, the French Army would need to construct
a defense between the Oise River, the Aisne River, and Paris.
At this point, Schlieffen calculated, the German Army would have used
up a significant amount of its effective strength. Additionally, German troop
strength would be dispersed by the need to besiege fortified points, defend
lines of communication, and guard against British landings at Dunkirk or
Calais. As the main French force withdrew into the French interior, increasing
numbers of newly mobilized troops would enter the conflict, thus swelling the
size of its army. German troop levels would clearly be insufficient. Schlieffen
estimated that for his plan to be successful, the German Army would need to
create eight additional army corps after mobilization began. These would be
added to the offensive on the right flank. This would allow for the German
Army facing French defenses between the Oise, the Aisne, and Paris to
comprise 25 army corps, 2.5 reserve corps, and six newly created corps, for a
total of 33.5 corps. Over one-third of these troops would besiege Paris: seven
regular army corps would outflank the capital while the six new corps would
attack it from the west and the south. Schlieffen specifically emphasized that

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the German Army must always remain on the offensive and absolutely not
allow the conflict to degenerate into a Russo-Japanese War–style seesaw battle.
Schlieffen assumed that, once the French realized that the German Army
had been deployed to the upper Rhine and the German-Belgian border,
they would recognize the threat to Paris and would tread lightly around
the German left flank. If the French Army were to venture an attack in that
area, it would weaken their forces in the fortified areas, which would work
in Germany’s favor. In the best-case scenario, France would attack southern
Germany through Switzerland, thus giving Germany another important ally.
On the whole, a French attack on Germany would not require changes to
Germany’s general plan, because the moment the German right wing staged
a breakthrough, any advancing French forces would have to be recalled to
Paris. At the conclusion of his memorandum, Schlieffen again stressed the
decisive nature of the German Army’s right wing and that it must be as strong
as possible.17

The Problems and the Strategic Meaning of the Schlieffen Plan

Overall, the 1906 Schlieffen Plan, as outlined in the form of a memorandum,

was an operational plan with a grand strategic desire. Many subsequent
soldiers and military historians have appraised it favorably. In particular, a
number of German military officers who served in the war considered it to be
a formula for victory. They blamed the failure of the plan in 1914 on Schlief-
fen’s successor, the younger Helmuth von Moltke, who modified and failed to
fully implement Schlieffen’s original concept.18 British military historian B. H.
Liddell Hart argued that the Schlieffen Plan exemplified the strategy of the
“indirect approach.”19 Nonetheless, a careful investigation of the plan reveals
serious, even fatal, mistakes embedded in it. The existence of these problems
not only foreshadowed the plan’s failure in the opening stages of World War I,
but also revealed that German strategic planning had already lost its compre-
hensive view and instead had resorted to a simplistic obsession with decisive
victory.

Political and Diplomatic Problems

The first problems with the Schlieffen Plan were diplomatic and political.
Compared with the previous heads of the General Staff such as the elder
Helmuth von Moltke and Alfred von Waldersee, Schlieffen was a strictly
apolitical and purely technical solider. He was proud of this fact. As a result,
Schlieffen, unlike his predecessors, rarely came into conflict with civilian

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officials. Under his leadership, the General Staff became ever more closed
and self-contained. Schlieffen believed that the quest for military victory was
the military’s only duty; politics and diplomacy were not within its sphere
of concern. As a result, he had not a shred of doubt about violating Belgian
neutrality.
This act would have serious consequences, however. Belgian neutrality
was guaranteed by several great powers, Germany among them. Breaking its
own pledge would damage Germany’s moral reputation. Even more signifi-
cantly, Belgian neutrality was critical for Great Britain, which had consistently
opposed efforts of other great powers to control Belgium and the Nether-
lands. Thus, the Schlieffen Plan guaranteed British military involvement. Yet
the Schlieffen Plan itself gave no consideration to this prospect. The early
1906 memorandum spoke only generally of the need to defeat a British
expeditionary force, but in February 1906, Schlieffen specifically amended
the 1905 memorandum to address this issue. Yet he only concluded that the
British Army was inconsequential and would crumble under the assault of
the German right wing.20 In reality, this apolitical military view needed to
be linked to politics and foreign policy. Unlike the era of the elder Moltke,
this type of “victory above all” military thinking did not undergo a process
of interaction with politics and foreign policy, and instead from its very
inception demanded the compliance of politics and foreign policy. A classic
example of this came in May 1905, when Schlieffen informed Friedrich von
Holstein at the foreign ministry that, in the event of a two-front war, the
General Staff did not wish to be limited by international treaties. He then
asked for Holstein’s opinion. After a long silence, Holstein replied: “If the
Chief of the General Staff, particularly such a pre-eminent strategical thinker
such as Schlieffen, considers such a measure imperative, then it is the duty of
diplomacy to concur in it and to facilitate it in every manner possible.”21

Military Problems
The Issue of Coordinating the Two Fronts
From a military perspective, the most obvious question revolved around
the coordination of the two fronts. Or, in other words: What happens to the
eastern front?
Schlieffen began from the same premise as the elder Moltke and
Waldersee: Germany needed to be prepared for a two-front war with both
Russia and France. Given his fears of a French attack and consequent desire to
strike first on the western front, however, once Schlieffen began to search for
a quick, decisive victory, overall consideration of the two-front war receded

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into the background. In 1899, he wrote on a document that: “The war on two
fronts need not be taken into consideration at all. The war against France alone
is quite enough to strain every nerve.” Later he also wrote: “Enough of the war
on two fronts! One front is ample.”22 To his mind, a two-front war was really
two consecutive one-front wars, with the first war coming on the western
front. Thus, throughout the development of the Schlieffen Plan between 1892
and 1905, the concentration of forces in the west continuously increased,
until it reached a point of absolute concentration—or, in other words, the
forces slated for offensive operations in the west included Germany’s entire
active-duty army. Only a portion of a reserve division would be left on the
eastern front, not even enough to mount an effective defense. This created an
enormous problem: if France and Russia went to war against Germany at the
same time, what would happen to the eastern half of the country? In response,
Schlieffen argued that: “Everything depends upon fighting a decisive victory
in the west—if this is successful, one will see that which has been lost in the
east won back again.”23 After retirement, Schlieffen hounded his successors
with the warning that the fate of Germany’s eastern provinces lay on the banks
of the Seine, not the Vistula.24 This victory in the west would determine the
outcome of the war and even the fate of the empire. No bet could be larger.
Even if a decisive victory occurred on the western front, however, would
the French simply then surrender and allow the German Army to deal with
the Russians? The elder Moltke, based on his own experiences in war, believed
that even after the main force of a great power suffered an annihilating defeat,
it would continue to mobilize new armies and continue the struggle as long
as its will to resist was not broken. Some within the German Army offered
different advice to Schlieffen as well. For example, the commander of the
Sixteenth Army, Field Marshal Gottlieb von Haeseler, commented: “You
cannot carry away the armed strength of a great Power like a cat in a bag.”25
In fact, however, Schlieffen had never been especially confident about this. In
1905, during the last military exercises he commanded, Schlieffen wrote:

Since the danger of a war with France and Russia is imminent, the
theory of a decisive battle in the West plays a vital role. The theory
runs approximately thus: we shall enter France with all forces, there
engage in a decisive battle, which of course turns out in our favor,
and on the evening of the battle, or at least the next morning, the
trains are ready to carry the victors eastwards to give a new battle
of decision on the Vistula, the Niemen, or the Narew. Wars are not
waged in such a manner today. After battle, as may be read in the

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text-books, there follows the pursuit which sometimes lasts a very

long time.… If we intend to wage war in France for months, we
cannot, on the other hand, disregard the Russians completely. We
cannot just watch them crossing the Vistula, Oder, Elbe and, in spite
of that, continue to wage war in France. This is completely out of the
question.26

Yet Schlieffen’s solution was simply to return to his previous way of thinking
and to trust in a miraculous battle of annihilation on the western front.

Alliance Coordination Issues

Schlieffen’s stance on the eastern front naturally had implications for coor-
dination with Germany’s ally, Austria-Hungary. When the elder Moltke ran
the General Staff, communication between the two empire’s general staffs had
been relatively robust. Schlieffen’s focus on the western front, however, meant
that he had little interest in military coordination with the Austro-Hungarian
Empire. In the beginning, Schlieffen revised the war plan for the eastern front,
changing the starting point of the German Army’s line of march from eastern
Prussia to Silesia, so that it could attack the Russian Army near Warsaw
with the Austrian Army from Galicia. This reduced the objectives and scope
of the German and Austrian Armies’ outflanking maneuver. It should be
pointed out that this revision occurred without the knowledge of the Austro-
Hungarian General Staff—only after it was complete did Germany notify
Austria-Hungary in August 1893. This naturally displeased Austria-Hungary.
In May 1895, Germany again notified Austria-Hungary that it had reverted
to the original staging point in East Prussia. Germany also demanded that
Austria-Hungary shoulder the burden of significant new wartime respon-
sibilities, such as unilaterally attacking Russian Army groups near Warsaw.
This was obviously beyond the capabilities of the Austro-Hungarian Empire
and was refused. On Christmas Eve 1895, Schlieffen changed plans again,
informing his ally that the German Army would adhere to the plans devised
by the elder Moltke and Waldersee, but with much lower troop levels. The
ratio of German troops would drop from one in the east for every two in the
west to one in the east for every four in the west (later, this would reach one in
the east for every eight in the west). Thus, Austria-Hungary came to recognize
that Germany had no intention of cooperating in a war on the eastern front,
and that coordination between the two general staffs served little purpose. In
1896, Schlieffen simply terminated the dialogue between the general staffs.
Each country began crafting its war plans alone.27

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This created an interesting situation among the European great powers.

The Anglo-French Entente was not a military alliance, yet the general staffs of
the two countries coordinated closely and designed a synchronized plan for
wartime. It was a comprehensive relationship, except for the lack of a formal
political guarantee. The alliance between Germany and Austria-Hungary
was the earliest of the great power alliances, but had no content beyond a
formal political guarantee. The Schlieffen Plan brought even that aspect of
the relationship into question. The 1879 treaty of alliance had stipulated that
should “one of the two Empires be attacked by Russia, the High Contracting
Parties are bound to come to the assistance one of the other with the whole
war strength of their Empires,” and that if one party was attacked by another
power with the support of Russia, “then the obligation stipulated [above]
for reciprocal assistance with the whole fighting force, becomes equally
operative.”28 Yet the Schlieffen Plan dictated that, regardless of whether a war
is instigated by a Russian attack or not, Germany should first smash France.
Assistance to Austria-Hungary would only happen after that. According to
Schlieffen, once Germany resolved its war with France on the western front,
issues on the eastern front would naturally resolve themselves. The Austro-
Hungarian Army could hold on alone until the Germans occupied Paris:
“Austria need not worry: the Russian army intended against Germany will
not march into Galicia before the die is cast in the West. And Austria’s fate will
be decided not on the Bug but on the Seine.”29 In making this assessment, he
appeared to have completely forgotten a conclusion he had reached in 1891:
that without German assistance, it was doubtful that Austria-Hungary could
hold its defensive line.30 Actually, neither of these conflicting judgments fully
captured Schlieffen’s true beliefs about his Austro-Hungarian allies. An exam-
ination of his overall attitude toward the eastern front (including Germany’s
easternmost provinces), shows that he was indifferent to Austria-Hungary as
an ally and did not care if it collapsed before Germany had defeated France. A
complete victory on the western front would be a magic pill that would solve
all of these problems.
The damage done by the Schlieffen Plan to military coordination between
Germany and Austria-Hungary did not end with Schlieffen’s retirement. His
successor, the younger Moltke, worked to repair the relationship with the
Austro-Hungarian General Staff. Dialogue and cooperation were gradually
resumed between the two militaries, but it was no longer at the level it had
been during the elder Moltke’s tenure. More important, the younger Moltke
supported the basic framework of the Schlieffen Plan. This assigned the
Austro-Hungarian military a second-act role in German military planning,

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making qualitative improvements in coordination between the two militaries

impossible. In May 1914, Austro-Hungarian Chief of General Staff Franz
Conrad von Hötzendorf asked the younger Moltke what would happen if the
German Army did not win a quick victory on the western front. This question
struck at the heart of the Schlieffen Plan. In response, the younger Moltke
could only say: “I will do what I can. We are not superior to the French.”31
In fact, the two militaries never engaged in any joint war planning, much
less discussed issues of unified military command, before the outbreak of the
conflict in August 1914. On August 1, 1914, after Germany’s mobilization and
declarations of war against France and Russia, the German military attaché
in Vienna recommended to the German General Staff that “it is high time
that the two general staffs consult now with absolute frankness with respect
to mobilization, jump-off time, areas of assembly and precise troop strength.”
This revealed the absence of any level of military coordination.32

The Issue of Troop Levels

The Schlieffen Plan had not been based on Germany’s existing level of
resources and strength. The plan’s troop-level needs were a striking example of
this. Schlieffen’s logic was that Germany needed a decisive victory, a decisive
victory required an offensive, and carrying out an offensive necessitated a
particular level of troops. Whether or not such a number of troops actually
existed was beyond the considerations of the Schlieffen Plan. Thus, from the
very beginning, the Schlieffen Plan faced a serious manpower deficit.
This manpower deficit, as well as a comparatively insufficient budget,
persisted throughout Schlieffen’s tenure. The combined forces of Germany and
Austria-Hungary were numerically inferior to the combined armies of France
and Russia, as Schlieffen noted in a letter: “Our special enemies (Denmark
not included) have almost double our strength. The relationship is something
like 5:3.… For me, there is no doubt that this question cannot be put aside if
Germany is not to collapse utterly.”33 The numerical superiority of French and
Russian forces increased between 1897 and 1898, for a total of 1.56 million
troops, compared to the German and Austro-Hungarian total of 888,000.34
Two factors restricted Germany’s ability to increase its army. The first was
Germany’s own program of naval expansion. Construction of the High Seas
Fleet meant that, beginning in 1898, the naval budget grew rapidly, from 20
percent of the size of the army’s budget in 1898 to 54.8 percent in 1911.35 This
expenditure squeezed the army’s budget, slowing its growth between 1898
and 1911. The second was the German Army’s system and mission. Under the
German Empire, the German Army was foremost the army of the royal house,

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and only secondarily the army of the nation. One of its important missions
was the maintenance of domestic stability, particularly the leading role of the
Hohenzollern dynasty. Given this, the army was particularly sensitive to its
“purity.” The Army Cabinet and War Ministry opposed a large expansion,
believing that this would lead political unreliable individuals to infiltrate the
ranks and the officer corps. This would weaken the army as a pillar of estab-
lished authority.
This made it difficult for Schlieffen’s troop-level needs to be satisfied.
Under the impetus of Chancellor Leo von Caprivi in 1893, Germany passed
an army bill that increased the military by 66,000 men, the largest expansion
since unification. At the same time, the number of heavy artillery troops was
also increased.36 Schlieffen felt that this was far from enough, and demanded
more troops and the organization of new armies. The Prussian Ministry of
War, responsible for soldiers and logistics, refused. War Minister Heinrich
von Gossler steadfastly clung to his belief that such an expansion of the army
in peacetime would weaken its political reliability. It might even lead to a
democratization of the military. The General Staff and the Army Ministry
reached an agreement in the end, with the Army Ministry permitting the
creation of the basic framework of five additional armies in 1898, which could
become full armies upon the outbreak of hostilities.
This compromise was wholly inadequate for Schlieffen’s designs. In 1899,
he asked for seven additional corps. The War Ministry ultimately agreed
to three, but they would be organized out of already-existing troops. Total
German forces would only increase by 23,377 men (reduced by 7,000 when
eventually passed by the Reichstag).37 Schlieffen, however, compelled the War
Ministry to agree to create the full seven corps he had asked for before the
outbreak of war. Yet, the final formulation of the Schlieffen Plan in 1905 led
to a significant increase in demands for troops. According to the plan, total
German strength on the western front was to be 33.5 corps, of which seven
would be needed to encircle Paris from the west and five or six needed to
attack the city. The troops assigned to these two tasks would exceed one-third
of the entire German Army deployed on the western front. Yet, these critical
forces did not exist during Schlieffen’s tenure, and the entire fighting force
of the German Army measured only twenty corps. Even including the seven
additional “paper” corps promised by the War Ministry in the event of war, a
deficit of seven corps still existed. This equaled 21 percent of the anticipated
attack force. Any consideration of deploying defensive forces to the eastern
front would only increase this gap. Thus, the Schlieffen Plan made force
demands only in theory, and gave little thought to whether or not they could

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be met in reality. In other words, the problem of this troop deficit was foisted
off on his successors. Even Schlieffen’s most loyal follower, Erich Ludendorff,
admitted that this was a serious flaw in the Schlieffen Plan.38 Even on the eve
of World War I, this problem would remain unsolved.

The Uncertainty of War Planning

As a war plan, the Schlieffen Plan was exhaustively detailed and tightly
organized. It provided precise plans for the entire course of the war. In this
respect, it departed greatly from the traditions of the Prussian General Staff.
Traditional German (or, more accurately, Prussian) war planning had
placed particular emphasis on the uncertainty of war. Clausewitz termed
this “friction in war.”39 Karl Wilhelm von Grolmann, who led Prussia’s
General Staff after the Napoleonic Wars, emphasized: “In the dispositions
and plans for a future war, only the first general order, with regard to the
exact knowledge of the theater of war, should be fixed. The preparations of
offensive as well as defensive must be made. We must limit ourselves to theses;
to design a plan of operation of years from the office-table is nonsense and
belongs to the sphere of military novel.”40 The elder Moltke, who planned and
commanded Germany’s wars of unification, agreed with this. He held that
from the beginning of military action:

Our will soon meets the independent will of the enemy.… The
material and moral consequences of any larger encounter are,
however, so far-reaching that through them a completely different
situation is created, which then becomes the basis for new measures.
No plan of operations can look with any certainty beyond the first
meeting with the major forces of the enemy.… The commander is
compelled during the whole campaign to reach decisions on the
basis of situations that cannot be predicted. All consecutive acts of
war are, therefore, not executions of a premeditated plan, but spon-
taneous actions, directed by military tact. The problem is to grasp in
innumerable special cases the actual situation that is covered by the
mist of uncertainty, to appraise the facts correctly and to guess the
unknown elements, to reach a decision quickly and then to carry
it out forcefully and relentlessly.… It is obvious that theoretical
knowledge will not suffice, but that here the qualities of mind and
character come to a free, practical, and artistic expression, although
schooled by military training and led by experiences from military
history or from life itself.41

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Yet, this intense awareness of the uncertainty of war was completely

abandoned in the Schlieffen Plan, as was the premise that the enemy, too,
enjoys independent will. At its heart, the Schlieffen Plan was an attempt to use
the German Army’s superior planning, command, and war-making abilities
to devise a comprehensive, finely detailed plan that would force the enemy
to behave reactively.42 Under these conditions, Prussian traditions of broad
and flexible planning were replaced by finely detailed, step-by-step instruc-
tions. These instructions incorporated a healthy dose of wishful thinking, and
essentially overlooked potential problems that might arise.
First, the plan gave no consideration to the fundamental disparity of the
forces. Planned German troop strength on the western front was 33.5 corps.
The French Army that was to be encircled comprised at least 19 corps and
perhaps three British corps. Yet when it came to a consideration of relative
French and German troop strength, the plan was less robust than it could
have been.
Second, it did not consider the effects of a French counterattack. In his
1905–1906 memorandum, Schlieffen considered the possibility of a French
counterattack several times, but only in a very simplistic manner. His
conclusion each time was that “this counterattack will meet with defeat.” In
fact, French counterattacks would be an important cause of the plan’s failure
in World War I.
Third, it gave little thought to the immense difficulty of carrying out such
a large flanking maneuver. According to the Schlieffen Plan, the French Army
would completely lack independent will. Instead, it would accept its defeat
passively. In fact, there was a critical problem with this large-scale flanking
maneuver: the French Army could use its rail network, centered on Paris, to
reinforce its left flank, making it difficult for the German Army to complete
its encirclement. Or it could mass troops for a counterattack against the
flanking forces. Schlieffen thought this unlikely, as such a plan would extend
and weaken the French line, allowing for the German Army to stage a break-
through. Yet he failed to consider the simple fact that French troop strength
was not limited to those stationed on the border with Germany. While
Germany was fighting on the Aisne or the Marne, French reserve forces from
the east of the country would concentrate in Paris, threating the German right
flank. What would Germany do in such a situation? Neither Schlieffen nor his
successors had an answer. This exact situation occurred in 1914, during the
Battle of the Marne. It forced the spear tip of the German Army’s right flank—
the First and Second Army Groups—to turn and defend. The September 5,
1914, order from the German headquarters to its commanders began with the

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claim that the opposing forces had evaded the German flanking offensive. The
true meaning of this was that the original battle objectives were now being
deliberately discarded.43 In other words, the Schlieffen Plan had already failed.
Fourth, the plan did not consider logistical issues. Schlieffen’s force-level
requests were derived from his plan for a large battle of annihilation. He did
not even consider whether or not it would be possible to move such a massive
body of troops. Arguably, existing German logistical capabilities could not
support such a long-distance deployment of an army of this size. This was
particularly true for the nearly million-man force in the right flank that would
squeeze through Belgium during a time when the French and Belgian mili-
taries could be counted on to sabotage railways, thus reducing Germany’s
logistical supply abilities. Schlieffen’s calculations of ammunition require-
ments were already forty years out of date. During an offensive managed
according to his plans, German troops would not be able to be effectively
resupplied with ammunition; participation in any decisive battle would thus
be complicated. One military scholar later concluded that: “the sheer size
and weight of the German Army in 1914 proved wholly out of proportion
to the means of tactical transportation at its disposal.”44 These deficiencies
were spotted, and partially ameliorated, by Schlieffen’s successor, the younger
Moltke. After taking control of the General Staff, the younger Moltke held
a number of logistics and communications drills that justified his concerns.
As a result of his significant investment in logistical arrangements, the initial
phases of the Schlieffen Plan, namely the advance to the Marne, became
possible when the plan was actually put to use in 1914.45 Yet even British
military historian B. H. Liddell-Hart, who had a favorable appraisal of the
plan, admitted that:

by the time the Germans reached the Marne they bore the air of
beaten troops—beaten by hard marching on an empty stomach. If
Moltke had avoided his much condemned subtractions, and used
larger numbers on this far-advancing right wing, their state would
have been worse. The long over-looked lesson of the American Civil
War was repeated—that the development of railways, and armies’
dependence on such communications, both fixed and fragile,
fostered the deployment of larger numbers than could be main-
tained in long-range operations without risk of breakdown.”46

Overall, the Schlieffen Plan contained serious strategic, battlefield, and

tactical mistakes. One scholar quipped in the 1930s that the Schlieffen Plan

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could only have resulted in victory if the German Army had been commanded
by God or the French Army by fools.47 After World War II, another German
military scholar, Gerhard Ritter, claimed: “The great Schlieffen Plan was never
a sound formula for victory. It was a daring, indeed an over-daring, gamble
whose success depended on many lucky accidents. A formula for victory
needs a surplus of reasonable chances of success if it is to inspire confidence—
a surplus which tends quickly to be used up by ‘frictions’ in the day-to-day
conduct of war.”48
All of these points made above, however, describe the problems inherent
in the plan itself. Yet the fact that this problematic plan was adopted by
Schlieffen’s successors after his retirement, and that this plan would come to
constitute Germany’s only plan for war or for responding to crises, was not
solely the fault of the plan or of its creator. Instead, blame lies on the entire
German Army and on Germany’s policymakers. The strategic implications
of the Schlieffen Plan were that, regardless of what occurs, Germany only
had two military options: do nothing or fight a total war. Inside the German
policymaking system, the autonomous nature of each department and the
extreme lack of coordination between them made strategic planning impos-
sible. None of the leaders inside the system saw the necessity for this kind of
planning. Any awareness of strategy as a concept had vanished. The future of
Germany’s rise, and the fate of the German Empire, increasingly rested with a
single military gamble.

The Schlieffen Plan and the Obsessive Nature of German

Military Thought

The question that arises here is: why was the Schlieffen Plan retained in (more
or less) its original state after Schlieffen’s retirement in 1906?
German military leaders could have significantly revised this plan during
the years between 1906 and 1914. To a certain extent, this would have avoided
the disastrous consequences of 1914. The problem was that Schlieffen’s point
of view, and to a certain extent the Schlieffen Plan itself, reflected contem-
porary German military thought. Schlieffen’s own influence simply further
strengthened pre-existing tendencies. Schlieffen held his position in the
General Staff for sixteen years, during which he attached great importance to
the General Staff ’s ability to educate and direct the entire army. He made wide
use of publications to promote his military concepts. After retirement, while
he may no longer have had direct influence on the General Staff, the officers
there (who had been trained according to Schlieffen’s methods) arguably

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carried on his legacy. His reputation within the German Army remained
high, and his writings remained fodder for discussion within the ranks. This
illustrated the extent to which the kind of military thinking represented by
Schlieffen permeated the army and created an intellectual model. According
to this line of thinking, the Schlieffen Plan was a classic that could be revised
and perfected, but not overturned. It would be treated as a binding military
“last will and testament.”

Depoliticizing the Military

Military historians have often overestimated the extent of Clausewitz’s
influence on the German military. B. H. Liddell Hart, for example, claimed
that “accepting the Prussian philosopher of war, Clausewitz, as their master,
[German military thinkers] blindly swallowed his undigested aphorisms.” He
termed such strategists the “unthinking disciples” of Clausewitz.49 In reality,
Clausewitz exerted only limited influence within the German Army. This was
particularly true for the era after Schlieffen took command of the General
Staff. This can be most clearly seen in the understanding of the connection
between politics and the military.
Clausewitz repeatedly emphasized that the military was subordinate
to politics. In his view, “war is not merely a political act, but also a real
political instrument, a continuation of political commerce, a carrying out
of the same by other means.”50 Thus, military strategy during wartime must
follow political needs. This point of view, however, was greatly discounted
within the German military, particularly the Prussian General Staff. The elder
Moltke was the most important military strategist and thinker during the
period between the Napoleonic Wars and World War I. On the whole, he
agreed with Clausewitz’s point of view. The elder Moltke’s 1869 “Instructions
for the Senior Troop Commanders” explained that the “objective of war is
to implement the government’s policy by force.” In a post–Franco-Prussian
War essay, entitled “On Strategy,” the elder Moltke qualified this concept to a
certain extent: “Political considerations can be taken into account only as long
as they do not make demands that are militarily improper or impossible.”51
By the time Schlieffen took command, the notion that military concerns
should be subservient to political concerns had fallen into abeyance. Schlieffen
himself was a “pure” soldier—or, to use other words, he strictly followed an
“apolitical” path and resolutely remained aloof from political issues, concen-
trating all of his energy on the military itself. He was hardworking and demon-
strated a spirit of self-sacrifice toward the army. Germany’s most important
World War I–era commander, Erich Ludendorff, deeply admired Schlieffen

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and called him “one of the greatest soldiers who ever lived.”52 This intense
focus on the military, however, comes at the cost of the complete separation
of the political world and the military world. War planning during Schlieffen’s
tenure did not include consideration of any non-military factors. Arguably,
this was a war plan made up of simple calculations of distance, troop levels,
firepower, and other statistics in the vacuum created by the exclusion of
politics and diplomacy. In the end, diplomacy and politics could do nothing
but follow this plan. An example of this can be found in the plan’s focus on
France to the exclusion of any consideration of Belgian neutrality. Moreover,
this Schlieffenesque depoliticization manifested itself in a disregard for
domestic politics as well as international politics. This was clear in the plan’s
consideration of troop levels. Schlieffen took a “pure military” or “purely
technical” standpoint when proposing troop levels and did not consider the
domestic situation comprehensively. The War Minister from 1903 to 1908,
Karl von Einem, complained that the General Staff could “comfortably” close
its doors and make abstract, impractical suggestions, while other departments
had to take responsibility for turning these ideas into reality.53 Under Schlief-
fen’s influence, this unpolitical tendency became more pronounced within
the German military. Increasing numbers of officers were proud of the label
“unpolitical,” and the complete separation of military issues and political
issues became a common concept within the German Army.54

The Absolute Nature of Security Assessments

During Schlieffen’s tenure, the mental practice of seeing Germany’s security
environment through the lens of the “worst possible scenario” became deeply
entrenched. Originally, the worst possible scenario was a standard for battle-
field commanders assessing the enemy’s situation. This had been a tradition
within the German military. Even in 1933, Germany’s national defense
army regulations emphasized the necessity of analyzing the enemy’s “ability
to prevent the friendly intent.”55 Once this mental model is raised from the
tactical or operational level to the strategic level, however, it creates problems.
It causes strategy to deadlock, and could even transform a worst-case scenario
into a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Bismarck’s immediate successor, Caprivi, was the first to take the
worst-case scenario as a definite assessment. He predicted that a general
war between the Austro-German alliance and the Franco-Russian alliance
was “unavoidable.”56 The tendency to use the worst-case scenario to assess
Germany’s security environment became more pronounced after Schlieffen’s
appointment to the General Staff. The clearest example of this comes from

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the General Staff ’s war games and plans, which without exception focused on
the worst case scenario of a two-front war. Any other possible scenario was
excluded.
After his retirement, Schlieffen penned a famous essay on Germany’s
security environment, entitled “War Today,” which was published anony-
mously in January 1909. In this essay, beyond describing his views on modern
war and tactics, he painted an alarming picture of Germany and Austria-
Hungary’s encirclement. He pointed to the series of defensive fortifications
constructed in Holland, Belgium, and France on Germany’s western borders,
as well as similar facilities in Italy on Germany’s southern border (despite the
existence of an alliance between the countries) and Russian installations, rein-
forced by rivers and swamps, on Germany’s eastern border. To the north, the
Danes had transformed Copenhagen into an arsenal that controlled access
to the Baltic, while Britain’s Royal Navy could appear on the German coasts
at any time. Germany and its Austro-Hungarian ally were surrounded by
an iron ring. Great Britain, France, and Russia all harbored deep hatred for,
and jealousy of, Germany. Even Italy harbored territorial designs. Schlieffen
believed that this shared hatred might lead these nations to attack Germany:
“At a given moment, the gates will be opened, the drawbridges lowered, and
the million-man armies will flow out over the Vosges, the Maas, the Konigsau,
the Niemen, the Bug, as well as over the Isonzo and the Tyrolean Alps, laying
waste and destroying as they go.” Yet he also claimed in the essay that the
hostile, encircling powers might not make such rash use of direct methods.
Instead, they could use secret, concealed means. The Entente powers, given
that they had encircled Germany, held the advantage. They might instead
exert pressure and manufacture crises to force German concessions and
submission. Dissension between Germany and Austria-Hungary would be
instigated, as would domestic conflicts within each nation, in order to weaken
central Europe’s two great powers. Schlieffen proposed closer coordination
between the two allies to deal with this situation, coupled with “a large, strong,
and powerful army, which is guided by a sure hand and full of confidence.”57
In this sketch of the future, Schlieffen’s essential point was that war is
unavoidable. His reasoning was simplistic, and even suppositional, such as
his belief in the hatred that other countries harbored toward Germany. This
was particularly apparent in his assessment that Anglo-German conflict
was inevitable. He took no account of the naval arms race, focusing instead
only on commercial competition between the two countries, claiming that
“the powerful expansion of Germany’s industry and trade had earned her
another implacable enemy” in Great Britain. It was “questions of debit and

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credit which determine the level of resentment” that made such conflict
unavoidable. Holstein’s assessment, by contrast, was significantly more
objective. He acknowledged that the impact of German economic growth
on British commerce had generated hostility, but believed that such hostility
would not automatically develop in extreme directions and thus conflict was
not inevitable. Great Britain, after all, faced economic competition from the
United States as well. The British well understood that an Anglo-German war
would clear the two most important economic competitors from the path of
the United States.58
Yet for most—including those in the army—Schlieffen’s blunt assessment
was easier to accept. “War Today” not only reflected the collected views of the
German Army, but it also strengthened the tendencies that led to those views.
Before its publication, drafts had circulated among the army’s upper echelons.
Readers included the younger Moltke and War Minister Einem, both of
whom agreed with the book. The younger Moltke particularly approved, even
claiming that Schlieffen’s text “would be read and taken to heart by thousands.”
Wilhelm II admired it as well, and read it aloud at his New Year’s feast with
army corps commanders on January 2, 1909.59 Under such circumstances, the
essentializing tendencies of Schlieffen’s security assessment penetrated deeply
into the minds of the German Army’s soldiers and officers. The sense that
war was inevitable became widespread throughout the army, and estimates
about the future became ever more pessimistic. In 1911, the German military
theorist Friedrich von Bernhardi’s newly published book, Germany and the
Next War, baldly asserted that Germany would “either become a world power
or be annihilated.” This extreme strategic choice indicated the prevalence of
essentialized security assessments within the army ranks. Flexible strategies
could not be generated under such conditions. All thought was wrapped up
in the notion of total war. The premise that “war is inevitable” soon led to the
dangerous conclusion that “the earlier war begins, the better.”

Historical Determinism
The idea of inevitability appears frequently in Schlieffen’s worldview. Many
of his thoughts are expressed through the formulation that “it is inevitable
that…”. This is connected to his deterministic concept of history.
The Prussian and Germany Armies traditionally placed great emphasis
on military history. The elder Moltke had even established a research institute
for military history within the Prussian General Staff. The study of history
(and especially military history), he believed, was an important aspect of

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the training of commanding officers. Its principal function was to obtain

wisdom from the study of the past and to enhance the quality of their minds.
He opposed the notion that ready-made answers or universal laws could be
derived from history. Schlieffen, however, thought differently. He did not
share the elder Moltke’s deep interest in literature and history (the elder
Moltke had once spent his spare time translating Edward Gibbon’s six-volume
The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire into German and had been considered
“essentially a humanist of the post-Goethe era”).60 Instead, Schlieffen focused
on statistics and technical issues and emphasized pragmatism. He was a
complete pragmatist in his view of history. He believed that the purpose of
historical study was to find solutions to practical problems, and thus he sought
universal laws through historical research.61 Even more significantly, these
laws “must be obeyed” and “cannot be changed.” Schlieffen frequently tried
to inject these ideas into the military. During the dedication ceremonies for
the elder Moltke’s monument, for example, he claimed that the elder Moltke
has “learned from the book of the past what might come and must come.” At
the centennial of the Prussian Military Academy, he claimed that the study of
military history revealed “the knowledge [of] how everything has come, how
it had to come and will come again.”62
This deterministic theory manifested itself with great clarity in Schlief-
fen’s study of the Battle of Cannae. During this battle, which occurred in 216
BC, Carthaginian general Hannibal had used an encircling maneuver to anni-
hilate a numerically superior Roman Army. In the process, Rome lost 50,000
men at the cost of only 6,000 Carthaginians. Schlieffen greatly admired this
battle and published an article on it in a 1909 edition of the General Staff ’s
quarterly publication. From then until his death, Schlieffen published a series
of historical articles. These essays all shared a similar purpose: to demonstrate
that all of the famous generals in history had made the complete destruction
of the enemy their objective. The process by which they all sought to achieve
this was through flanking and envelopment maneuvers. Schlieffen empha-
sized that the “practical use” of his research was that the German Army could
again adopt this “unalterable law” in pursuit of a future victory:

A battle of annihilation can be carried out today according to the

same plan devised by Hannibal in long forgotten times. The enemy
front is not the goal of the principal attack. The mass of the troops
and the reserves should not be concentrated against the enemy front;
the essential is that the flanks be crushed. The wings should not be

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sought at the advanced points of the front, but rather along the entire
depth and extension of the enemy formation. The annihilation is
completed through an attack against the enemy’s rear.63

Schlieffen’s method of using history according to his needs was

undoubtedly problematic. Bernhardi, author of Germany and the Next War
and an accomplished military scholar in his own right, had criticized him for
tailoring history to suit his own purposes even before the publication of his
essay on Cannae. Retired military commander Sigismund von Schlichting,
another critic, commented that “the defect of Schlieffen’s doctrine is that he
always generalizes lessons and experiences that suit his particular case.” In
other words, he doubted the applicability of this ancient battle to modern
warfare.64 Schlieffen’s followers, however, defended his method of historical
research. They admitted to some mistakes in his work, such as the wishful
thinking and factual mistakes evident in his discussion of the elder Moltke’s
strategy at the Battle of Sadowa contained in an essay on Cannae. Yet, they
maintained that Schlieffen’s historical research was merely meant to elaborate
the methods of “applied strategy” (as distinct from Clausewitz’s “theoretical
strategy”). The purpose of this was to guide the German Army in the pros-
ecution of present and future wars and, particularly, how to initiate a battle
of annihilation. Thus, his flawed uses and interpretations of history were not
particularly significant. In their eyes, he was not a teacher of military history,
but a strategist and a promoter of “applied strategy” and, as such, could twist
history to support his view—even to the point of “revising” geography or
numbers.65
Due to Schlieffen’s status, and perhaps due to the inertia of this mindset,
his ideas became prevalent throughout the army. Many high-ranking officers
were unwilling to think deeply about such abstract and contentious issues
in military theory. They were easily taken in by Schlieffen’s simplified,
“pragmatic” methods. The younger Moltke, Schlieffen’s successor, encouraged
his own son to forgo reading Clausewitz’s On War in favor of Schlieffen’s
writing on Cannae while preparing for his military academy entrance exami-
nation. Some commanders saw it as a virtue never to read Clausewitz.66 As
this vision of history became widespread, Schlieffen’s strongly deterministic
thought process naturally became mainstream within the German Army. Its
claims of “unchangeable laws” and “necessarily occurring events” had been
repeatedly “proven” by history and thus its reliability was undoubtable. In
this intellectual atmosphere, the Schlieffen Plan—which was the essence of

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Schlieffen’s mindset made concrete—could not be questioned in the army or,

especially, the General Staff.

Essentialization and Dogmatism in Operational Doctrine

The clearest example of the obsessive nature of German military thinking was
apparent in operational doctrine. If any single phrase could sum up the opera-
tional doctrine of Schlieffen and his followers, it would be “battle of annihi-
lation.” According to Schlieffen, wars were determined by decisive battles. This
mindset essentially accorded with Prussian military traditions, yet differed
from them in extent. Clausewitz had emphasized main force battles, but he
left space open for other possibilities in his analysis and advocated a dialec-
tical approach to problems. For instance, he suggested that war “does not
consist of a single instantaneous blow,” and wondered if “whether, through
the loss of a great battle, forces are not perhaps roused into existence, which
otherwise would never have come to life.”67 Schlieffen, by contrast, pushed
the concept of “decisive battle” to its logical extreme, to the extent that he
essentially equated it with war itself. Thus, a decisive battle of this sort could
only be achieved through the complete destruction of the enemy’s main force.
Through, in other words, a battle of annihilation.
The only model of war that had any value for Schlieffen, therefore, was
the battle of annihilation. In a letter dated September 18, 1909, Schlieffen
stated: “the battle of annihilation alone is the desirable battle.”68 As chief of the
General Staff, he repeated tried to inject this notion—that the complete anni-
hilation of the enemy’s main force is the highest command objective and that
any victory that does not accomplish this is incomplete—into the army. He
considered the elder Moltke’s victory at Sadowa to have been “incomplete,” as
it did not fully destroy the Austrian main force, whereas the victory at Sedan
in the Franco-Prussian War was a “complete victory.”
In terms of concrete methods, Schlieffen believed that the secret to
winning a battle of annihilation was attacking the enemy’s flank. As argued
above, he clung to the belief that history demonstrated that, from ancient
times down to the present day, flank and rear attacks were the only method for
accomplishing this. It was an unalterable law. Through his efforts, this vision
was spread throughout the army and other types of offenses were discounted—
in particular frontal attacks and breakthroughs, which were commonly held
to result only in “regular victories.” Schlieffen’s ideas did encounter resistance
from some high-ranking officers, such as Bernhardi, who considered them
mistaken and dangerous because they restricted a commander’s ability to react

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flexibly to battlefield developments, and because they made it easy for enemy
commanders to predict and counteract German plans.69 Others held that,
while flanking and envelopment attacks were important military tactics, they
were not the only important military tactics. Commanding officers should
study how to correctly assess conditions and how to flexibly use a variety of
tactical methods in response. Some ranking officers even criticized Schlief-
fen’s development of an “envelopment mania” within the army.70 Overall,
however, these critiques did not have much effect, and Schlieffen’s ideas
remained dominant. According to researchers, initiating a battle of annihi-
lation through flank and rear attacks became standard operational procedure
during Schlieffen’s tenure. The classic example of this was the 1904–1907
German colonial war in Southwest Africa. This war was fought to repress a
popular uprising. German troop levels and logistics in Southwest Africa were
insufficient for a battle of annihilation, yet the Germans repeatedly attempted
to use this tactic.71
The command style Schlieffen championed was even more dogmatic than
his strategies or operational doctrines. In modern war, given the size of armies
and battlefields, fights and battles are distant from one another; the highest
authority should give army commanders precise instructions, just as in the
past, battlefield commanders gave precise orders to unit commanders. Thus,
in his view, wars were simply battles writ large. This is why the Schlieffen Plan
was conceived of as a large-scale military campaign. When it came to concrete
strategic command, Schlieffen believed that the highest commanding officer
was the most important, “all army commanders should fully acquaint them-
selves with the plan of the supreme commander, and one thought alone should
permeate the whole army.” At the same time, planners from the General Staff
were simply the supreme commander’s “chessmen,” guaranteeing that the
supreme command could concentrate on precisely ordering an army of over
a million troops. The powerful right flank called for by the Schlieffen Plan
was supposed to march through Belgium as if on “battalion drill.”72 Once the
supreme command sets the route for the offensive and orders the army into
action, however, there is essentially nothing left to do. Once the machinery
of the army has been set in motion, its operations should become automatic.
The role of the supreme commander then would be to transmit orders to his
armies and then only to “urge the armies and corps already engaged in action
to new exertions, to keep in their direction of march those not yet engaged, or
to direct them into new ones if the situation has changed.”73
The concepts that undergirded Schlieffen’s method of strategic command
cannot be ascribed to Prussian or German traditions. The elder Moltke had

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emphasized that a rigid, dogmatic adherence to operational plans could

be fatal. Supreme commanders therefore must encourage subordinate
commanders at all levels to act proactively and independently. In terms of
concrete operational command, the elder Moltke proposed that commanding
officers must, as much as possible, restrict themselves to issuing only the
most necessary orders: “An order shall contain everything that a commander
cannot do by himself, but nothing else.” As a wartime commander, the elder
Moltke very rarely interfered with action at the tactical level, and was ready
to change his overall plan at a moment’s notice based on his subordinates’
tactical victories. During the opening weeks of the Franco-Prussian War, for
example, he realigned his pre-existing plans once they had been rendered
void by the precipitous actions of overly enthusiastic subordinates. Building
on their successes, he was soon able to achieve victory at Sedan.74 Given the
existence of this tradition, Schlieffen’s mechanical theory met with a certain
resistance within the German Army. Bernhardi, for instance, denounced the
notion as “mechanistic,” arguing that this kind of warfare “can scarcely be any
longer called an art” and would diminish commanding officers to acting as
mere “mechanics.” Even the younger Moltke harbored doubts about this kind
of centralized, detailed style of command.75 Resistance and doubt, however,
only exerted a limited influence overall. All of the General Staff ’s pre-war
planning exercises and war games operated under this mechanistic principle.
The younger Moltke, as head of the General Staff, would similarly demand
that planned routes and schedules be rigidly adhered to in war games.
Finally, Schlieffen believed that spiritual aspects lay at the core of fighting
a large-scale, decisive battle of annihilation. He recognized the difficulty and
risk of fighting such battles, including the one anticipated by the Schlieffen
Plan. This led him to set high standards for the army’s morale and willpower.
He demanded that soldiers develop a fearless, heedless optimistic spirit, deci-
siveness unwavering in the face of danger, and unwillingness to entertain any
doubts about the prospects of victory. During his tenure, he systematically
injected his vision of willpower, extreme courage, optimism in the face of
danger, and a naïve kind of action at all costs into a new generation of General
Staff officers, which had a tremendous influence on the whole army. In a
speech, his successor, the younger Moltke, noted that Schlieffen had directed
everyone’s attention to a single objective: “All energy should be directed to
this highest goal, and the will that leads to it was the will to victory. This unre-
lenting, emotional will to victory is the legacy that [Schlieffen] has left to the
General Staff. It is up to us now to hold it sacred.” In all fairness, demands for
high military morale and spirit are common, and Schlieffen’s emphasis on this

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was not excessive. The problem, however, was that these demands were made
against the backdrop of his extreme idealization of battles of annihilation.
Thus, errors crept in: Schlieffen's calls for high morale shifted, to a great
extent, into encouragement of excessively optimistic belief in his operational
methods and strategic objectives. Doubt was repressed. In his diary, the crown
prince of Bavaria wrote: “It was a false mental orientation, especially visible in
Prussian military circles, that one did not want to hear doubts. Anyone who
expressed doubts or an opinion different from what was desirable was all too
easily taken to be a pessimist, weakling, or faint-hearted, and if possible was
removed.”76
In conclusion, Schlieffen was the most authoritative military theorist after
the elder Moltke, and exerted a significant impact on German military theory
and mindsets. His views on the links between the military and the political,
on security assessments, and on operational thought all, in fact, reflected a
dead-end or single-minded tendency within the German military. This was a
step backward for German military thinking. At the same time, the German
military increasingly fell under the control of two entirely opposed emotions:
desperation caused by a feeling of entrapment and extreme self-confidence
brought about by the feeling that they held the key to victory. Under the
influence of this bipolar intellectual tension, the Schlieffen Plan ultimately
became the German Army’s only choice.

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 9

Crisis Management on the Path to World

War, 1908–1914
“And if the chance of one battle—that is, a particular cause—
has brought a state to ruin, some general cause made it
necessary for that state to perish from a single battle.”
Montesquieu

A s reflected in both the Tirpitz Plan and the Schlieffen Plan, Germany
no longer had a grand strategy—or anything close to it—by 1908. Ever
since Bismarck’s fall in 1890, Germany’s ability to plan for or utilize its strength
had declined, even as its material power continued to grow apace. The result
of this was that, by 1908, foreign pressures had reached catastrophic propor-
tions, and the whole of Europe had entered an era of crisis and conflict. It was
possible for Germany to be drawn into a final reckoning with another power
at any moment. Effective crisis management had become Germany’s last
remaining tool to prevent disaster. Yet, in a certain sense, crisis management
is also an extension of grand strategy. In the absence of a grand strategy,
German crisis management fell prey to the whims of foreign and domestic
pressures. In the end, it facilitated a final reckoning with foreign pressures:
World War I. This shattered Germany’s rise.

The Bosnia Crisis and its Consequences

The Pre-Crisis Situation

After the Anglo-French Entente and Anglo-Russian Convention, Germany’s
encirclement became common knowledge. By 1908, ties between the Triple
Entente powers were drawn even closer. That May, the French president
received a warm welcome on a visit to Great Britain. The next month, King
Edward VII of Great Britain visited Reval and met with the czar. He was
accompanied by First Sea Lord Jackie Fisher, Foreign Office Permanent
Undersecretary Charles Hardinge, and other prominent officials, who held
talks with Russian Prime Minister Peter Stolypin and Foreign Minister
Fragile Rise

Alexander Izvolsky. During these meetings, Hardinge emphasized to Izvolsky

that, due to the “unnecessarily large increase in the German naval program,”
Great Britain placed no faith in Germany’s future intentions. As the German
naval plan moved toward completion, he warned,

in seven or eight years’ time a critical situation might arise, in which

Russia, if strong in Europe, might be the arbiter of peace, and have
much more influence in securing the peace of the world than at any
Hague Conference. For this reason it was absolutely necessary that
England and Russia should maintain toward each other the same
cordial and friendly relations as now exist between England and
France.1

These actions naturally served to deepen Germany’s fears. From

Germany’s perspective, the frequent summits between the leaders of the
Entente countries, particularly the Reval meeting, were steps toward the tight-
ening of Germany’s encirclement. Although both the British and the Russian
governments assured the Germans that they had not concocted any anti-
German plans at that meeting, few in Germany were convinced. At the same
time, Germany’s only ally, Austria-Hungary, appeared weaker and weaker. In
1906, the Austro-Hungarian Empire experienced a constitutional crisis over
its dual monarchical system, based on the connections between the Hapsburg
dynasty and the Hungarian royal house. Demands for independence from
Slavs within the empire continued to rise as well. Common opinion across
Europe held that the Austro-Hungarian Empire was held together only by the
person of the eighty-year-old emperor, Franz Joseph II—and once he passed,
so too would the empire. French and British newspapers frequently broached
the topic of Austria-Hungary’s imminent collapse. This served to make
Germany’s assessment of the current situation even more pessimistic, and its
support for Austria-Hungary more unconditional. Chancellor Bernhard von
Bülow’s memorandum of June 25 was a good reflection of this. In this lengthy
document, Bülow laid out his understanding of the Entente powers’ oppo-
sition to Germany. He noted that although their arrangement was a defensive
one, he feared that they might attack as they gained in strength. Bülow also
noted that Austria-Hungary was much weaker than Germany, and thus much
more likely to become a target. Thus, Germany’s general policy should be one
of loyal cooperation with Austria-Hungary while maintaining a low-profile
program of military preparation.2

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Neither Austria-Hungary’s Chief of General Staff Franz Conrad von

Hötzendorf nor Foreign Minister Alois Lexa von Aehrenthal were inclined
for their country to be merely Germany’s junior partner. They believed that
a series of forceful diplomatic actions could revive their empire’s fortunes.
Both believed that the roots of Slavic national liberation movements within
the Austro-Hungarian Empire lay in Serbian encouragement and support.
A determined strike at this would-be Piedmont of the Slavs would resolve
the empire’s nationality problem.3 The national liberation movements then
active in Bosnia-Herzegovina seemed to provide a perfect occasion to test this
theory. The 1878 Treaty of Berlin had assigned sovereignty over this region
to the Ottoman Empire, while also authorizing Austrian occupation and
administration. As national consciousness grew among Slavs in the territory,
calls for union with Serbia also rose. This led Aehrenthal to consider simply
annexing the territory, in order to squash this notion and, at the same time,
damage Serbian prestige. Russian Foreign Minister Izvolsky, too, had been
seeking a dramatic foreign policy victory, particularly one that would open
the Black Sea Straits to the Russian Navy. This raised the possibility of a secret
accommodation between the two sides.

The Bosnia Crisis and German Management

On July 2, 1908, Izvolsky offered Austria-Hungary a bargain: Russian support
for its annexation of Bosnia in exchange for Austrian support of Russian naval
access to the Black Sea Straits. The foreign ministers of the two empires met
at Buchlau on September 15, where they reached a secret accord to this effect.
During the talks, Austrian Foreign Minister Aehrenthal promised that he
would inform the Russian government before taking any concrete action.
Yet, to the Austrians, it was not particularly important to respect this
agreement per se; instead, it was important that the Austrian action both
humiliate Serbia and establish Austrian superiority in the Balkans. On October
6, Bulgaria declared independence with Austrian support, thus violating the
terms of the 1878 Treaty of Berlin, which had established Bulgaria as a self-
governing state under Ottoman suzerainty. The stage was set for the crisis.
Aehrenthal, in response to this event, claimed that “now we and Germany
have Bulgaria in our hands.”4 A day after the Bulgarian declaration, Austria-
Hungary took the significant step of formally announcing the annexation of
Bosnia. This incited a heated international reaction, thus igniting the crisis in
earnest.
Three parties had particularly furious reactions to Austria’s announcement:
the Ottoman Empire, Serbia, and Russia. The Ottoman Empire’s domestic

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situation was extremely unstable, the country having just experienced the
“Young Turk” revolution in July 1908 that overthrew the sultan’s autocratic
rule. The annexation was another blow to the country’s prestige, and the
Young Turks organized a nationwide boycott of Austro-Hungarian products.
Emotions in Serbia were even more intense, and popular opinion
violently criticized the move as a violation of the Treaty of Berlin and called
for a war to the death against Austria-Hungary. The Serbian government
made preparations for a general mobilization, while irregular “Comitadji”
units armed themselves. At the same time, the government called on other
European countries to intervene, while demanding “territorial compensation”
for Serbia.5
For Russia—and Izvolsky in particular—anger and a sense of betrayal
were mixed together, making the reaction especially intense. After his secret
agreement with his Austrian counterpart, Izvolsky concluded that the Black
Sea issue had implications for the Treaty of Berlin, and thus it would be appro-
priate for him first to gain the approval of the other signatory nations. He
embarked on a trip to canvass for support in Paris and London, but before
he got underway, Austria-Hungary announced the annexation and Serbia
appealed for Russian help. Izvolsky was caught unprepared. He soon learned
that both France and Great Britain (the latter in particular) were fundamen-
tally opposed to Russian access to the straits. Although Great Britain and
Russia had reached an agreement in 1907, considerable British dissatisfaction
with Russian actions remained. Consequently, the British saw opposition to
Russia in this instance as the only means of enforcing Russian compliance
with the agreement.6 Pan-Slavists within Russia denounced Izvolsky for
betraying Slavic interests to Aehrenthal. In this situation, Izvolsky could do
nothing other than quickly change his tune. He suddenly became a staunch
supporter of Serbia, claimed that he had never agreed to the Austro-Hungarian
annexation, and demanded an international conference on the Bosnian issue.
Austria firmly opposed this. Thus, the Bosnia Crisis quickly transformed into
a diplomatic struggle between Russia and Austria-Hungary.
Up to this point, Germany was not yet involved in the dispute. Moreover,
Germany was displeased with Austria-Hungary’s impetuous actions, which
were taken without any advance notice given to Germany. Wilhelm II was
incensed, calling Austrian actions and explanations “laughable.”7 His initial
reaction was that Germany needed to oppose the Austro-Hungarian action,
so that no one else would believe that it had been taken with German
support. Even more important, Germany had invested a significant amount
of capital in the Ottoman Empire and had essentially already pulled it into

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Germany’s strategic orbit. Austria’s actions had now upset that calculus. From
Germany’s perspective, its current ally had just bullied its prospective ally. It
was in an embarrassing situation: it could neither oppose its ally nor protect
its prospective ally. Wilhelm II expressed this succinctly in his notes on a
telegram from Bülow:

I only regret that Aehrenthal’s fearful stupidity has brought us into

the dilemma of being unable to protect and stand by the Turks who
are our friends, seeing that my own ally has injured them. And now
I must look on at England taking my place in Turkey with her advice
and protection, and doing so with arguments based on International
Law, which are incontestable and really after my own heart. Thus my
Turkish policy, so carefully built up for 20 years, is thrown away! A
great triumph over us for Edward VII!8

Yet this was not the mainstream judgment among German policymakers.
For the German government, suffering from the encirclement of other powers,
nothing was more frightening than the loss of Austria-Hungary as an alliance
partner. Thus, Bülow had attempted to mollify the kaiser in a long October 7
telegram that laid out his views on the proper German reaction to the crisis.
In this document, Bülow undertook a defense of Austria-Hungary’s actions,
which he claimed originated in anxieties about Serbian and Croatian nation-
alism. An impatient German attitude would not help matters. Moreover,
Austria-Hungary’s understanding of Balkan affairs was much greater than
Germany’s, and its interests in the region much more profound. Bülow
reminded the kaiser of Austria-Hungary’s loyal support of Germany at the
Algeciras Conference and during the 1908 summer naval exercises. Germany
should endeavor to reciprocate.9 Wilhelm II was soon persuaded. Thus
Germany had essentially committed itself to support for Austria-Hungary in
the early phase of the crisis.
Once the crisis transformed into a diplomatic showdown between Russia
and Austria-Hungary, Germany’s position changed as well. Germany began
to see a connection between the Bosnia Crisis and the earlier strengthening
of the Triple Entente. German leaders soon conceptualized the crisis as a
contest between the Austro-German alliance and the entente—and as an
opportunity to weaken Russia. Bülow stated this directly in a memorandum:
“Since Russia demonstratively joined England at Reval, we could not give
up Austria. The European situation was so changed that we must be more
reserved to Russian wishes than we used to be.”10 At the same time, Germany

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Fragile Rise

expressed forceful, and virtually unconditional, support for Austria-Hungary.

On October 20, Bülow wrote to Aehrenthal, stating that Austria could deal
with Serbia as it saw fit: “‘I shall regard whatever decision you come to as
the appropriate one.”11 This, essentially, gave Austria a blank check—and this
would play a critical role in the development of the crisis. Austria-Hungary was
convinced that Germany would foot the bill for the risks it ran; thus, it stuck
to a hard-line position and even prepared for war with Serbia. Aehrenthal
replied with his thanks in a December 12 letter that also expressed Austria’s
willingness to take an even greater risk of war:

If in the course of the next two months Serbia’s attitude gives us

cause again for serious complaint, we should have then to make a
final decision. You may be assured, honored friend, that I should
inform you of this in good time. If this happens I intend, in order to
prevent a further extension of the conflict, to declare definitely to the
other Powers that we are merely performing an act of clear necessity,
but that we do not mean to attach the independence and territorial
integrity of Serbia and Montenegro. I may hope that a quick military
action combined with this declaration will prevent the dangers of
which I have spoken.12

By early 1909, Germany’s blank check to Austria had extended from

diplomatic issues to military ones. In January, Chief of the Austrian General
Staff Conrad sent a letter to the younger Moltke, asserting that a war with
Serbia was probable. He predicted that once war broke out, Russia would
join the Serbian side and that Germany, according to the 1879 treaty of
alliance, should then assist Austria-Hungary. France, however, might then
enter the war as well, or Germany might have to launch a preemptive war
to forestall a French strike on the German rear. Austria-Hungary’s General
Staff thus needed to know where Germany would focus its military efforts, as
this would have implications for its own planning. Conrad’s letter, generally
speaking, was vague in its content and phrasing, but was clearly intended
to suss out Germany’s strategic bottom line in an emergency. Bismarck, or
another practitioner of Europe’s various diplomatic traditions, would have
replied indirectly or have demanded clarification. By this time, however,
Germany’s pressing need to rein in its Austro-Hungarian ally had eclipsed all
other concerns. The younger Moltke did not deny Austria-Hungary’s assump-
tions and did not demand an explanation of Austro-Hungarian intentions.
Instead, he completely accepted the Austro-Hungarian rhetoric and gave an

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 Crisis Management on the Path to World War, 1908–1914

extremely clear response: If Russian interference gave Germany the cause

for war, then Germany would mobilize as soon as Russia mobilized.13 The
reply was sent on January 21, after first having obtained the kaiser and the
chancellor’s approval. This essentially represented a blank check in military
affairs; Conrad understood the younger Moltke’s words as “binding written
agreements.”14 Even more important, during this phase of the Bosnia Crisis,
the nature of the Austro-German alliance changed dramatically. When
Bismarck built the alliance in 1879, he asserted that it was defensive in nature
and guided entirely by Germany. This would prevent Germany from being
needlessly dragged into danger by Austro-Hungarian expansionism. During
the December 1887 Bulgaria Crisis, Bismarck’s blunt response to an Austro-
Hungarian feeler was: “For us Balkan questions can in no case constitute a
motive for war.”15 Beginning with Bülow’s letter of October 30 and the younger
Moltke’s of January 21, the Austro-German alliance diverged from Bismarck’s
original intention, becoming an expansionary alliance. Even more important,
Austria-Hungary could write whatever it wanted on the blank check provided
by Germany and thus could activate the alliance whenever, and for whatever
purpose, it chose. In other words, control of the alliance had slipped from
German into Austro-Hungarian hands.
When Germany gave its complete support to Austria-Hungary’s dealings
with Serbia and Russia, it naturally also needed to focus on the actions of
the other two members of the Triple Entente: Great Britain and France.
Germany’s desire was to conciliate with these powers in order to concen-
trate forces exclusively against Russia. Of the two, France was the easier to
deal with. No major crisis had erupted between Germany and France since
the First Morocco Crisis. Neither Wilhelm II nor Bülow had any remaining
interest in Morocco itself. Just before the outbreak of the Bosnia Crisis, there
had been a diplomatic scuffle between the two countries in which the German
consulate in Casablanca attempted to aid the desertion of six foreign national
French soldiers. French troops not only caught the deserters, but also beat
the consular secretary and several German soldiers. The German government
had no heart for further entanglement in the Moroccan Question, and thus
was uninterested in allowing the situation to expand from the beginning.
After the outbreak of the Bosnia Crisis, Germany fervently wished to rid
itself of this issue. Wilhelm II himself admitted in a letter that the demands
of the German public could not be fulfilled, and that an accommodation with
France on this issue should be the most important policy goal.16 On February
9, 1909, Germany and France signed an agreement on the Morocco issue.
France promised not to damage German economic interests, while Germany

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Fragile Rise

acknowledged France’s leading role in Morocco, thus temporary stabilizing

the relationship between the two countries.
Great Britain, however, would not be so simple. First, Anglo-German ties
were already strained by the naval arms race. Great Britain saw Germany as its
principal competitor, and its handling of the Bosnia Crisis contained elements
of a balancing policy against Germany. Second, Great Britain intended to use
the situation to increase its own influence in Turkey and the Balkans. Third,
Anglo-Russian relations had been rocky since the 1907 convention between
the two countries, so Great Britain was looking to strike a blow against its
erstwhile ally. Thus, in the Bosnia Crisis, Great Britain did not seek to replicate
the firm support it had given France in the First Morocco Crisis. It did not
offer words of support for Russia. The British, moreover, excelled at effectively
cloaking their own national interests with the rhetoric of universal justice.
(The United States, in more recent times, has never been able to excel at this
to the same level.) During the Bosnia Crisis, the British packaged their own
interests in two seemingly irrefutable notions: first, that international law and
international treaties should be respected, and second, that injured parties
should be compensated. The implication of the first was that the Black Sea
Straits would not be opened to Russia, that Austria-Hungary could not unilat-
erally annex Bosnia, and that Bulgaria could not proclaim itself independent.
Yet it did not suggest specific means of redress, allowing for flexibility and
latitude. The second generated goodwill in Turkey and Serbia, but Great
Britain itself would not have to pay for their compensation. These stances not
only allowed Great Britain to take the moral high ground in the crisis, but also
preserved its room for maneuver in terms of concrete actions.
Without French and British support, Russia was at a disadvantage in
facing the combined pressure of Germany and Austria-Hungary. Russian
military strength still had a long road to recovery from defeat in the Russo-
Japanese War, and the danger of domestic revolution still existed. These factors
determined Russia’s bottom line: under no circumstances could it fight a war
with Austria-Hungary and Germany. Izvolsky’s hard-line position could only
be surface-deep under these conditions. As the crisis developed, Great Britain
became worried about the risk of a war between Austria-Hungary and Serbia.
British Foreign Secretary Edward Grey circulated a note to Germany, France,
and Italy on February 19, 1909, calling on the four nations to cooperate in
preventing an Austrian declaration of war against Serbia. Germany’s position,
however, had already been set: it would not act as a “middleman” of any kind,
not would it undertake any kind of mediation (these were exactly the roles
that Bismarck had adopted); instead, everything would be directly decided by

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the countries involved.17 In other words, Germany was encouraging a great-

power showdown. Once Germany’s position became clear, the British efforts
naturally fizzled out and Austro-Serbian and Austro-Russian tensions grew.
The Bosnia Crisis increasingly came to resemble a game of chicken that could
only end with one side’s complete retreat. On February 26, France expressed
the view to Russia that events in Bosnia were “a question in which the vital
interests of Russia are not involved” and that “French public opinion would
be unable to comprehend that such a question could lead to a war in which
the French and Russian armies would have to take part.”18 The French had
declared that the Franco-Russian alliance did not apply to the Bosnia Crisis.
France’s position made Russia’s predicament even worse. In March 1909,
Austria-Hungary began war preparations, and the danger of conflict with
Serbia rose. In the face of this, the Serbian government maintained its uncom-
promising, hard-line attitude. On March 10, Serbia circulated a diplomatic
note to the powers, protesting the annexation of Bosnia and claiming that
all signatories to the Treaty of Berlin needed to respond to this event. Russia
clearly understood that, given its inability to aid Serbia at this moment, Serbia
would be crushed by Austria-Hungary’s superior might. As a consequence,
Russia’s position and prestige in the Balkans would suffer disastrous blows.
Thus, Russia demanded an international conference even as it grew more
desperate to rein in Serbia, demanding that it “maintain self-restraint.” Against
this backdrop, Germany proposed on March 14 that, through the exchange
of notes, Austria-Hungary invite the great powers to agree to an Austro-
Ottoman convention and annul the clause of the Treaty of Berlin relevant to
Bosnia. Russia, however, would have to signal its agreement before Austria
issued its invitation.19 All things considered, Germany’s proposal was in fact
a demand that the other great power acknowledge and legitimize Austria-
Hungary’s violation of an international treaty after the fact. Although this
action would work entirely in Austria-Hungary’s favor, it would also allow the
other great powers to preserve face. This led to changes in British and Russian
stances. The British expressed their dissatisfaction with Serbia’s March 10 note
to Germany. The Germans took this to indicate that “Europe’s sympathy had
cooled off so much that even in the lamentable event of a collision there was
reason to hope that the conflict might be localized.”20 Russian Foreign Minister
Izvolsky still hoped to hold out, but others in the Russian government had
already prepared to fold. On March 17, the Russian cabinet decided against
military intervention in the Austria-Serbia dispute. Izvolsky himself came
under pressure from Austria. He had long painted himself a protector and
supporter of Serbia and the southern Slavs, so Aehrenthal threatened to

267
Fragile Rise

release documents from their secret negotiations at Buchlau that would prove
his complicity in the annexation of Bosnia.21
By this point, the crisis was approaching resolution. Germany and
Austria-Hungary, however, seemed to feel that they had not yet inflicted
enough humiliation on their opponents. Great Britain proposed allowing
Serbia to distance itself from the issue. Austria-Hungary rejected this and
demanded Serbian acknowledgment of Austria-Hungary’s authority to annex
Bosnia. While the Russian foreign minister hesitated in making a decision
on whether or not to pressure Serbian compliance with this harsh demand,
Germany again pressured Russia in an unnecessary tone that sounded like
a final ultimatum: “We expect an answer—yes or no; we must regard any
evasive, conditional or unclear answer as a refusal. We should then draw back
and let things take their course. The responsibility for further events would
then call exclusively on M. Izvolsky, after we had made a last sincere effort to
help him clear up the situation in a way which he could accept.”22
Russia could only surrender. Although the British were unwilling, in
the end they, too, pressured Serbia in accordance with Austria-Hungary’s
demand. On March 30, 1909, the ambassadors from Great Britain, France,
Russia, and Italy presented the Serbian government in Belgrade with a joint
note demanding Serbian acceptance of the Austro-Hungarian demand. The
next day, the government formally declared:

Serbia recognizes that she has not been affected in her rights by
the fait accompli created in Bosnia, and that consequently she will
conform to the decisions that the Powers may take in regard to
Article 25 of the Treaty of Berlin. In deference to the advice of the
Great Powers, Serbia undertakes to renounce the attitude of protest
and opposition which she has adopted since last autumn with
regard to the Annexation. She undertakes, moreover, to modify the
direction of her present policy toward Austria-Hungary, and to live
in future on good neighborly terms with the latter.23

The crisis had ended with a complete victory for the Austro-German alliance.

Consequences of the Crisis

The consequences of the crisis proved harmful for Germany. Overall, the
European situation had grown increasingly tense. During the crisis, the Triple
Entente and the Austro-German alliance were locked into fully oppositional
stances, and the danger of all-out war arose for the first time.

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Even more important, Germany had become the entire center of the
dispute. Originally, the crisis had been instigated by the Austro-Hungarians;
Germany had no part in it. Yet Germany’s hard-line stance during the crisis
made other nations suspect that it was the puppet master behind the scenes.
During a 1910 visit to Austria-Hungary, Wilhelm II exaggeratedly claimed
that Germany had stood at Austria’s side in the moment of danger “like a
knight in shining armor.”24 This simply fueled the suspicions of other powers.
The stance of the Triple Entente toward Germany also became more hard-line
as a result. From the British perspective, the Bosnia Crisis coincided with
the height of the Anglo-German naval competition. The “naval scare” had
occurred in 1908, and Germany had already become Great Britain’s greatest
and most direct threat. The British believed that Germany’s goal was to use the
crisis to splinter the entente and establish itself as a continental hegemon. The
only available route for Great Britain, then, was to solidify ties with France
and Russia. During the crisis, Grey wrote that “if we sacrifice the other Powers
to Germany we shall eventually be attacked.”25 It was Russia, however, that had
been humiliated the most during the crisis, and the impact was correspond-
ingly large. Pan-Slavic newspapers in Russia engaged in long-term, fierce crit-
icisms against Germany. They openly predicted that a war between the Slavic
race and the Teutonic race was “unavoidable.” Russia’s policymakers found
the roots of this failure in Russia’s insufficient military preparations, which
led them to decline the Austro-German challenge. Thus, Russia embarked on
a program of military expansion, strengthened its ties with Great Britain and
France, and resolved itself not to back down in the next crisis. The recom-
mendations of the Russian ambassador in Paris were representative:

Foreseeing the further development of the European situation,

many newspapers come to the conclusion that precisely as Germany
and Austria have now achieved a brilliant victory, so must the two
Western Powers, together with Russia, now pay their attention to the
systematic development of their forces in order to be able, once they
are in a position not to fear a challenge of the Triple Alliance—and in
this case Italy would separate herself from the Triple Alliance—to set
up on their part demands which would restore the political balance
which has now been displaced in favor of Germany and Austria…all
these circumstances show how necessary it is for us to bind ourselves
still more closely to France and England in order to oppose in common
the further penetration of Germany and Austria in the Balkans.26

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Serbia, too, felt deeply humiliated and had set its heart on vengeance. Serbian
determination to promote national liberation in the Balkans intensified, and
underground organizations like the Black Hand increased their activities.
This planted the seeds for Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s assassination in 1914.
From the perspective of the Austro-German alliance, Germany found
itself in an uncomfortable position. Fears of losing Austria-Hungary as an ally
had driven it to offer support regardless of cost during the crisis, including
taking the lead in opposing Russia. Even more important, Germany had given
Austria-Hungary its blank check. This was an offer of unconditional German
support for any Austro-Hungarian action, including war. The balance within
the alliance had clearly tilted toward Austria-Hungary; the weaker nation was
leading the stronger. Afterward, German policymakers appeared to regret
this course of action. Not long after the crisis was resolved, Chancellor Bülow
resigned and reportedly told the kaiser: “Do not repeat the Bosnian affair.”27 A
year later, Germany’s ambassador to Vienna wrote:

Germany is not a Balkan Power. During the past year, for reasons of
higher policy, we threw the weight of our political influence into the
scales in favor of Austria. In my opinion we should do well to prevent,
as far as possible, a repetition of this procedure. For the future, we
ought to preserve a free hand for ourselves, and allow ourselves to be
drawn as little as possible into Balkan questions, so that we shall be
able at the psychological moment to choose our policy freely or to
use it as profitably as possible.28

Over the following years, however, Germany’s fear of encirclement over-

whelmed its calculations of interests; regret and reflection had no time to have
an impact on policy. The motives and logic that had been apparent in the
Bosnia Crisis would be replicated in the July Crisis of 1914. The difference was
that the stance of Germany’s opponents would not be the same, and the final
results would be completely different.

The Second Morocco Crisis

The Pre-Crisis Situation

The Bosnia Crisis had cast a momentary shadow of general war over Europe.
History, however, does not develop in a straight line. Although Russia
embarked on an expansion of its military and vowed not to back down in the
next crisis, its relationship with Germany did not continue to deteriorate after

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the crisis. In September 1910, Russian Foreign Minister Izvolsky was trans-
ferred to the ambassadorship in Paris and replaced as foreign minister by Sergey
Sazonov. Russo-German ties began to thaw. In November, Sazonov met with
Chancellor Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg and German Secretary of State
for Foreign Affairs Alfred Kiderlen in Potsdam, where the two sides reached
an agreement on the Baghdad Railway under construction by Germany and
Persia. This Potsdam meeting was a setback for Great Britain, which had tried
to prevent unilateral deals between France or Russia and Germany over the
railway issue. In anger, Grey even claimed that he would resign in favor of a
foreign secretary who could reach a naval understanding with Germany, so
that an Anglo-German alliance could oppose Russian expansion in Persia and
Turkey.29 The other member of the Triple Entente, France, had struck an inde-
pendent bargain with Germany over Morocco. Of course, neither Russian
nor French deal-making behind Great Britain’s back implied a betrayal of the
entente. Yet it demonstrated that the entente was far from being iron-clad,
and that opportunities existed for Germany to break out of its encirclement.
This potential was reflected most clearly with regard to France. As long
as Alsace and Lorraine remained in German hands, Franco-German relations
would also remain deadlocked, to be sure. “Deadlock,” however, did not mean
that France was determined to fight a war, much less that it wanted to recover
its lost territories by force. Conversely, at the same time that the naval arms
race had decidedly worsened Anglo-German ties, there were signs of a thaw
in Franco-German relations. Finance capitalists and a number of heavy indus-
trial capitalists in the two countries hoped to work together to increase their
monopolies. French Finance Minister (and later prime minister) Maurice
Rouvier represented these forces in French politics. Major German steel
companies Thiessen and Krupp inked an agreement with the French company
Schneider-Creusot to cooperatively develop mines in Morocco, the focus of a
crisis in 1905. This, in essence, was a joint monopolization of Moroccan iron
mining.
The momentum for improved ties, however, was unstable. Inside
Germany, some forces were displeased by this cooperation over Morocco. The
German Colonial Society and the Pan-German League had always resented
Germany’s defeat in the First Morocco Crisis, and believed that the government
was sacrificing Germany’s interests in the country. Some smaller steel manu-
facturers were dissatisfied with the monopolization of Moroccan mines by
larger companies. Such companies joined hands with the Colonial Society
and the Pan-German League to promote their position as the defenders of
the national interest. These pressures were direct attacks on Franco-German

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cooperation. At the same time, they made the German government increas-
ingly nervous about dealing with Moroccan affairs.

Germany’s Crisis Management

In March 1911, an anti-French uprising broke out in Fez, Morocco. The
French used this as a pretext to dispatch an army and occupy the country’s
cities, including Fez. This placed the entire country under the French sword
and rendered the Algeciras agreement null. France promised the signatories
on that accord that, once order was restored, it would withdraw its troops. The
European nations all understood, however, that the restoration of order would
take an indefinite period of time. Thus began the Second Morocco Crisis.
The German principally responsible for managing the crisis was Kiderlen.
He had entered the German diplomatic service in 1879 and had demon-
strated promise. He gave a number of apt nicknames to important German
political figures, dubbing Bülow “the eel” and Bethmann “the earthworm.”
He had adopted hard-line methods and could be pompous. He authored the
final ultimatum to Russia issued during the final stages of the Bosnia Crisis.
Kiderlen became foreign minister in 1910, after which he became even more
self-confident and proud, to the point where he rarely communicated with
his superior, the chancellor. This further fragmented the German Empire’s
decision-making systems. These issues would all deeply mark Germany’s
handling of the Second Morocco Crisis.
Germany reacted to France’s abrogation of the agreement reached at
Algeciras. On April 28, 1911, Kiderlen warned France that it would be easier
to occupy Fez than to vacate it. If the French Army remained in Fez, Germany
would consider the sultan’s sovereignty null and void. Given that the Algeciras
understanding was no longer operative, Germany was free to take inde-
pendent action.30 What would such action entail? Kiderlen initially hoped to
block French annexation of Morocco, but was opposed by Wilhelm II. The
kaiser had not wanted to be dragged into Moroccan affairs in 1905, and was
even less willing to cross France over this issue again, given the results of the
last crisis there. Thus, when reminded that Germany was a signatory to the
Algeciras agreement, the kaiser took exception: “If it suited their policy the
French would coolly ignore such Agreements in spite of protests by others
and then we might whistle for it since we did not want a war over Morocco.”31
Yet the German government could not remain aloof from the Moroccan
Question. Greed may have played a part, but the most significant factor was
German public opinion. From the moment the French occupied Fez, the
German government came under enormous pressure at home. This was the

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major difference between the two Morocco Crises. During the first crisis, the
German government was invested but the population was not; essentially,
the government pushed public opinion along. In the wake of that crisis, after
being subjected to the repeated educational efforts of the government and the
propaganda of the Colonial Society and Pan-German League, German public
opinion had been fully awakened. Many ordinary Germans had already come
to see Morocco as an important factor in Germany’s future development.
Thus, when the second crisis broke out, German public opinion became more
invested than the government; public opinion now pushed the government.
In May 3 memorandum, Kiderlen pointed out: “Our public opinion, saving
only the Social Democratic Party, would reproach the Government severely,
if it simply let things in [Morocco] go on as they please; whereas it is certain
that material results would turn the votes of many dissatisfied electors and
perhaps influence not inconsiderably the approaching Reichstag election.”
The importance of the memorandum lay not only in its partial explanation
of Germany’s motives, but also for its detailed display of German outlook and
policy considerations. It clearly states:

In all probability by the force of circumstances sooner or later the

provisions of the Act of Algeciras will no longer hold good, however
great the pretense. The Sultan, who can only maintain his authority
in the land with the help of French bayonets, no longer provides
guarantees for the independence of his country, and this was the
whole object of the Act of Algeciras.

Given the treaty’s nullification, freedom of action reverted to the signatory

nations. The question for Germany was how to make use of this. As the memo-
randum notes, the occupation of Fez paved the way for the French annexation
of the entire country. Germany would gain nothing from protesting and could,
instead, suffer a moral defeat. Thus, given that France could deploy troops to
protect its citizens in Morocco from harm, so too could the Germans dispatch
warships to Adagir and Mogador. Once the navy entered those ports, it would
obtain some kind of “pledge” and Germany should “look confidently on at the
further development of affairs in Morocco and see whether France will offer
us proper compensation in her own colonial possessions, in return for which
we could abandon the two ports.”32
After winning Wilhelm II’s approval, Kiderlen set about to trying to wrest
tangible advantages from France. His basic calculations were quite clear:
focus on France alone, rather than attempting a multilateral strategy. He did

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not propose concrete conditions, but instead hoped to force France to offer
compensation proactively. He ignored Great Britain, although his reason for
selecting these two Atlantic ports as Germany’s objectives was their distance
from the Mediterranean. This, he thought, meant that Great Britain would not
mind. There were three gaps in his considerations. First, although bilateral
talks would have been effective in 1905, 1911 would be different, given the
existence of the Triple Entente. Second, the Anglo-German naval compe-
tition was at its peak, so moves to acquire an Atlantic port would touch a
nerve in Great Britain and might be met with fierce opposition. Third, in the
wake of the Bosnia Crisis, the British government would not ignore Franco-
German negotiations. In fact, on May 22, British Foreign Secretary Grey had
told the German ambassador in London that while Great Britain had freedom
of action in other areas, in Morocco it was bound by the entente to support
France.33 Germany paid no heed to this warning, and continued to press
France. France, however, had no intention of providing any compensation
to Germany, and merely feigned civility when Germany hinted at its desire.
On June 20, Franco-German talks finally began at Kissingen. Kiderlen main-
tained his reticence during the negotiations, thus the meeting concluded with
French hints of compensation for Germany. Both sides, however, claimed the
need for greater authorization from their governments.
After the Kissingen negotiations, the French dragged their feet, failing to
suggest any concrete compensation for Germany. Germany grew impatient.
Kiderlen felt that it was time for Germany to take strong measures. On July
1, 1911, the German destroyer Panther anchored in Agadir harbor, ostensibly
to protect German citizens. Suddenly, the situation had become tense. This
turned out to be an extremely inopportune moment for Germany to take a
hard-line stance. The relatively pro-German Joseph Caillaux had just become
France's prime minister, creating hopes for an increasing thaw between the
two nations. Faced with Germany’s forceful actions, however, Caillaux’s rela-
tively pro-German faction had even less maneuvering room to make conces-
sions than France’s anti-German groups. He was vulnerable to criticism as
an appeaser, even a traitor. Thus, France sought help separately from Great
Britain and Russia. Russia’s response was repayment for the French position
on the Bosnia Crisis—it claimed that the Franco-Russian alliance would be
“inoperative” in the event of a war begun by colonial disputes. Great Britain’s
reaction, however, was very different. The British interpreted this as another
German attempt to tear the Triple Entente apart. Moreover, it was also an
attempt to obtain a large naval base on the Atlantic. Great Britain could
accept neither of these things. Thus, as Grey thought, Great Britain needed

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“to give to France such support as would prevent her from falling under the
virtual control of Germany and estrangement from us.”34 The French Foreign
Ministry asked for a Royal Navy vessel to be dispatched to Agadir as well;
although Grey agreed, the cabinet vetoed the notion. In the end, Great Britain
decided merely to issue Germany a warning. On July 4, Grey met with the
German ambassador to London and conveyed three messages. First, Great
Britain considered Germany to have created a new situation by sending
a gunboat to Agadir. Two, if Moroccan affairs continued to develop in this
way, it would attract greater British attention. Three, Great Britain could not
permit any new agreements that it was not a party to.35
The British response transformed the crisis. Previously it had been
primarily a hidden contest between France and Germany. From then on,
however, Great Britain would take center stage, and its disputes with Germany
would come to the fore, superseding the Franco-German tensions. After
Great Britain took this foreign policy stance, the French government notified
Germany on July 6 that the presence of the Panther made the resumption
of negotiations very difficult. Germany paid no notice to this refusal and
continued to press France. On July 9, Kiderlen held another meeting with
the French ambassador. There had been no changes to either side’s thinking.
Germany was still unwilling to put all of its cards on the table, while the
French were happy to delay things further. Each side waited for the other’s
proposals. In the end, this negotiation was the diplomatic equivalent of going
around in circles: both men claimed to need further instructions from home
before the talks could continue. This seesaw-style diplomacy caused the kaiser
to lose his patience. He jotted in the margins of a report from the chancellor
that: “Now I should like to know what further authority is needed. Mine was
given 4 weeks ago. The whole thing was brought before me a second time
at Kiel quite superfluously by Kiderlen in the Chancellor’s presence and my
approval was asked for again and granted at once. What the devil is to happen
now? It is pure farce! They negotiate and negotiate and nothing comes of it.”36
Kiderlen was unable to remain calm in this situation. French patience, too,
had been worn down to the point that France floated proposals for compen-
sation.
On July 15, two weeks after the Panther had anchored itself at Agadir, the
French ambassador sought out Kiderlen with the proposal that France cede
the border region of its colony in Congo as territorial compensation. Kiderlen
put all of his cards on the table this time: a portion of French Congo was unac-
ceptable; only the whole of it would do. This surprised the French ambassador,
who explained that even relinquishing part of the Congo would be difficult

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to explain to the French people. The French government had thought of a

number of possibilities, including asking the Germans to cede a small piece of
colonial territory in return. There was no precedent for the wholesale surren-
dering of a colony, however. In the end, they rejected the German proposal.
Faced with France’s stance, splits appeared within the German government.
Kiderlen believed that Germany should continue to push its proposal, and
moreover, “we must continue to act very strongly, if we were to get a favorable
result.” Chancellor Bethmann, however, thought that the French rejection
was understandable. Asking for an entire colony as compensation was not
realistic; Germany, if needed, could also cede a portion of colonial territory
to France as compensation.37 Kiderlen handled the negotiations on his own,
however, and essentially ignored Bethmann’s views. Kiderlen judged that the
original notion of holding Agadir as a pledge had become impractical, as an
actual occupation of the port could easily lead to conflict with Great Britain.
Germany’s only escape route was to obtain as much compensation as possible
through a tough negotiating stance.38 Public opinion within Germany had
now reached flood tide, with every party except the Social Democrats and
left-wing progressive groups holding high hopes for the compensation
that could result from this crisis. The Pan-German League and other like-
minded groups openly called for Germany to risk war. Confronted with these
pressures, the German government naturally found it difficult to turn away
from its hard-line policy. It could only go forward.
In reality, the space for Germany’s hard-line policy during the Second
Morocco Crisis was already diminishing. The French negotiating position
had slowly hardened, as France could reject any German claim without being
harmed unless Germany actually decided to go to war. The pressure from
Great Britain, too, was increasing. Kiderlen’s insistence on bilateral nego-
tiations sparked British fears that their interests might be sacrificed in any
Franco-German compromise that resulted from them. Germany had never
revealed its true intentions to Great Britain, and had never explained that
it was not actually seeking an Atlantic naval base, causing British doubts to
grow. On July 21, 1911, British Foreign Secretary Grey summoned the German
ambassador and directly inquired about Germany’s intentions. He expressed
misgivings that a Franco-German deal was in the works, and was particularly
worried about Germany obtaining an Atlantic port. Yet the German ambas-
sador failed to provide a clear response. On the same day, Chancellor of the
Exchequer David Lloyd George made a public address at the London mayor’s
residence. He displayed a rarely-seen hard-line stance:

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I would make great sacrifices to preserve peace. I conceive that

nothing would justify a disturbance of international good-will
except questions of the gravest national moment. But if a situation
were to be forced upon us in which peace could only be preserved by
the surrender of the great and beneficent position Britain has won
by centuries of heroism and achievement, by allowing Britain to be
treated, where her interests were vitally affected, as if she were of no
account in the Cabinet of nations, then I say emphatically that peace
at that price would be a humiliation intolerable for a great country
like ours to endure.39

Lloyd George’s shocking speech was the first major event of the Second
Morocco Crisis. It was rare for a cabinet member to make such forceful
remarks, so this speech had a strong impact on public opinion in Great
Britain, France, and Germany. In Great Britain and France, anti-German
feelings swelled at once, and newspapers of all kinds attacked Germany. Inside
Germany, these remarks created a tide of anti-British sentiment. Political
parties and forces of all stripes called the speech humiliating to Germany
and demanded a powerful response from the government. Moreover, Lloyd
George had long held moderate views on Anglo-German ties, to the extent
that he could be seen as the leader of a peace faction. The harsh words of such
a figure naturally shocked the German government deeply. Thus, the German
government concluded that Lloyd George had been carefully selected by the
British government to present this view in order to demonstrate that the
cabinet was united on this issue.40 When Germany protested this speech, Grey
displayed a similarly hard-line stance, arguing that Lloyd George’s words had
been “suitable to the occasion” and that he had “no means of allying the public
anxiety as to our alleged intentions regarding Agadir.”41
Confronted by both Britain’s hard-line stance and the German public’s
aroused nationalistic sentiments, the German government was left with little
room to maneuver. It could only bullheadedly continue to follow its own
hard line of pressuring France to indicate that “the dignity of Germany would
compel her to secure by all means full support by France for German treaty
rights.”42 “All means” included war. In fact, Kiderlen had considered going to
war, but the kaiser refused to support a war over Morocco. Given that war
was actually off the table, German insinuations that it would resort to war
to achieve its aims were not effective. Instead, they led to two unanticipated
results. The first was the danger of an Anglo-German war. Germany’s threats

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had been aimed at France, yet there was no indication that a Franco-German
war was in the offing. The British, however, actually began preparing for
war, and the odds of an Anglo-German conflict rose. At the end of July, the
Royal Navy was ready for war and, even more significantly, the Admiralty
had begun planning the transport of the British Army to the continent. The
outlines of World War I were already becoming apparent. By August, Lloyd
George openly called for his compatriots to pay attention to the risk of war,
thus inspiring a bellicose mood in the British population. Railway workers
ended a major strike in response. The second result was that feelings among
the German public intensified. Once the Second Morocco Crisis began, the
public had pressured the government to take a hard-line position. By July,
public sentiment was out of control. Some extremist organizations called
openly for war with Great Britain and France. The government’s own stance
and hints of war after Lloyd George’s speech gave the German public even
more confidence that their government would continue to take a hard-line
position, even to the point of war. The whole country experienced war fever,
and seemingly the entire population was ready to welcome this battle. These
two results undoubtedly made it more difficult for the German government
to walk back from the precipice. As this was happening, the German stock
market dropped precipitously on fears of war, and France demanded payment
on short-term loans to Germany. A fiscal crisis resulted.43 By this point, Kider-
len’s hard-line strategy had reached a dead end.
Germany finally agreed to compromise with France in September.
Germany accepted that the Algeciras agreement had been voided and that
Morocco was now a French protectorate. In compensation, the French ceded
two long, narrow parcels of land in the French Congo. On November 4, the
two sides signed the agreement and the Panther left Agadir at the end of that
month. The crisis was now over.

Effects of the Crisis

The Second Morocco Crisis had brought Europe closer to war than either of
the preceding major crises. Although none of the four continental powers
began concrete preparations for war, Britain’s Royal Navy had done so. This
was the first time since German unification that any European power had
begun to put itself on a wartime footing. Viewed macroscopically, the main
consequence of the Second Morocco Crisis was that it further increased the
hostility between the two alliance systems. Policymakers in all of the powers
were left with an even deeper impression that war was unavoidable.

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For the Entente powers, this crisis spurred closer military cooperation
between France and Great Britain. In terms of written documentation, of
course, no alliance at all existed between the two countries, and both denied
any military obligations to the other. The British and French General Staffs had
begun effective military consultations after the First Morocco Crisis, however,
and an alliance had already been built at the operational level rather than the
policymaking level. After the Second Morocco Crisis, operational cooperation
increased, with a number of concrete policy implications. In July 1912, the
Royal Navy recalled its fleet from the Mediterranean in order to strengthen its
naval force in the North Sea. Simultaneously, the French Navy transferred its
Atlantic fleet to the Mediterranean. This, in effect, created a strategic division
of labor between the two countries. Under this arrangement, France essen-
tially abandoned the defense of its Atlantic coastline. Great Britain would
shoulder an inescapable moral duty to protect this region. Although there
was no treaty, the Royal Navy would have to undertake this responsibility in
wartime, perhaps even to the extent of intervening in a continental war.44
The Franco-Russian alliance was reinforced at around this time, too. In
July 1912, the two countries reached a secret naval agreement that stipulated
mutual support in the event of war. Now the entire armed forces of both
countries were linked by formal treaty obligations. Even more important,
both had strengthened their resolve to confront the Austro-German alliance.
During the 1908 Bosnia Crisis, France had declined to back Russia, claiming
that the Balkans were not a core interest of France. During the Second
Morocco Crisis, the Russians naturally repaid this treatment in kind. Yet after
that crisis, the two countries apparently realized that they needed to provide
greater mutual support, at least in terms of relations with the Austro-German
alliance. French Prime Minister Raymond Poincaré said as much during a
1912 visit to Russia. A Russian record reported him explaining that “public
opinion in France would not permit…military action for the sake of purely
Balkan questions if Germany did not take part.” For situations in which Germany
became involved, however, Russia “could certainly count on France for the
exact and complete fulfilment of her obligations.”45 A month later, Poincaré
told Izvolsky, now serving as ambassador to Paris, that “if conflict with Austria
brought intervention by Germany, France would fulfil her obligations.”46
For Germany, the crisis provided further impetus to take military risks in
the next crisis. During the crisis, German public opinion had been completely
mobilized. A fervor permeated the nation, to the point that, to a certain extent,
the people were already psychologically prepared for war. Yet the resolution

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had left the population disappointed. It seemed to many that the demands of
the people and of the nation had been exchanged for two bits of swamp-filled,
jungle-covered land in the French Congo. The German colonial secretary
dismissed these tracts of land as essentially “useless.”47 The chasm between
the emotions and the results of the crisis led the public to vent its anger at
the government. The newspapers, speaking essentially with one voice, casti-
gated the weakness of the government and of the kaiser, who they dubbed
“Wilhelm the Peaceful.” In the Reichstag, parties of all affiliations voiced their
displeasure. On November 9, 1911 (five days after the agreement had been
signed), the Reichstag held three days of debate, during which Bethmann was
twice forced to take the floor in his own defense. Conservatives blamed the
government for making concessions in Morocco and thus sacrificing German
prestige, as well as for making only a weak response to Lloyd George’s speech.
The leader of the National Liberals accused the government of fearing war.
He claimed that the German people had been ready, but that they had been
let down by the cowardice of their government and their kaiser, who should
take complete responsibility for this diplomatic humiliation.48 During each of
these attacks, the crown prince applauded in support, putting the government
under even greater pressure. The Pan-German League openly attacked
Wilhelm II, while others filed a complaint against Kiderlen on the grounds
that his compromise was “treason.” Nothing like this had happened since the
founding of the German Empire. It seemed as if “Germany experienced a sort
of national revolution, an ‘awakening.’”49
These relentless pressures deeply unsettled German policymakers and
reinforced their resolve to face their next test without backing down. The
younger Moltke expressed these feelings clearly in a letter:

If we creep out of this affair with our tails between our legs, if we
cannot be aroused to an energetic set of demands which we are
prepared to enforce by the sword, then I am doubtful about the future
of the German Empire. And I will resign. But first I will propose
that we abolish the army and place ourselves under the protection of
Japan. Then we will be able to make money without interference and
to become imbeciles.50

Overall, the experiences of the Second Morocco Crisis strengthened German

tendencies to adopt hard-line policies even at the risk of war. It proved to be a
psychological dress rehearsal for the outbreak of war two years later.

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The July Crisis and the Coming of War

The Situation on the Eve of the Crisis

If one could combine the 1908 Bosnia Crisis and the 1911 Second Morocco
Crisis, the result would essentially be a rough outline of the July Crisis in
1914, which led to the outbreak of war. Arguably, these two crises provided
opportunities for different actors to rehearse their roles: the Austro-German
alliance and Russia in 1908 and the Anglo-French Entente and Germany in
1911. Instead, there are always changes that leave gaps and possibilities. Those
with the ability, and the courage, can grasp hold of these short-lived opportu-
nities to transform the fate of an individual or a nation.
After the Second Morocco Crisis, hostility between the two alliance
systems increased, militaries in all countries expanded, and the possibility of
world war grew. Yet historical gaps still existed. In 1913, Germany and Great
Britain had at long last reached a compromise over the Baghdad Railway.
The two countries also concluded an agreement over the fate of Portugal’s
colonies. Likewise, they acted relatively cooperatively during both the First
and the Second Balkan Wars in order to prevent the conflicts from escalating.
In 1914, the two nations experienced a brief conflict over Middle Eastern
oil, but found a solution in March that resulted in a joint Anglo-German oil
company.51 Calls within the British government for improved Anglo-German
ties gained in strength. Chancellor of the Exchequer Lloyd George declared:
“Our relations are very much better than they were a few years ago.… The
two great Empires begin to realize they can co-operate for common ends,
and that the points of co-operation are greater and more numerous and more
important than the points of possible controversy.”52 In France, forces opposed
to greater military spending and to the alliance with Russia gained the upper
hand in the April 1913 elections; a Franco-German thaw seemed near, too.
Doubts also emerged within the German government about the value of the
Austro-Hungarian alliance. The German ambassador to Vienna wrote in May
1914 that “I constantly wonder whether it really pays us to bind ourselves so
tightly to this phantasm of a State which is cracking in every direction, and to
toil any further at dragging it along with us.” He suggested that consideration
be given to German policy in event of the dual monarchy’s dissolution.53
These were only tiny sprouts, however. None of Germany’s political or
military leaders at the time seized upon or even noticed them. Instead, they
increasingly focused on what was seen as an inevitable war. Within the German
policymaking establishment, a growing number of people began to see war as
an acceptable choice. Even Chancellor Bethmann, who had never advocated

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war, began to shift his opinion. Wilhelm II discovered that “even the Chan-
cellor now appears to be accustomed to the idea of a war, although he had said
only a year ago that he would never be capable of advising war.”54 The German
military had become uneasy with the pace at which the militaries of the
Entente powers, particularly Russia, had been growing. Military commanders
came to believe that the Austro-German alliance was at an increasing disad-
vantage. Russia was in the process of constructing a rail network in its western
territories. Once completed (which the Germans estimated would happen in
1916), it would be of immense value to the Russian military machine. It would
also make conditions on the ground even less favorable for the Schlieffen Plan.
Given this assessment, the logic of the German military was easy to under-
stand: Given that war was unavoidable, it should be started before Germany’s
advantages disappeared entirely. The younger Moltke made this clear to his
Austro-Hungarian counterpart in a May 12, 1914, letter: “We are ready, the
sooner the better for us.”55
Germany’s willingness to risk war rose in tandem with the increasing
military collaboration between the Entente powers. Between 1913 and 1914,
continuing the trend begun by the Franco-Russian naval accord, Russia
demanded a naval understanding with Great Britain, so that the Royal Navy
would force open the Black Sea Straits in the event that they were closed
in wartime (during the war, this thinking would lead to the 1915 Gallipoli
campaign). The June 1914 Anglo-Russian naval talks held in London were
discovered by a German spy in the Russian Embassy. This information shook
the German government. Bethmann reported that “whereas up till now it was
only the most extreme pan-Germans and militarists in Germany who insisted
that Russia was deliberately scheming to attack us, now calmer politicians as
well are beginning to incline to that opinion.”56 The majority of German poli-
cymakers took this as a sign that Germany’s encirclement was being drawn
even tighter. Breaking out of this encirclement now became a pressing task.57
This provided the psychological backdrop to the July Crisis.

Germany’s Response to the Crisis

On June 28, 1914, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian
throne, was assassinated by a Serbian nationalist. This event shook the entire
continent and raised the curtains on the July Crisis.
Paradoxically, Franz Ferdinand had been among the most enlightened
Austrian political leaders on the issue of nationalities. He promoted increased
political rights for Slavs and advocated the transformation of the empire
from a dual monarchy in which power was jointly shared by Germans and

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Hungarians into a triple monarchy that included the Slavs. He also opposed
war. In March 1914, the German ambassador in Austria-Hungary specifically
identified the archduke as the pro-war faction’s main opponent.58 Thus, not
only did his assassination give Austria-Hungary the perfect excuse to settle
the score with Serbia, but it also cleared away this obstacle to war. The pro-war
faction quickly became ascendant within Austria-Hungary. The course of events
then pushed Austria-Hungary’s ally, Germany, to the center of the stage.
The German reaction—and, in particular, the reaction of Wilhelm II—to
the assassination was to encourage Austria-Hungary to take strong measures
during the time that it still retained the sympathies of other European nations.
German foreign policy, by contrast, remained cautious. On June 30, German
ambassador to Vienna Heinrich von Tschirschky advised the Austrians to
remain calm and to determine their objectives carefully, keeping in mind that
Austria was not the only country in the world. It would therefore need to consider
its ally and the entire European situation, particularly the stances taken by
Italy and Romania toward Serbia. Wilhelm II’s annotations on this document,
however, suggested the exact opposite: “Now or never. Who authorized him
to act that way? That is very stupid! It is none of his business, as it is solely the
affair of Austria, what she plans to do in this case. Later, if plans go wrong, it
will be said that Germany did not want it! Let Tschirschky be good enough
to drop this nonsense! The Serbs must be disposed of, and that right soon!”59
Wilhelm II’s impulse would ultimately come to have an important
influence on the course that the crisis took. Yet, between June 30 and July
5, German handling of the crisis continued to follow the course set by the
foreign ministry. On July 2, for example, Austro-Hungarian Foreign Minister
Leopold Berchtold again spoke to the German ambassador about the
Serbian threat and demanded German support. Yet Tschirschky responded
that German support had never included specific guarantees, due to the
Austrian insistence of speaking only in principle rather than in terms of
concrete plans of action. Only once such a detailed plan was proposed
could Berlin consider giving its full support.60 In other words, Germany
would not provide a blank check for Austria to use as it wished. On July
4, the German Foreign Ministry was still working on Austria-Hungary,
demanding that it maintain restraint. The Austrian ambassador in Berlin
reported back to Berchtold that “Zimmerman [German Under-Secretary of
State for Foreign Affairs] assured me that he would consider decisive action
on the part of Austria, with whom the whole civilized world today was in
sympathy, quite comprehensible, but still he would recommend the greatest
caution, and advise that no humiliating demands be made upon Serbia.”61

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On July 5, the situation began to change. The kaiser met the Austrian
ambassador for lunch, during which he was given a handwritten note from
the Austro-Hungarian Emperor Franz Joseph II. It read in part:

After the last frightful events in Bosnia, you too will be convinced
that a friendly settlement of the antagonism which divides Austria
from Serbia is no longer to be thought of, and that the peace policy
of all European monarchs is threatened so long as the source of
criminal agitation in Belgrade lives on unpunished.

He further proposed building a new Balkan alliance on the basis of

strengthened ties with Bulgaria and Romania.62 This was nothing less than an
attempt by Austria-Hungary’s highest authority to force Germany’s highest
authority to take a position. By this point, however, the kaiser’s reaction had
become much more constrained than it had been during the crisis’s first days.
He made a cautious response, explaining that while he hoped that Austria-
Hungary would take serious actions against Serbia, the current proposals
were likely to lead to a serious European conflict. Thus, he could not make
any definitive replies before conferring with his chancellor. Later, however,
the kaiser’s attitude seemed to change again and his emotions got the upper
hand. He told the Austrian ambassador that Austria-Hungary would receive
Germany’s complete support on this issue. With regard to actions against
Serbia, he urged the Austrians to act quickly, regardless of what they were
planning to do. Russia, he believed, was not yet ready for war, and so would
weigh its response carefully.63 The historical documentation of this conver-
sation is exceptionally murky; the kaiser’s words and the Austrian ambas-
sador’s own inferences are lumped together, making any precise analysis
difficult. One point, however, is clear: the kaiser had expressed Germany’s full
support for Austria-Hungary. In other words, Wilhelm II had provided the
blank check that his foreign ministry had been unwilling to supply.
Bethmann prepared a formal version of the blank check. On July 6, he
wrote in his instructions that Germany would help Austria-Hungary win
over Romania and Bulgaria. On the issue of Serbia, “His Majesty [the Kaiser]
will faithfully stand by Austria-Hungary, as is required by the obligations of
his alliance and of his ancient friendship.”64 From the beginning of the crisis,
Germany surrendered control over events and allowed Austria to take action
Not only did Wilhelm II and Bethmann give Austria-Hungary complete
freedom of action, but they also encouraged Austria-Hungary to go to war
against Serbia. They believed that as long as Austria-Hungary took action

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while memories of the assassination remained fresh, other powers would find
it morally difficult to respond forcefully. Austria-Hungary could then easily
win a military victory. Moreover, German assessments indicated that Russian
military preparations were incomplete. Russia thus would not run the risk
of war by supporting Serbia. An Austro-Serbian war would therefore be a
localized war, and Germany would not be drawn in. Based on this assessment,
Germany made no preparations for war on July 6, and the kaiser returned to
his sailing vacation on the North Sea.
Once Germany’s opinion had reached the Austrian emperor, it became a
powerful weapon in the hands of the pro-war faction. They used it to pressure
Hungarian Prime Minister István Tisza, who had advocated the pursuit of a
diplomatic victory only, to consent to issue demands “that would be wholly
impossible for the Serbs to accept.” The situation would then be solved by
military force.65 On July 14, he agreed to send a final ultimatum to Serbia.
No obstacles to war remained within the Austrian government. On July 20,
Austria-Hungary secretly shared its ultimatum with the Vienna-based ambas-
sadors of the other great powers. It was conveyed to Serbia on July 23 and
to the other great powers on the following day. Between July 6 and July 28,
Germany essentially left Austria-Hungary to its own devices. It offered only
tactical suggestions, such as Foreign Ministry Secretary Gottlieb von Jagow’s
advice on July 11 to “collect sufficient material to show that there exists a
Greater-Serbia agitation in Serbia which threatens the Monarchy, in order
that European public opinion should be convinced of the justice of Austria’s
cause as far as possible. It would be best to publish this material—not in parts,
but as a whole—shortly before submitting the demands, or the ultimatum, to
Serbia.”66 Austria-Hungary would, in fact, ignore this piece of advice.
Even more important, Germany remained in the dark about Austria-
Hungary’s ultimate objective. On the one hand, Germany knew the basic
contents of the final ultimatum, and understood that Serbia would find them
unacceptable, thus leading to an Austro-Serbian war.67 On the other hand,
however, Germany was unclear about what Austria-Hungary ultimately hoped
to achieve. In particular, it was uncertain whether or not Austria-Hungary
intended to partition Serbian territory. On July 17, Jagow demanded that the
German ambassador in Vienna figure out what empire’s “plans” actually were
and “where the road is likely to lead us.”68 Regardless, however, Germany’s
crisis management strategy had been to follow the path of supporting
Austrian settling of accounts with Serbia. Germany’s leaders believed that it
was entirely possible for such a war to remain localized. As long as Germany
did not mobilize, and Austria-Hungary engaged in only a partial mobilization

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(that, in particular, precluded mobilization in the border regions with Russia),

then forceful diplomatic action would be enough to keep the Russians out
of the war.69 The more that Germany supported Austria-Hungary, the less
likely it was that Russia would intervene, making a localized war even more
possible. Foreign Ministry Secretary Jagow explained this assessment in a July
18 letter to the German ambassador to Great Britain:

The maintenance of Austria, and, in fact, of the most powerful

Austria possible, is a necessity for us both for internal and external
reasons.… The more determined Austria shows herself, the more
energetically we support her, so much more quiet Russia will
remain.… If we can not attain localization (of the conflict) and
Russia attacks Austria, a casus foederis will then arise; we could not
throw Austria over then...I still hope and believe, even today, that the
conflict can be localized.70

It should be pointed out that lurking behind Germany’s confidence in a

localized conflict was another baseline consideration: even if the war proved
impossible to localize and the Austro-German alliance was drawn into a
wider war, Great Britain would remain neutral. As early as November 1912,
the Austrian ambassador in London had inquired of Foreign Secretary Grey
whether or not Great Britain would remain neutral in an Austro-Serbian war.
Grey remained silent, which was taken as a tacit indication of neutrality.71
In July 1914, British King George V told German Prince Henry that Great
Britain would remain neutral in a continental war. Based on this information,
Jagow stated on July 26 that “we are certain Great Britain will remain neutral.”
Bethmann, too, agreed with this assessment. Arguably, Germany’s handling
of the crisis before July 26 had been based on the assumption of British
neutrality.72
This assessment, like so many others in post-1890 Germany, was entirely
wishful thinking. Even though Great Britain’s ultimate policy stance was still
unclear, the tendencies had long been evident. On December 2, 1912, during
the early phase of the First Balkan War, Bethmann emphasized in a speech to
the Reichstag that if Austria-Hungary were attacked by “a third partner” and
“if her existence were thus threatened,” Germany would aid its ally. Germany
would also “fight, in order to preserve our position in Europe and to defend
our future and security.” On the following day, British Secretary of State for
War Richard Haldane told the German ambassador that Great Britain desired
to maintain the balance of power, thus could “not tolerate under any circum-

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stances the defeat of the French.” Nor could Great Britain accept “one block of
continental powers under the leadership of one single power.” Two days later,
Foreign Secretary Grey also raised the topic of Bethmann’s speech with the
German ambassador. He warned the ambassador that Germany should not
expect that Russia would back down in the face of German pressure in the
next crisis, and that Great Britain had a strong interest in preventing another
French defeat by Germany. This hinted that if the situation on the continent
escalated into a Franco-German war, Great Britain would not remain neutral.
Wilhelm II, upon hearing this, became so incensed with Great Britain that
he “saw” the Anglo-Saxons would stand with the Slavs and the Latins in a
coming confrontation with the Teutons.73
Thus, Germany’s (and, in particular, Bethmann’s) handling of the July
Crisis was tainted by self-delusion and false confidence. On July 23, 1914,
Austria-Hungary delivered its final ultimatum to Serbia and demanded a reply
within 48 hours. The following day, after Austria-Hungary shared the contents
of its ultimatum with the other powers, Germany declared that it had no
advance knowledge of the ultimatum’s contents. It also, however, announced
at the same time its complete support for Austria-Hungary’s actions and
emphasized the importance of keeping the dispute between Austria-Hungary
and Serbia localized. The Entente powers, Russia in particular, saw Germany’s
action as being extremely heavy-handed, and it was understood to indicate
that Austria-Hungary’s moves had been instigated by Germany. At this point,
the Russians reacted exactly in the manner that Grey had warned about in
1912: they resolved not to back down and considered war to be unavoidable.
In this tense situation, Austria-Hungary declared that Serbia’s response (which
had been given within 48 hours) was unacceptable. It then cut diplomatic
ties with Serbia. Within an hour of this announcement, Austria-Hungary
withdrew all of its diplomatic personnel from Belgrade. The July Crisis had
entered a new phase. The countdown to an Austro-Serbian war had begun.
Emotions ran high within Russia’s pro-war faction, which demanded military
mobilization in support of Serbia. On July 26, Great Britain warned Germany
that a localized Austro-Serbian war was “wholly impossible, and must be
dropped from the calculations of practical politics.”74
By this point, there was very little possibility that Germany could limit
the war to Austria-Hungary and Serbia alone. The time for crisis management
was running out. On July 26, Germany became aware of two trends. The first
was that Russia had begun military preparations at dawn that day. The second
was that, in the afternoon, the British had proposed a high-level conference
with Germany, France, and Italy in order to prevent further escalation of the

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crisis. Germany did not see either of these trends as beneficial. The Russian
mobilization naturally inspired German nervousness, as Germany’s advantage
lay in the speed of its own mobilization. If Russia mobilized while Germany
did nothing, then Germany would quickly lose its advantage. This led
Bethmann to telegraph the Russians, warning that “maintenance of European
peace depends upon Russia alone. Confiding in Russia’s love of peace and
in our long-established friendly relations, we trust that she will take no step
that will seriously endanger the peace of Europe.”75 He also demanded that
Great Britain and France pressure Russia, but neither responded. Germany
was also resistant to Great Britain’s suggested four-power conference. On the
surface, it appeared to be a fair “court of law”: of the four countries, two were
Austrian allies (Germany and Italy) and two were Russia’s partners (Great
Britain and France). In fact, however, Italy had been leaning toward the
Entente powers for a long time, making it likely that the balance of power
within the conference would be three against one. A meeting of ambassadors,
moreover, would not put an end to the preparations for war. Russia could
continue to mobilize, while Germany’s advantage in mobilization speed would
be dissipated by this so-called international conference. If negotiations broke
down, the Austro-German alliance would find itself in a deeply disadvanta-
geous military situation. Thus Germany rejected Great Britain’s proposal. On
the same day, even as Bethmann, Germany’s highest civilian official, half-
heartedly pursued the localization of the conflict, the German military came
to its own assessment. The younger Moltke returned to Berlin and, believing
that war was now inevitable, drafted a final ultimatum to Belgium. This would
begin the implementation of Germany’s only war plan—the Schlieffen Plan.
On July 27, the kaiser ended his North Sea cruise and returned to
Potsdam. He was surprised to discover the extent to which Austria-Hungary
had overdrawn his “blank check.” As war approached, Wilhelm II seemed to
shrink back from the conflict. On the morning of July 28, he saw the response
Serbia had given to Austria-Hungary’s ultimatum three days earlier and
could not contain his enthusiasm: “A brilliant performance for a time-limit
of only forty-eight hours. This is more than one could have expected! A great
moral victory for Vienna; but with it every reason for war drops away.”76 He
envisioned for Austria-Hungary to occupy a portion of Serbia, including
Belgrade, as a guarantee to ensure that Serbia would live up to its commit-
ments. Regardless of whether this notion was laughable or practical, however,
time had already run out. On the same day, Austria-Hungary declared war on
Serbia, pushing the crisis to a much more dangerous level. Russia was again

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faced with the choice between war and humiliation. The dominoes leading to
war had already begun to fall.
Yet Germany’s policies continued to attempt to balance full-throttled
support for Austria-Hungary with a half-hearted acceptance of a continental
war in which Great Britain, it still believed, would remain neutral. Thus,
even after the July 28 declaration of war, Germany did not exert pressure on
Austria-Hungary. After the kaiser floated his notion of a guarantee, Bethmann
attempted to mediate on this basis. He demanded that Austria-Hungary
satisfy itself with “stopping at Belgrade.” His attitude, however, was noticeably
equivocal:

You will have to avoid very carefully giving rise to the impression
that we wish to hold Austria back. The case is solely one of finding a
way to realize Austria’s desired aim, that of cutting the vital cord of
the Greater-Serbia propaganda, without at the same time bringing
on a world war, and, if the latter cannot be avoided in the end, of
improving the conditions under which we shall have to wage it, in so
far as is possible.77

The final sentence in particular revealed Bethmann’s acceptance of a wider

war. Thus, after July 28, Germany focused its diplomatic efforts on preventing
Russia’s entry into the war. There were three reasons for this. First, Germany
did not want to offend Austria-Hungary. Second, Germany believed that
Russia could again be cowed into submission (as it had been in the 1908
Bosnia Crisis) by a strong German position. Third, if Russia did enter the
conflict, responsibility for the war could be placed on Russia, thus improving
the conditions for conducting the war.
On July 29, Germany attempted to sway Russia. The kaiser directly tele-
graphed the czar at 1:45 a.m., expressing his hope that the joint efforts of the
two countries could maintain the peace. At around the same time, the czar
telegraphed the kaiser with a similar message. Yet these were merely senti-
mental appeals for peace. This “hot line” between heads of state did not, and
could not, result in any concrete, actionable plans for resolving the crisis.
Neither side was willing to budge in its support for its ally. On the same day,
Russia began mobilizing for war, and Germany’s options contracted further.
Austria-Hungary now began pressuring Germany: once Russia began its
mobilization, Austria-Hungary started to feel military pressure on their
common border. Yet it was unwilling to back down in Serbia, and so requested

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German military assistance. Austrian Foreign Minister Berchtold was clearly

calling for an Austro-German mobilization in response to Russia’s move.78 In
addition to this request from an ally, the opinion of Germany’s own military
played a critical role. The General Staff submitted a report to the chancellor on
July 29 that noted that mobilization and the structure of the alliance were an
automatic, mechanical series of interconnected processes. Austria-Hungary’s
intervention in Serbia, combined with Russia’s partial mobilization, neces-
sitated a host of linked responses that would culminate in a European war.79
Germany increased its pressure on Russia. Bethmann sent what was, in
essence, a final ultimatum on July 29 at 12:50 p.m. He stated that if Russia
continued to mobilize, then it would force Germany to do the same and “in
that case a European war could scarcely be prevented.”80 Several hours later,
the kaiser sent another telegram to the czar that read “military measures on
the part of Russia which could be looked upon by Austria as threatening would
precipitate a calamity we both wish to avoid, and jeopardize my position as
mediator which I readily accepted on your appeal to my friendship and my
help.”81 Czar Nicholas II was weak-willed and, faced with this exhortation
based on appeals to blood ties and the threat of a final ultimatum, he sought
to backtrack. He immediately rescinded the general mobilization order and
replaced it with a partial mobilization on the Austrian border alone. None
of his ministers concurred, however. The foreign minister was unwilling to
make diplomatic concessions, while the military emphasized that technical
issues meant that a change in the mobilization order would create chaos.
Even more important, the next rounds of Russo-German diplomatic contact
revealed that the rift between the two countries could not be healed. These
included Germany’s demand that Russia accept Austria’s empty proclamation
of “respect for Serbia’s territorial integrity” (which meant that the partial
Austrian occupation of Serbia would only be temporary). Russia, of course,
absolutely could not allow Serbia to be reduced to an Austro-Hungarian
protectorate. Thus, Russian suspension of mobilization only created the
most fleeting of opportunities. Once Germany ended its restraint of Austria-
Hungary, the wheels of war began to turn again.
From Germany’s own perspective, it had made some efforts to preserve
the peace. Yet, it had not taken the one critical step of directly pressuring
Austria-Hungary at any time during the entire month before July 29. In the
words of the French deputy foreign secretary, it was this alone that could have
prevented general war.82 Thus, Germany’s diplomatic efforts should be under-
stood as an attempt to win another diplomatic victory for the Austro-German
alliance rather than as an attempt to prevent general war. Once a diplomatic

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victory became impossible, Germany hoped for a localized military victory.

By July 29, however, it suddenly became clear that this policy, too, would be
difficult to maintain. That day, Great Britain formally issued a warning to
Germany: if the conflict were limited to Russia and Austria-Hungary, Great
Britain could remain neutral; if Germany and France were drawn in, however,
Great Britain would not find it “practicable to stand aside and wait for any
length of time.”83 This information came in a report from the German ambas-
sador to Great Britain that reached Berlin at 9:12 p.m. on July 29. It instantly
shattered German illusions about British neutrality, and “the foundation
of their policy during the crisis collapsed.”84 Bethmann discovered that the
crisis could result in a general European war, rather than just a continental
war. Germany had placed too high a bet. At 1:30 a.m. on July 30, a telegraph
from Vienna informed Germany that Austria-Hungary would not accept its
suggestion to “stop at Belgrade.”
Anxiously, Bethmann finally took the critical step of directly pressuring
Austria-Hungary. At 2:55 a.m. on July 30, he forwarded the telegram he had
received from the ambassador in London to the German ambassador in
Vienna. He appended a new telegram that read:

As a result we stand, in case Austria refuses all mediation, before a

conflagration in which England will be against us; Italy and Romania
to all appearances will not go with us, and we two shall be opposed to
four Great Powers. On Germany, thanks to England’s opposition, the
principal burden of the fight would fall. Austria’s political prestige,
the honor of her arms, as well as her just claims against Serbia, could
all be amply satisfied by the occupation of Belgrade or of other
places.… Under these circumstances we must urgently and impres-
sively suggest to the consideration of the Vienna Cabinet the accep-
tance of mediation on the above-mentioned honorable conditions.
The responsibility for the consequences that would otherwise follow
would be an uncommonly heavy one for both Austria and us.85

Five minutes later, he sent another telegram, warning Austria-Hungary: “We

are, of course, ready to fulfill the obligations of our alliance, but must decline
to be drawn wantonly into a world conflagration by Vienna, without having
any regard paid to our counsel.” He ordered the ambassador to “please talk
to Count Berchtold at once with all impressiveness and great seriousness.”86
It was already too late for these steps. Hostility between Austria-Hungary
and Serbia, backed by Russia, had passed the point of no return. Germany,

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however, continued its efforts. On July 30, the younger Moltke, under
pressure from the kaiser and the chancellor, sent a message to Conrad at
the Austro-Hungarian General Staff that argued Russian mobilization was
not sufficient cause for German mobilization, unless Austria-Hungary and
Russia actually entered a state of war. By this time, however, the opinion of
German policymakers began to shift. The earlier predisposition to shrink
from war had disappeared, to be replaced with an inclination to welcome it.
Bethmann announced in a July 30 meeting of the Prussian cabinet that the
emphasis had shifted from pressuring Austria-Hungary to make concessions
to allowing the Russians to take responsibility for initiating hostilities. This
might entice the traditionally anti-war Social Democrats to support the war.87
The German military believed that events were already in motion that could
not be stopped. The younger Moltke became increasingly anxious and, on
the afternoon of July 30, he ignored the foreign ministry entirely and directly
contacted Austro-Hungarian military officials in order to request their mobi-
lization against Russia. He assured them, too, of Germany’s support.88 Simul-
taneously, Bethmann was still advising Austria-Hungary to make concessions
and accept mediation. The splintered nature of the German policymaking
system was again on full display. Austrian Foreign Minister Berchtold could
not resist complaining: “What a joke! Who rules in Berlin?”89 In point of fact,
no one had the final say in the Germany of 1914. In Germany, as in the other
European great powers, the strictures of alliance obligations, military mobi-
lizations, and war plans forced politics into the service of strategic needs and
subordinated strategy to tactical requirements. All were placed on a conveyor
belt to war.
At 6:00 p.m. on July 30, the czar renewed the mobilization order. The
machine of war had been set into motion. A series of mobilizations and decla-
rations of war followed, seemingly automatically. Austria-Hungary declared
a general mobilization eighteen hours later. Germany, pressed for time by the
demands of the Schlieffen Plan, ordered preparations for general mobilization
on July 31. The following day, August 1, Germany announced a general mobi-
lization in earnest and declared war on Russia. France mobilized the same
day. On August 3, Germany declared war against France and presented a
final ultimatum to Belgium that demanded passage for the German Army.
Great Britain issued its own ultimatum to Germany on August 4, insisting
that Germany respect Belgian territorial integrity. At midnight the same day,
the two nations entered into a state of war. World War I had broken out. After
four years of bitter war, the German Empire would collapse, marking an end
to Germany’s rise as a world power.

292
 Notes

Translator’s Note

1. Tang Taizong (r. 626–649), speaking of Wei Zheng. This English translation is
cited from Howard Wechsler, Mirror to the Son of Heaven: Wei Cheng at the Court of
T’ang T’ai-tsung (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1974), frontispiece. The
Chinese original appears in the biography of Wei included in Liu Xu, et al., Jiu Tang
Shu [Old History of the Tang], Vol. VIII (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975), p. 2561.
2. Michael Pillsbury, to cite one example, has constructed an alarmist portrayal of
Chinese foreign policy on the basis of this insight. Michael Pillsbury, The Hundred-
Year Marathon: China’s Secret Strategy to Replace America as the Global Superpower
(New York: Henry Holt, 2015).
3. William Kirby, Germany and Republican China (Stanford, Calif: Stanford
University Press, 1984), p. 147.
4. See the original formulation of this thesis in Graham Allison, “Thucydides’s trap
has been sprung in the Pacific,” Financial Times, August 22, 2012; and a slightly revised
version in Graham Allison, “Obama and Xi Must Think Broadly to Avoid a Classic
Trap,” New York Times, June 6, 2013.
5. The Next Great War? The Roots of World War I and the Risk of U.S.-China Conflict,
Richard Rosecrance and Steven E. Miller, eds. (Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press,
2015).
6. For one example, see Xi’s comments during a conversation with members of
the Berggruen Institutes 21st Century Council in late 2014, “The Most Powerful
Leader in the World: A Conversation with Chinese President Xi Jinping.” Available
at http://berggruen.org/topics/a-conversation-with-president-xi-at-big-s-understan-
ding-china-conference (accessed on August 12, 2015).
7. Sheena Chestnut Greitens, “Lost in Translation: Problematic Metaphors in
Contemporary U.S.-China Relations,” in Melanie Hart, ed., Exploring the Frontiers of
U.S.-China Strategic Cooperation: Visions for Asia-Pacific Security Architecture (Wash-
ington, D.C.: Center for American Progress, 2014). For scholarly explorations of this
reading of Thucydides, see Richard N. Rosecrance, “Allies, Overbalance, and War,”
and Charles S. Maier, “Thucydides, Alliance, Politics, and Great Power Conflict,” in
Rosecrance and Miller, eds., The Next Great War?
8. Andrew S. Erickson, Testimony before the House Committee on Foreign Affairs
Subcommittee on Asia and the Pacific, Hearing on America’s Security Role in the South
Notes to Preface

China Sea, 114th Congr., 1st sess., July 23, 2015.

9. The Chinese version of Fragile Rise has, as of July 2016, gone through two
editions for a total print run of 15,600 copies. Beyond the book itself, Xu has also
presented a popular sixteen-part online lecture series on Wilhelmine Germany. This
series has garnered nearly 115,000 views for the introductory lecture and several tens
of thousands for many of the other lectures. It is available at http://v.qq.com/cover/l/
lnbzuelgyjn7zab.html (accessed July 12, 2016).
10. Christopher Clark, The Sleepwalkers: How Europe Went to War in 1914 (New
York: Penguin Books, 2012).

Preface

1. Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, trans. Richard Crawley and rev. trans. T. E.
Wick (New York: Modern Library College Editions, 1982), p. 199.

Chapter 1. A Low-Posture Rise

1. Paul Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers: Economic Change and
Military Conflict from 1500 to 2000 (London: Unwin Hyman, 1988), p. 187.
2. Translator’s Note: Here the author is using a famous term from recent Chinese
foreign policy—taoguang yanghui [literally, “hiding strength and biding time”]. The
phrase is commonly attributed to Deng Xiaoping, China’s leader during the early
phases of the reform era, and indicates a deliberate attempt to assume an international
role smaller than a nation’s size or economy might warrant.
3. John Mearsheimer, The Tragedy of Great Power Politics (New York: W.W. Norton,
2001), pp. 68–69.
4. L.S. Stavrianos, The World since 1500: A Global History (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.:
Prentice Hall, 1971), p. 223.
5. Koppel S. Pinson, Modern Germany: Its History and Civilization (Prospect
Heights, Ill.: Waveland Press, 1989), p. 158.
6. D. G. Williamson, Bismarck and Germany 1862–1890, 2nd ed. (New York:
Addison Wesley Longman, Ltd., 1998), p. 45.
7. Pinson, Modern Germany, p. 158.
8. Otto von Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Being the Reflections
and Reminiscences of Otto, Prince von Bismarck, Written and Dictated by Himself after
his Retirement from Office, A.J. Butler, et al., trans., Vol. I (New York: Harper and
Brothers Publishers, 1899), p. 324.
9. Imanuel Geiss, German Foreign Policy 1871–1914 (London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1976), p. 5.

294
 Notes to Chapter 1

10. Cited in James Joll, The Origins of the First World War, 2nd ed. (New York:
Longman, 1992), p. 56.
11. Otto Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. III (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1990), p. 12.
12. Ralf Dahrendorf, Gesellschaft und Demokratie in Deutschland (München: Piper
and Co. Verlag, 1965), pp. 43–59.
13. Gordon A. Craig, Germany 1866–1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981),
pp. 103–105.
14. Otto von Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, p. 292.
15. Quoted in Paul M. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism,
1860–1914 (London George Allen and Unwin, 1980), p. 25.
16. George Earle Buckle and W. F. Moneypenny, The Life of Benjamin Disraeli, Earl
of Beaconsfield, Vol. V (New York: MacMillan Company, 1920), pp. 133–134.
17. Ibid., pp. 421–422.
18. Edmund Fitzmaurice, The Life of Granville George Leveson Gower, Second Earl of
Granville, Vol. II (London: Longmans, Green, 1904), pp. 111–114.
19. Waijiao shi [Diplomatic History], ed. B. M. He-wo-si-tuo-fu [V. M. Khvostov],
trans. Gao Changrong, Sun Jianping (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1979), di er juan shang, 45.
20. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, p. 275.
21. Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. II, p. 248.
22. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, pp. 290–294.
23. Fitzmaurice, The Life of Granville George Leveson Gower, Vol. II, p. 74.
24. An English translation of this treaty can be found in Basil Dmytryshyn, ed.
Imperial Russia: A Source Book, 1700–1917 (Hinsdale, Ill.: Dryden Press, 1974), pp.
289–290.
25. Fitzmaurice, The Life of Granville George Leveson Gower, Vol. II, p. 113.
26. Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. II, p. 266.
27. Ibid., p. 265.
28. Ibid., p. 266.
29. Die groβe Politik der Europäischen Kabinette 1871–1914: Sammlung der Diploma-
tischen Akten des Auswärtigen Amtes [The Foreign Policy of the European Cabinets,
1871–1914: Collection of diplomatic documents of the Foreign Office], Johannes
Lepsius, et al., eds., Vol. I (Berlin: Deutsche verlagsgesellschaft Für Politik und
Geschichte, 1922–1927), p. 249.
30. Gordon A, Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army 1640–1945 (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1955), pp. 216–220.
31. The British made this point even before this. E. T. S. Dugdale (selected and
translated), German Diplomatic Documents 1871–1914, Vol. I (New York: Harper and
Brothers, 1928), pp. 3–5.

295
Notes to Chapter 1

32. This is the mainstream view of the “War in Sight” Crisis held by historians. See,
for instance, A. J. P. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, 1848–1918 (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1954), pp. 225–227; and Gordon A. Craig, Germany, pp. 107–108.
Yet a minority holds that Bismarck truly desired to launch a preventive war against
France. See Immanuel Geiss, German Foreign Policy, p. 28.
33. Edward Crankshaw, Bismarck (London: MacMillan, 1981), pp. 324–325.
34. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, p. 10.
35. Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. II, pp. 268–269.
36. George Earle Buckle, ed., The Letters of Queen Victoria, Second Series, Vol. II
(London: John Murray, 1926), pp. 313–314.
37. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, pp. 3–5.
38. Die groβe Politik, Vol. I, p. 272.
39. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, p. 10.
40. Buckle, The Letters of Queen Victoria, Vol. II, pp. 394–395.
41. Waijiao shi, ed. He-wo-si-tuo-fu, di 2 juan shang, 62.
42. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, pp. 6–7.
43. Ibid., pp. 8–10.
44. Erich Eyck, Bismarck: Leben und Werk, Vol. III (Erlenback-Zurich: Eugen
Rentsch Verlag A. G., 1944), p. 174.
45. Alan Palmer, Bismarck (New York: Scribner, 1976), pp. 183–184.
46. Arnold Toynbee, A Study of History: Abridgement of Volumes I–VI by D.C.
Somervell (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1946), pp. 217–230.
47. After Austria’s 1866 defeat at Prussia’s hands, the empire underwent a vast re-
organization. Hungarians obtained equal status (or, in some realms, more than equal
status) with Austrian Germans. After this point, the empire became a “dual monarchy”
referred to as the Austro-Hungarian Empire. This, however, created the issue of the
status of other ethnicities (who, collectively, outnumbered the combined German and
Hungarian populations) within the empire. Germans and Hungarians each numbered
about nine million people, while there were approximately ten million Czechs and
Slovaks, four million Poles, and three million Southern Slavs living within the empire’s
boundaries, as well as three million Romanians and seven hundred thousand Italians.
René Albrecht-Carrié, A Diplomatic History of Europe since the Congress of Vienna
(New York: Harper and Row, 1958), p. 167.
48. Norman Rich, Friedrich von Holstein: Politics and Diplomacy in the Era of
Bismarck and Wilhelm II, Vol. I (London: Cambridge University Press, 1965), p. 96.
49. Ibid.
50. The Austrian and Russian versions of this agreement differ. Initially, this
agreement was kept secret from Germany; Bismarck learned of its existence from
Andrássy only in September. Die groβe Politik, Vol. II, pp. 45–47.

296
 Notes to Chapter 1

51. Ibid., p. 76.

52. This agreement, too, was kept secret from Germany.
53. This is a famous example that illustrates the principle that public opinion is an
unreliable basis for making policy decisions.
54. An English translation of the treaty can be found in The European Concert in the
Eastern Question and Other Public Acts (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1885), pp. 335–348.
55. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 100.
56. German interests were fewer than French interests, as France had a relatively
greater economic stake in the region. Britain, Russia, and Austria all had a strategic
interest in the area.
57. Norman Rich and M. H. Fisher, eds., The Holstein Papers, Vol. III (Cambridge,
UK: Cambridge University Press, 1955–1963), p. 43.
58. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, pp. 290–291.
59. Die groβe Politik, Vol. II, pp. 31–34.
60. Ibid., Vol. I, pp. 207–208.
61. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 271.
62. Die groβe Politik, Vol. II, p. 29.
63. Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. II, p. 419.
64. Die groβe Politik, Vol. II, pp. 149–151.
65. Ibid., pp. 152–153.
66. Cited in Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. II, p. 431.
67. Die groβe Politik, Vol. II, p. 53.
68. Cited in Gordon A. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 264.
69. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery, p. 239, n. 2.
70. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, p. 234.
71. Die groβe Politik, Vol. II, pp. 180–182.
72. France declined this thankless job. Waddington proposed that, if Bismarck
was unable to chair, then the task should fall to Gorchakov. This was unacceptable to
Britain and Austria. Ibid., pp. 219–220.
73. W. N. Medlicott, The Congress of Berlin and After (Hamden, Conn.: Archon,
1963), p. 37.
74. Gwendolen Cecil, Life of Robert Marquis of Salisbury, Vol. II (London: Hodder
and Stoughton, 1921), pp. 286–287.
75. The English language text of this treaty can be found in Edward Hertslet, ed., The
Map of Europe by Treaty; which have taken place since the general peace of 1814, Volume
IV: 1875–1891 (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1891), pp. 2759–2798.

297
Notes to Chapter 2

Chapter 2. “Active Shaping” and the Foundation of a Grand Strategy

1. Bismarck’s personal prestige and political astuteness allowed him to avoid

domestic political attacks. From beginning to end, he followed his vision of Germany’s
national interest to promote a stable, comprehensive strategy. This strategy cannot be
seen in any specific historical documents, nor did Bismarck ever clearly state a fully
formed plan. An analysis of Germany’s policies between 1871 and 1890, however,
reveals that there indeed was a kind of global planning and coordination. The stable,
underlying layer of this planning and coordination can be taken as this grand strategy.
2. Imanuel Geiss, German Foreign Policy 1871–1914 (London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1976), p. 12.
3. Otto Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. II (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1990), pp. 247–249.
4. A. J. P. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, 1848–1918 (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1954), p. 294.
5. Bismarck, in an 1857 letter, wrote that “we cannot exist in the center of Europe
in a state of passivity, devoid of any plan and glad only to be left alone; such a course
might be as dangerous to us today as it was in 1805, and we shall have to serve as the
anvil if we do nothing to become the hammer.” Otto von Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man
& The Statesman, Being the Reflections and Reminiscences of Otto, Prince von Bismarck,
Written and Dictated by Himself after his Retirement from Office, A.J. Butler, et al.,
trans., Vol. I (New York: Harper and Brothers Publishers, 1899), p. 204.
6. E. T. S. Dugdale (selected and translated), German Diplomatic Documents 1871–
1914, Vol. I (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1928), pp. 54–55.
7. Henry Kissinger, A World Restored: Metternich, Castlereagh, and the Problems of
Peace, 1812–22 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1957), p. 247.
8. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, p. 255.
9. Ibid., pp. 262–263.
10. Ibid., p. 282.
11. Ibid., p. 256.
12. Ibid., p. 246.
13. C. J. Lowe, The Reluctant Imperialists: British Foreign Policy, 1878–1902 (London:
Routledge, 1967), p. 24.
14. Norman Rich, Friedrich von Holstein: Politics and Diplomacy in the Era of
Bismarck and Wilhelm II, Vol. I (London: Cambridge University Press, 1965), p. 108.
15. Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. II, p. 492. Although on
the whole domestic political considerations only played a small role in this alliance.
Bismarck’s conservative turn after 1879 served to further strengthen the alliance. For
this view, see Geiss, German Foreign Policy, pp. 22 and 35.

298
 Notes to Chapter 2

16. Bruce Waller, Bismarck at the Crossroads: The Reorientation of German Foreign
Policy after the Congress of Berlin, 1878–80 (London: Athlone Press, 1974), pp. 192–193.
17. This hope originated from Wilhelm I himself, who felt that if the alliance with
Austria were to be complete, it should be directed against the revenge-seeking French.
Alan Palmer, Bismarck (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1976), p. 211.
18. Cited in Patricia A. Weitsman, Dangerous Alliances: Proponents of Peace, Weapons
of War (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2004), p. 73.
19. Denys Myers and J. G. Paul (trans.), The Secret Treaties of Austria-Hungary, Vol.
I (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1920), pp. 24–31.
20. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 261.
21. This was an important difference between Bismarck and his successors: he saw
the alliance with Austria as a tool to obtain other goals, while they saw it as an end in
and of itself. This was perhaps linked to the Russian threat promoted by Bismarck to
persuade Wilhelm I of the treaty’s value. Die groβe Politik, Vol. III, pp. 92–99. Friedrich
von Holstein, who would later manage Germany’s foreign policy, was left with a deep
impression of the threat posed by Russia during this process, and the anti-Russia
aspects of the Austro-German alliance became a central part of his strategic thinking.
Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 107.
22. Die groβe Politik der Europäischen Kabinette 1871–1914: Sammlung der Diploma-
tischen Akten des Auswärtigen Amtes [The Foreign Policy of the European Cabinets,
1871–1914: Collection of diplomatic documents of the Foreign Office], Johannes
Lepsius, et al., eds. Vol. IV (Berlin: Deutsche verlagsgesellschaft Für Politik und
Geschichte, 1922–1927), pp. 3–4.
23. Die groβe Politik, Vol. IV, pp. 7–10.
24. Die groβe Politik, Vol. IV, pp. 11–12.
25. William Langer, European Alliances and Alignments, 1871–1890, 2nd ed. (New
York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1966), p. 188.
26. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 266.
27. Quoted in Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. II, p. 509.
28. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, pp. 276–277.
29. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 108.
30. Palmer, Bismarck, p. 214.
31. Paul Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism 1860–1914 (London:
George Allen and Unwin, 1980), p. 157.
32. W. N. Medlicott, Bismarck, Gladstone, and the Concert of Europe (London:
Athlone Press, 1956), p. 171.
33. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 269.
34. Die groβe Politik, Vol. IV, pp. 211–212.
35. Geiss, German Foreign Policy, p. 40.

299
Notes to Chapter 2

36. Cedric J. Lowe and Frank Marzari, Italian Foreign Policy 1870–1940 (London:
Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1975), pp. 13–27.
37. Geiss, German Foreign Policy, p. 42.
38. William Langer, European Alliances and Alignments, p. 244.
39. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 110.
40. Norman Rich and M. H. Fisher, eds., The Holstein Papers: Correspondence 1861–
1896, Vol. III (London: Cambridge University Press, 1961), p. 62.
41. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 283, n. 1.
42. Cited in ibid., p. 275.
43. Italy added an additional statement to the effect that the stipulations of the treaty
were not directed against Great Britain.
44. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, pp. 290–294.
45. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 282.
46. British “reforms” mainly consisted of abolishing Morocco’s status as a protec-
torate. This system had been established by treaty between Britain, Spain, and Morocco.
It stipulated that Moroccans serving British and Spanish diplomatic entities did not
have to pay taxes to the Moroccan government and would not be subject to Moroccan
criminal law. By the 1870s, this system had expanded greatly, thus diminishing the
Moroccan government’s finances and ability to maintain order. The main British
architect of this plan was John Drummond Hay. Louisa Annette Edla Drummond-
Hay Brooks, A Memoir of Sir John Drummond Hay (London: John Murray, 1896), pp.
321–323.
47. Palmer, Bismarck, p. 138.
48. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 287.
49. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 124.
50. Information on the desire to placate France can be found in Die groβe Politik,
Vol. III, p. 394. For keeping Egypt as a point of contention, see Taylor, The Struggle for
Mastery in Europe, pp. 290–291.
51. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 124.
52. Ibid., p. 125.
53. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, p. 158.
54. Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, Vol. II, pp. 259–260.
55. Of course, the British occupation was not instigated by Bismarck, but was part of
the British government’s own pre-existing strategy. It was merely an issue of timing. On
September 18, 1882, Queen Victoria claimed in a letter that the Egyptian crisis was a
gift from heaven, as it would create a chance for “securing for ourselves such a position
in Egypt as to secure our Indian Dominions and to maintain our superiority in the
East.” Cited in C. J. Lowe, The Reluctant Imperialists: British Foreign Policy 1878–1902
(New York: Macmillan, 1969), pp. 52–53.

300
 Notes to Chapter 2

56. George Earle Buckle, ed., The Letters of Queen Victoria, Second Series, Vol. II
(London: John Murray, 1926), pp. 546–547.
57. Ibid., p. 549.
58. Ibid., pp. 549–550.
59. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 126.
60. Ibid.
61. Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, Vol. III, p. 69.
62. Ibid., p. 68.
63. Ibid., p. 69.
64. Ibid.
65. Martin Van Creveld, Command in War (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University
Press, 2003), p. 149.
66. Helmut Boehme, ed., The Foundation of the German Empire: Selected Documents
(London: Oxford University Press, 1971), p. 16.
67. Gordon A. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, 1640–1945 (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1955), p. 224.
68. Koppel S. Pinson, Modern Germany: Its History and Civilization (Prospect
Heights, Ill.: Waveland Press, 1989), p. 308.
69. Palmer, Bismarck, p. 267.
70. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 208.
71. Peter Paret, Clausewitz and the State: The Man, His Theories, and His Times (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1976), p. 369.
72. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 216.
73. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, p. 103.
74. Gerhard Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan: Critique of a Myth (New York: Frederick A.
Praeger, 1958), p. 18.
75. Gunther E. Rothenberg, “Moltke, Schlieffen, and the Doctrine of Strategic Envel-
opment,” in Peter Paret, ed., Makers of Modern Strategy from Machiavelli to the Nuclear
Age (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), p. 307.
76. Craig, Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 275.
77. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, p. 19.
78. Ibid., 19–20.
79. Rothenberg, “Moltke, Schlieffen, and the Doctrine of Strategic Envelopment,” p.
308.
80. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 276.
81. Ibid., pp. 274–275.
82. Holger H. Herwig, “Strategic Uncertainties of a Nation-State: Prussia-Germany,
1871–1918,” in Williamson Murray, et al., eds., The Making of Strategy: Rulers, States,
and War (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 250.

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Notes to Chapter 3

83. Frederick Engels, “The Role of Force in History,” Karl Marx, Frederick Engels:
Collected Works, Vol. XXVI (New York: International Publishers, 1990), p. 494.
84. The later years of World War I validate the potential of this strategy. On the
western front, allied offensives were relatively unsuccessful, while on the eastern front,
German advances scored surprising gains.
85. Ka-er Ai-li-xi Bo-en [Karl Erich Born], et al., Deyizhi shi di 3 juan [Handbuch
der deutschen Geschichte, Vol. 3], Zhang Zaiyang, et al., trans. (Beijing: Shangwu
yinshuguan, 1991), shang 383 and 403.
86. These figures are taken from a chart in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe,
p. xxvii.
87. These figures are from John Mearsheimer, The Tragedy of Great Power Politics
(New York: W.W. Norton, 2001), p. 71.

Chapter 3. Working to Maintain the Grand Strategy

1. Douglass C. North, Structure and Change in Economic History (New York:

Norton, 1981), pp. 45–58.
2. Xing Yue, “Yishixingtai zai duiwai zhengce zhong de zuoyong [The use of
ideology in foreign policy],” Taipingyang xuebao, 2009, p. 9.
3. North, Structure and Change, p. 49.
4. Louis Althusser, Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays (New York: Monthly
Review Press, 1971), p. 172.
5. The concept of imperialism used here is not the same as Lenin’s notion of imperi-
alism as the highest stage of capitalism. Instead, William Langer’s definition—“the rule
or control, political or economic, direct or indirect, of one state, nation, or people over
other similar groups, or perhaps one might better say the disposition, urge or striving
to establish such rule or control”—is adopted. William L. Langer, The Diplomacy of
Imperialism 1890–1902 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1935), p. 67.
6. Boyd C. Shafer, Nationalism: Myth and Reality (New York: Harcourt, Brace and
Company, 1955), p. 105.
7. Leften Stavros, A Global History: From Prehistory to the 21st Century (New York:
Pearson, 1998), pp. 264–267.
8. E. J. Hobsbawm, The Age of Empire, 1875–1914 (New York: Vintage, 1989),
142–144.
9. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 246.
10. Paul Kennedy, The Realities behind Diplomacy: Background Influences on British
External Policy, 1865–1980 (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1981), p. 51.
11. Otto Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. III (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1990), p. 116; and Paul Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-

302
 Notes to Chapter 3

German Antagonism 1860–1914 (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1980), pp.
167–169.
12. Klaus J. Bade, Friedrich Fabri und der Imperialismus in der Bismarck-zeit
(Freiburg: Atlantis Verlag A. G., 1975), pp. 21–24.
13. Zhang Guangzhi and Zhang Guangyong, Shixue, wenhua zhong de wenhua—
wenhua shiye zhong de xifang shixue [Historiography, the Culture within Culture—
Western Historiography from a Cultural View] (Hangzhou: Zhejiang renmin
chubanshe, 1990), p. 409.
14. Frederick Engels, “The Role of Force in History,” Karl Marx, Frederick Engels:
Collected Works, Vol. XXVI (New York: International Publishers, 1990), p. 483.
15. E. J. Hobsbawm, The Age of Capital, 1848–1875 (London: Abacus, 1975), p. 91.
16. Historians are divided in their appraisals of Bismarck’s colonial activities in
the 1880s. Hans-Ulrich Wehler has argued that Bismarck’s colonial interests did not
arise from expediency, but from an interest in creating a “social imperialism” that
would distract the public from domestic political disputes and create an atmosphere
of cooperation in the imperial center. Hans-Ulrich Wehler, “Bismarck’s Imperialism,
1862–1890,” Past and Present, Vol. 48 (August 1970), pp. 122–123. Most historians
(including the author of this book), however, do not accept this argument and instead
consider the concept of “social imperialism” to be a better fit for the era of Wilhelm II.
See, for example, Paul M. Kennedy, “German Colonial Expansion: Has the ‘Manipu-
lated Social Imperialism’ been Antedated?” Past and Present, Vol. 54 (February 1972),
134–141. In general, the historians who agree with Kennedy make a fundamentally
similar argument: Bismarck’s interest in colonies was an act of political expediency
adopted to achieve short-term goals. The differences arise from disagreements over
the exact nature of those short-term goals. Gordon Craig described those goals as
political, stemming from a need to strengthen the National Liberal Party in the 1884
elections and a desire to mollify free traders unhappy with protective tariffs imposed
in 1879. See Gordon A. Craig, Germany 1866–1945 (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1981), p. 167. A. J. P. Taylor instead emphasized the anti-British objectives of
the colonial policies that was designed to prevent against “the triumph of liberalism.”
A. J. P. Taylor, Germany’s First Bid for Colonies (London: Macmillan, 1938), p. 6; and
A. J. P. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, 1848–1918 (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1954), pp. 292–293. Otto Pflanze, by contrast, focused on their economic importance.
Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. III, pp. 121–122.
17. Bismarck apparently accepted the 1868 views of Rudolph Delbruck, who had
worked for him during the period of Bismarck’s alliance with liberalism. Delbruck
believed that the notion that colonies would promote German industrial development
was an “illusion” and that “the losses would outweigh the gains” in any colonial effort.
Ibid., p. 114.

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Notes to Chapter 3

18. Ibid., p. 115.

19. Edmond Fitzmaurice, The Life of Granville George Levenson Gower, Vol. II:
(London: Longmans, Green, 1905), p. 337.
20. Bade, Friedrich Fabri, pp. 121–133.
21. Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. III, p. 124.
22. See, for example, Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, pp. 295–296; and
Alan Palmer, Bismarck (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1976), pp. 225–226.
23. E. T. S. Dugdale (selected and translated), German Diplomatic Documents 1871–
1914, Vol. I (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1928), p. 174.
24. Ibid., p. 175.
25. Ibid., p. 176.
26. Ibid.
27. C. J. Lowe, The Reluctant Imperialists: British Foreign Policy 1878–1902 (New
York: Macmillan, 1969), p. 61.
28. Fitzmaurice, The Life of Granville George Levenson Gower, Vol. II, p. 359.
29. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, pp. 178–180.
30. Craig, Germany, p. 115.
31. Norman Rich, Friedrich von Holstein: Politics and Diplomacy in the Era of
Bismarck and Wilhelm II, Vol. I (London: Cambridge University Press, 1965), p. 147.
32. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, p. 176.
33. Pearl Boring Mitchell, The Bismarckian Policy of Conciliation with France,
1875–1885 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1935), p. 152.
34. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 294.
35. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, 201.
36. Mitchell, The Bismarckian Policy of Reconciliation with France, p. 154.
37. Norman Rich and M. H. Fisher, eds., The Holstein Papers: Correspondence 1861–
1896, Vol. III (London: Cambridge University Press, 1961), p. 130.
38. Lowe, The Reluctant Imperialists, p. 63.
39. Die groβe Politik der Europäischen Kabinette 1871–1914: Sammlung der Diploma-
tischen Akten des Auswärtigen Amtes [The Foreign Policy of the European Cabinets,
1871–1914: Collection of diplomatic documents of the Foreign Office], Johannes
Lepsius, et al., eds. Vol. IV (Berlin: Deutsche verlagsgesellschaft Für Politik und
Geschichte, 1922–1927), pp. 77–78.
40. Herbert von Bismarck explained, “When we started colonial policy, we had to
face a long reign by the Crown Prince, during which English influence would predom-
inate. In order to forestall this, we had to launch colonial policy, which is popular and
can produce conflicts with England at any moment.” Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for
Mastery in Europe, p. 293. According to Holstein, Bismarck made a similar statement
about the purpose of his colonial policy to Russian Czar Alexander III. Rich and

304
 Notes to Chapter 3

Fisher, The Holstein Papers, Vol. II, p. 161.

41. A. J. P. Taylor, Bismarck: The Man and the Statesman (New York: Random House,
1967), p. 221.
42. Die groβe Politik, Vol. V, pp. 10–12. See also Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers,
Vol. II, p. 385.
43. Ibid., pp. 13–15.
44. Ibid., Vol. IV, pp. 264–265.
45. Palmer, Bismarck, p. 232.
46. William L. Langer, European Alliances and Alignments 1871–1890 (New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1950), pp. 368–369.
47. Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, Vol. II, p. 267.
48. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, pp. 276–277.
49. Craig, Germany, pp. 125–126.
50. Die groβe Politik, Vol. V, pp. 136–140.
51. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, I:185.
52. Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, Vol. II, pp. 290–292.
53. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, pp. 249–251.
54. Ibid., p. 251.
55. Ibid., pp. 253–255.
56. Ibid., pp. 263–264.
57. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 309.
58. Craig, Germany, p. 129.
59. Langer, European Alliances and Alignments, p. 382.
60. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, pp. 266–267.
61. Die groβe Politik, Vol. V, p. 96.
62. Ibid., p. 211.
63. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 316.
64. Waijiao shi, ed. He-wo-si-tuo-fu, di 2 juan, p. 326.
65. Denys Myers and J. G. Paul (trans.), The Secret Treaties of Austria-Hungary, Vol.
I (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1920), pp. 275–280.
66. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, pp. 286–288.
67. Lowe, The Reluctant Imperialists, p. 111.
68. Die groβe Politik, Vol. IV, p. 304.
69. Bismarck emphasized to the Austrians Germany’s lack of interests in the Balkans.
Thus, if Austria sought to prevent Russia from seizing Bulgaria, it would have to turn
to Great Britain for support. Even if Austria did not actually obtain British military
support, its reputation would be enough to discourage any Russian challenges. Die
groβe Politik, Vol. IV, pp. 323–324.
70. Alfred Francis Pribram, The Secret Treaties of Austria-Hungary (Lenox, Mass.:

305
Notes to Chapter 4

HardPress, 2013), pp. 102–103.

71. Pribram, The Secret Treaties of Austria-Hungary, pp. 99–101.
72. Lowe, The Reluctant Imperialists, p. 117.
73. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 320.
74. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. I, pp. 345–348.
75. Ibid., pp. 359–361.
76. Die groβe Politik, Vol. VI, p. 61.
77. Ibid., pp. 12–13.
78. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 322.
79. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 269.
80. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, pp. 266–270.
81. Die groβe Politik, Vol. VI, pp. 59–62.
82. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, pp. xxix–xxx.
83. Palmer, Bismarck, p. 138.
84. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, p. 290.
85. Craig, Germany, p. 126.
86. Henry Kissinger, A World Restored: Metternich, Castlereagh, and the Problems of
Peace, 1812–22 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1957), pp. 247–248.
87. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. II, p. 199.
88. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, pp. 227–230.

Chapter 4. Entering the Post-Bismarckian Era

1. Bismarck’s retirement in 1890 brought forth strong responses throughout

Europe. The British satirical magazine Punch ran a cartoon entitled “Dropping the
Pilot,” that expressed the view and emotions of the European countries toward this
historical event.
2. Holger H. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet: The Imperial German Navy 1888–1918
(London: Ashfield Press, 1980), p. 19.
3. Gordon A. Craig, Germany 1866–1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981),
p. 127.
4. Die groβe Politik der Europäischen Kabinette 1871–1914: Sammlung der Diploma-
tischen Akten des Auswärtigen Amtes [The Foreign Policy of the European Cabinets,
1871–1914: Collection of diplomatic documents of the Foreign Office], Johannes
Lepsius, et al., eds. Vol. VII (Berlin: Deutsche verlagsgesellschaft Für Politik und
Geschichte, 1922–1927), pp. 3–4.
5. Norman Rich, Friedrich von Holstein: Politics and Diplomacy in the Era of
Bismarck and Wilhelm II, Vol. I (London: Cambridge University Press, 1965), pp.
309–310.

306
 Notes to Chapter 4

6. Die groβe Politik, Vol. VII, pp. 4–10.

7. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 315.
8. Ibid., p. 314.
9. E. T. S. Dugdale (selected and translated), German Diplomatic Documents 1871–
1914, Vol. II (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1928), pp. 2–3.
10. Die groβe Politik, Vol. VII, pp. 24–27; and ibid., pp. 352–353.
11. William L. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism 1890–1902 (New York: Alfred A.
Knopf, 1935), p. 9.
12. Paul Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism 1860–1914 (London:
George Allen and Unwin, 1980), p. 201.
13. Ibid., p. 206.
14. According to Salisbury’s daughter, consideration of a second invasion of Sudan
had already become a priority in Britain’s Africa policy by 1889. Gwendolen Cecil, Life
of Robert Marquis of Salisbury, Vol. IV (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1921), pp.
239–240.
15. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, pp. 106–107.
16. A. J. P. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, 1848–1918 (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1954), pp. 329-330, n. 3.
17. Paul Kennedy has compared the 1890 Heligoland-Zanzibar Treaty and the 1905
Anglo-French Agreement, noting that while the latter became the starting point for an
alliance, the former did not perform that function. He argued that this demonstrated
that Anglo-German disputes and conflicts could not be reconciled. Kennedy, however,
failed to see that the 1890 treaty itself increased, rather than reduced, the difficulty of
bridging the differences between the two countries. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-
German Antagonism, p. 205.
18. C. J. Lowe, The Reluctant Imperialists: British Foreign Policy, 1878–1902 (London:
Routledge, 1967), p. 8.
19. Cecil, Life of Robert Marquis of Salisbury, Vol. IV, pp. 374–375.
20. Erich Brandenburg, From Bismarck to the World War: A History of German
Foreign Policy, 1870–1914 (London: Oxford University Press, 1927), p. 30.
21. Cited in Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 7.
22. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, pp. 336–337.
23. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, pp. 27 and 31.
24. Ibid., p. 32.
25. “The Franco-Russian Alliance Military Convention (August 18, 1892),” available
online at http://avalon.law.yale.edu/19th_century/frrumil.asp (accessed July 25, 2015).
26. J. L. Garvin, The Life of Joseph Chamberlain, Vol. II (London: Macmillan, 1933), p.
457.
27. Cecil, Life of Robert Marquis of Salisbury, Vol. IV, p. 302.

307
Notes to Chapter 4

28. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, pp. 145–146.

29. Ibid., pp. 144–145.
30. Ibid., pp. 169–170.
31. Ibid., p. 175.
32. Ibid., pp. 191–192.
33. Ibid., pp. 236–237.
34. Ibid., p. 239.
35. Ibid., pp. 240–242.
36. G. P. Gooch and H. W. Temperley, eds., British Documents on the Origins of the War
1898–1914, Vol. II (London: His Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1926–1938), p. 288.
37. William L. Langer, The Franco-Russian Alliance 1890–1894 (Cambridge, Mass.:
Harvard University Press, 1929), pp. 360–362.
38. Ibid., p. 379.
39. Brandenburg, From Bismarck to World War, p. 42.
40. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, pp. 281–282.
41. A. J. P. Taylor believes that Germany’s desire was to force a British alliance with
Austria-Hungary. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, pp. 349–350. This is
incorrect. At that moment, Germany was still unwilling to let colonial problems affect
European affairs. As early as April, Adolf von Marschall, the German secretary of state
for foreign affairs, commented that “if it is to England’s interests to oppose the French
aspirations, it is always possible for the British Government to make proposals, which
will show proper consideration for Germany’s legitimate desires.” Dugdale, German
Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, 285–286. Caprivi, the chancellor, noted that “it remains
to decide what diplomatic means are at our disposal to bend England to our wishes. I
assume that we should not do well to change our general policy of the Anglo-Italian
friendship, but I think there could be no objection to our marking our colonial policy
by turning more away from England and nearer to France. England’s new treaty with
the Congo State can easily be a reason for this.” Ibid., p. 291. Hatzfeldt also proposed
using this treaty to apply pressure on Britain and force its position on Samoa to become
“more amenable.” Ibid., pp. 292–294. The Germans desired to manage colonial issues
and European issues separately; it was Great Britain that linked them.
42. Die groβe Politik, Vol. VIII, p. 455.
43. Die groβe Politik, Vol. VIII, pp. 455–456.
44. Thus Taylor’s conclusion that Germany changed course because of Rosebery’s
threats is unsubstantiated. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 351.
45. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, p. 318.
46. Ibid., p. 318.
47. Langer, The Franco-Russian Alliance, pp. 389–390.
48. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 397.

308
 Notes to Chapter 4

49. Gordon A. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, 1640–1945 (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1955), pp. 244–245.
50. Die groβe Politik, Vol. VII, pp. 243–244.
51. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. I, p. 358.
52. Die groβe Politik, IX, p. 109.
53. Craig, Germany, p. 238.
54. Die groβe Politik, Vol. IX, p. 253.
55. Brandenburg, From Bismarck to World War, p. 60.
56. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, pp. 327–328.
57. Ibid., pp. 329–331.
58. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 198.
59. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, pp. 331–332.
60. Ibid., pp. 332–335.
61. Ibid., pp. 335–336.
62. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 209.
63. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 359.
64. For an example of that claim, see Wang Shengzu, ed., Guoji guanxi shi [A History
of International Relations] (Beijing: Shijie zhishi chubanshe, 1995), juan 3, p. 154.
65. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, pp. 349–351; and ibid., pp.
368–369.
66. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 204.
67. Die groβe Politik, Vol. X, p. 203.
68. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 362.
69. Die gross Politik, Vol. XI, p. 67.
70. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, pp. 373–374.
71. Su-si-man-nuo-wei-qi [Unidentified Soviet author], Diguozhuyi dui Feizhou de
guafen [Imperialism’s Partition of Africa], trans. Wen Zhiling (Beijing: Shijie zhishi
chubanshe, 1962), p. 103; and Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, pp.
219–220.
72. Germany had dominant positions in local commercial and financial activity.
Germans monopolized the marketplaces for whiskey and dynamite. Krupp, Siemens,
and Deutsche Bank had branch offices in Transvaal. Germany accounted for 20 percent
of the total foreign investment in the country. See Craig, Germany, p. 245.
73. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, pp. 371–372.
74. Ibid., pp. 376–377.
75. Ibid., p. 370.
76. Ibid., pp. 378–379.
77. Ibid., p. 387.
78. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XI, p. 41.

309
Notes to Chapter 5

79. George Earle Buckle, ed., The Letters of Queen Victoria, Third Series, Vol. III
(London: John Murray, 1931), p. 22.
80. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, pp. 365–367.
81. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, pp. 403–406.
82. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 243.
83. Ibid., pp. 245–246.
84. Ibid., p. 239.
85. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 364.
86. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 244.
87. Buckle, The Letters of Queen Victoria, Vol. III, pp. 17–18.
88. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. II, p. 399.
89. Ibid., p. 404.
90. Ibid., pp. 401–403; and ibid., pp. 403–406.
91. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 253.
92. Buckle, The Letters of Queen Victoria, Vol. III, p. 33.
93. The costs of this expedition were not borne by Great Britain itself, but by the
Egyptian treasury. Egyptian finances, however, were under the control of a six-nation
debt commission and thus Britain’s plan needed the support of the six nations. France
and Russia would cast dissenting votes, Italy would obviously vote in favor, and Austria
would follow Germany’s lead—meaning that Germany could decide whether or not
Britain would receive majority support.
94. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, pp. 367–368.

Chapter 5. Institutions, Society, Popular Opinion, and Grand Strategy

1. Hans-Ulrich Wehler, The German Empire 1871–1918, trans. Kim Traynor (Leam-
ington Spa, N.H.: Berg, 1985), p. 62.
2. Otto von Bismarck, New Chapters of Bismarck’s Autobiography, trans. Bernard
Miall (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1920), p. 248.
3. For more on Prince Eulenburg, see Ekkehard-Teja D. W. Wilke, Political
Decadence in Imperial Germany: Personnel-Political Aspects of the German Government
Crisis 1894–97 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1976).
4. J. C. G. Röhl, Germany without Bismarck: The Crisis of Government in the Second
Reich 1890–1900 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), p. 161.
5. Ka-er Ai-li-xi Bo-en [Karl Erich Born], et al., Deyizhi shi di 3 juan [Handbuch
der deutschen Geschichte, Volume 3], Zhang Zaiyang, et al., trans. (Beijing: Shangwu
yinshuguan, 1991), shang 421–422.
6. On October 28, 1908, the British newspaper Daily Telegraph published an
interview with Wilhelm II. In it, the kaiser claimed that he was Great Britain’s friend,

310
 Notes to Chapter 5

that he had prevented the emergence of an anti-British alliance during the Boer War,
and that he proposed a war plan to Britain that was similar to the one eventually
adopted by the British. This was seen in Great Britain as arrogance, and it sparked
public anger. In Germany, public opinion had sympathized with the Boers and the
kaiser’s words caused a controversy. German political parties accused the kaiser of
damaging German diplomacy. Even the pro-monarchical Conservative Party was
openly critical and demanded that the kaiser speak in a more restrained manner.
Under enormous pressure, the kaiser promised on November 17 to respect consti-
tution procedures in the future. This became known as the Daily Telegraph incident.
7. George Monger, The End of Isolation: British Foreign Policy 1900–1907 (London:
Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd., 1963), p. 94.
8. Holger H. Herwig, “The Dynamics of Necessity: German Military Policy during
the First World War,” in Allan R. Millett and Williamson Murray, eds., Military Effec-
tiveness, Vol. I (Boston: Allen and Unwin, 1988), p. 91.
9. Gordon A. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, 1640–1945 (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1955), p. 240.
10. Herwig, “The Dynamics of Necessity: German Military Policy during the First
World War,” p. 82.
11. Holger H. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet: The Imperial German Navy 1888–1918
(London: Ashfield Press, 1980), pp. 22–23.
12. Jack Snyder, Myths of Empire: Domestic Politics and International Ambition
(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991), pp. 31–32.
13. Ibid., pp. 43–46.
14. Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, p. 126.
15. Samuel P. Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven, Conn.:
Yale University Press, 1968), pp. 195–196.
16. Otto Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. III (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1990), p. 12.
17. Gordon A. Craig, Germany 1866–1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981),
p. 250.
18. Koppel S. Pinson, Modern Germany: Its History and Civilization (Prospect
Heights, Ill.: Waveland Press, 1989), p. 602.
19. This remained the case until the Nazis took power in 1933.
20. Wehler, The German Empire, p. 40.
21. Otto von Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Being the Reflections
and Reminiscences of Otto, Prince von Bismarck, Written and Dictated by Himself after
his Retirement from Office, A.J. Butler, et al., trans., Vol. I (New York: Harper and
Brothers Publishers, 1899), p. 268.
22. Ka-er Di-te-li-xi Ai-er-de-man [Karl Dietrich Erdmann], Deyizhi shi di 4 juan

311
Notes to Chapter 5

[Handbuch der deutschen Geschichte, Volume 4] Gao Niansheng trans. (Beijing:

Shangwu, 1986) shang 6.
23. Craig, Germany, p. 118.
24. Bo-en [Born], et al., Deyizhi shi di 3 juan, shang 410. Translator’s Note: This
quotation is a translation of the Chinese translation of a German text that does not
have its own published English language translation.
25. Mildred S. Wertheimer, The Pan-German League 1890–1914 (New York:
Octagon, 1924), p. 101.
26. Wertheimer, The Pan-German League, p. 198.
27. Eckart Kehr, Schlachtflottenbau and Parteipolitik 1894–1901 (Berlin: Ebery,
1930), p. 169.
28. A. J. P. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, 1848–1918 (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1954), pp. 519–520.
29. Henry Cord Meyer, Mittleuropa in German Thought and Action 1815–1945 (The
Hague: International Scholars Forum, 1955), pp. 101–102.
30. John C. G. Röhl, From Bismarck to Hitler: The Problem of Continuity in German
History (Harlow: Longmans, 1970), pp. 65-67.
31. Fritz Fischer, War of Illusions: German Policies from 1911 to 1914, trans. Marian
Jackson (New York: Norton, 1975), p. 233.
32. Imanuel Geiss, German Foreign Policy 1871–1914 (London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1976), p. 80.
33. Hans-Ulrich Wehler, The German Empire, p. 176.
34. Geoff Eley, “Reshaping the Right: Radical Nationalism and the German Navy
League, 1898–1908,” Historical Journal, Vol. XXI (1978), p. 333.
35. Paul Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism 1860–1914 (London:
George Allen and Unwin, 1980), p. 384.
36. Ibid., p. 382.
37. Emil Ludwig, Bismarck: The Story of a Fighter (Boston: Little, Brown, and
Company, 1927), p. 619.
38. Wilke, Political Decadence in Imperial Germany, pp. 203–204.
39. Ibid., p. 205.
40. E. J. Hobsbawm, The Age of Empire, 1875–1914 (New York: Vintage, 1989), p. 106.
41. Bismarck, Bismarck: The Man & The Statesman, Vol. I, p. 204.
42. http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Otto_von_Bismarck.
43. http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Otto_von_Bismarck.
44. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 361.
45. Craig, Germany, pp. 246–248.
46. Joll, The Origins of the First World War, p. 131.
47. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 365

312
 Notes to Chapter 6

48. Ibid.
49. Röhl, Germany without Bismarck, pp. 129–130.
50. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. III, pp. 119–120.
51. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 240.
52. Ibid., p. 367. At the instigation of liberal groups, Prussia attempted to unify
Germany during the 1848 revolutions, but Prussian King Frederick Wilhelm IV
backed away from this position and surrendered to the Austrians. On November 29,
1851, Prussia signed a compromise agreement with Austria at Olmutz, which became
a symbol of Prussian (and German) humiliation.
53. Fritz Fischer, War of Illusion: German Politics from 1911 to 1914 (London: Chatto
and Windus, 1975), pp. 89–90.

Chapter 6. From Weltpolitik to Encirclement

1. Imanuel Geiss, German Foreign Policy 1871–1914 (London: Routledge and

Kegan Paul, 1976), p. 69.
2. Holger H. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet: The Imperial German Navy 1888–1918
(London: Ashfield Press, 1980), p. 20.
3. Gordon A. Craig, Germany 1866–1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981),
p. 244.
4. Otto Pflanze, Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Vol. III (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1990), p. 116; and Paul Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-
German Antagonism 1860–1914 (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1980), pp.
167–169.
5. Ka-er Di-te-li-xi Ai-er-de-man [Karl Dietrich Erdmann], Deyizhi shi di 4 juan
[Handbuch der deutschen Geschichte, Volume 4] Gao Niansheng trans. (Beijing:
Shangwu, 1986) shang 6.
6. E. J. Hobsbawm, The Age of Empire, 1875–1914 (New York: Vintage, 1989), pp.
69-70; and Volker Durr, Kathy Harms, and Peter Hayes, eds., Imperial Germany,
(Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1985), p. 121.
7. Ibid.
8. J. C. G. Röhl, Germany without Bismarck: The Crisis of Government in the Second
Reich 1890–1900 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), pp. 246–247.
9. Ibid., p. 252.
10. James Joll, The Origins of the First World War, 2nd ed. (New York: Longman,
1992), p. 111.
11. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 225.
12. Geiss, German Foreign Policy, p. 69.
13. Craig, Germany, p. 262.

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Notes to Chapter 6

14. Norman Rich, Friedrich von Holstein: Politics and Diplomacy in the Era of
Bismarck and Wilhelm II, Vol. II (London: Cambridge University Press, 1965), p. 501.
15. Craig, Germany, p. 274.
16. Jonathan Steinberg, Yesterday’s Deterrent: Tirpitz and the Birth of the German
Battle Fleet (New York: MacMillan, 1965), pp. 61 and 69.
17. Die groβe Politik der Europäischen Kabinette 1871–1914: Sammlung der Diploma-
tischen Akten des Auswärtigen Amtes [The Foreign Policy of the European Cabinets,
1871–1914: Collection of diplomatic documents of the Foreign Office], Johannes
Lepsius, et al., eds. Vol. XV (Berlin: Deutsche verlagsgesellschaft Für Politik und
Geschichte, 1922–1927), p. 420. Translator’s Note: This quotation, though originally in
German, was translated directly from Chinese to English.
18. Ivo Nikolai Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics 1862–1914 (Boston:
Allen and Unwin, 1984), p. 177.
19. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XV, pp. 516–517.
20. Ibid., p. 522. Translator’s Note: This quotation, though originally in German, was
translated directly from Chinese to English.
21. George Monger, The End of Isolation: British Foreign Policy 1900–1907 (London:
Thomas Nelson and Sons, Ltd., 1963), p. 10.
22. Ibid., p. 12.
23. William L. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism 1890–1902 (New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, 1935), p. 513.
24. Ibid., p. 508.
25. Ibid., p. 499.
26. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XIV, pp. 204–207.
27. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. II, p. 598.
28. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 659.
29. Monger, The End of Isolation, pp. 36–37.
30. Ibid., p. 15.
31. Ibid., p. 17.
32. G. P. Gooch and H. W. Temperley, eds., British Documents on the Origins of the
War 1898–1914, Vol. II (London: His Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1926–1938), p. 7.
33. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 705.
34. Ibid., pp. 714–716.
35. Ibid., p. 722.
36. Die groβe Poltik, Vol. XVII, pp. 14–16.
37. Cited in Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. II, p. 630.
38. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XVII, p. 22.
39. He reported to his home government that the proposal had originated from
Lansdowne, but it is now commonly thought that Eckardstein himself first advocated

314
 Notes to Chapter 6

it and that he misled Germany about this fact. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism,
pp. 728–729.
40. G. P. Gooch and H. W. Temperley, British Documents, Vol. II, p. 65.
41. Ibid., p. 66.
42. Ibid., pp. 68–69.
43. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XVII, pp. 295–296.
44. Ibid., pp. 341–342.
45. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 246.
46. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XVII, p. 332.
47. In August 1901, King Edward VII of Great Britain visited Germany. In prepa-
ration, the British government drafted several briefing memorandums on Anglo-
German relations. These documents claimed that the two countries had similar policies
on Morocco and expressed hope that the situation continue. This was merely meant as
reference material, but Edward VII mistakenly passed it to his German interlocutors,
who did not spot this mistake but offered the sentence quoted here in response. G. P.
Gooch and H. W. Temperley, British Documents, Vol. II, pp. 94–96.
48. Ibid., pp. 122–123.
49. Norman Rich, Friedrich von Holstein: Politics and Diplomacy in the Era of
Bismarck and Wilhelm II, Vol. II (London: Cambridge University Press, 1965), p. 668.
50. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, pp. 774–775.
51. Monger, The End of Isolation, pp. 62–63.
52. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 776.
53. Monger, The End of Isolation, p. 63.
54. Ibid., p. 82.
55. Julian Amery, The Life of Joseph Chamberlain 1901–1903, Vol. IV: (London:
MacMillan, 1951), pp. 163–164.
56. Cited in Monger, The End of Isolation, p. 145.
57. E. T. S. Dugdale (selected and translated), German Diplomatic Documents 1871–
1914, Vol. III (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1928), pp. 171–172.
58. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XVII, p. 344.
59. Ibid., p. 348.
60. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 178.
61. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XVII, pp. 567–570.
62. Ibid.
63. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 269.
64. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XX, Part 1, pp. 23–24; and ibid., p. 211.
65. Die groβe Politik Vol. XVII, Part 1, p. 68.
66. Die groβe Politik XIX, Part 1, p. 132.
67. Ibid., pp. 303–304.

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Notes to Chapter 6

68. Ibid., pp. 62–63.

69. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. III, pp. 220–221.
70. Monger, The End of Isolation, 106.
71. Ibid., pp. 161–162.
72. Eugene N. Anderson, The First Moroccan Crisis, 1904–1906 (Hamden, Conn:
Archon, 1966), p. 183.
73. G. P. Gooch and H. W. Temperley, British Documents, Vol. III, p. 76.
74. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XX, Part 2, pp. 297–299; and ibid., pp. 301–303.
75. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. II, p. 700.
76. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XX, Part 2, p. 313.
77. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. II, pp. 693 and 702, n. 1.
78. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XX, Part 2, p. 339.
79. Rich, Friedrich von Holstein, Vol. II, p. 708.
80. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XX, Part 2, pp. 490–492.
81. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 433.
82. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XX, Part 2, p. 662.
83. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XX, Part 2, p. 531.
84. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 441.
85. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, pp. 259–260.
86. Monger, The End of Isolation, pp. 206–207.
87. G. P. Gooch and H. W. Temperley, British Documents, Vol. III, pp. 170–171.
88. Monger, The End of Isolation, p. 251.
89. Winston Churchill, The World Crisis, rev. and abbr. ed. (New York: Free Press,
2005), p. 19.
90. Geiss, German Foreign Policy, p. 121.
91. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 188.
92. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXI, Part 2, p. 361.
93. Cited in Joll, The Origins of the First World War, p. 56.
94. G. P. Gooch and H. W. Temperley, British Documents, Vol. III, p. 267.
95. This is a reference to the construction of the Berlin-to-Baghdad Railway, backed
by German capital since the late nineteenth century. This project brought Germany
into the Persian Gulf, which traditionally lay with the British and Russian spheres of
influence. There are numerous references to this project in British diplomatic correspon-
dence about the Anglo-Russian Entente. In the scheme of things, however, the impact
of this project on Anglo-German or Russo-German relations was not all that great. A
compromise had already been reached between the parties by the eve of World War I.
96. Monger, The End of Isolation, p. 282.
97. Alexander Izvolsky, Recollections of a Foreign Minister, trans. Charles Louis
Seeger (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, Page, and Company, 1921), p. 73.

316
 Notes to Chapter 7

98. Monger, The End of Isolation, p. 95.

99. Joll, The Origins of the First World War, pp. 45–46.
100. G. P. Gooch and H. W. Temperley, British Documents, Vol. III, p. 416.
101. Ibid., p. 420.
102. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXI, Part 2, pp. 507–509.
103. Ibid., Vol. XXV, Part 2, p. 45.
104. Ibid., Vol. XXIV, p. 27.
105. Ibid., 68-76.
106. Ibid., XXV, Part 2, pp. 466–467. The first sentence has been translated from
German to English; the remainder of this quotation is from John C. G. Röhl, Wilhelm
II: Into the Abyss of War and Exile, 1900–1941 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University
Press, 2014), p. 618.
107. Norman Rich and M. H. Fisher, eds., The Holstein Papers: Correspondence 1861–
1896, Vol. IV (London: Cambridge University Press, 1961), p. 551.

Chapter 7. An Obsession with Command of the Seas

1. Holger H. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet: The Imperial German Navy 1888–1918

(London: Ashfield Press, 1980), p. 16.
2. Bismarck’s assessment of Tirpitz’s plans for naval expansion was that they
contained the intention to make war against Great Britain and as such were extremely
dangerous. Rolf Hobson, Imperialism at Sea: Naval Strategic Thought, The Ideology of
Sea Power and the Tirpitz Plan, 1875–1914 (Boston: Brill Academic Publishers, 2002),
pp. 297–299.
3. Many ascribe the construction of the High Seas Fleet to the rapid growth of
overseas trade. Even Tirpitz himself made this claim in a speech to the Reichstag.
Yet this is not a persuasive claim, as many policymakers during Wilhelm II’s reign
had begun thinking about the navy much earlier. Tirpitz, for instance, had formed his
views as early as 1871. Patrick Kelly, “Strategies, Tactics and Turf Wars: Tirpitz and the
Oberkommando der Marine, 1892–1895,” Journal of Military History, Vol. 66, No. 4
(October 2002), pp. 1049–1050.
4. Patrick Kelly, “Strategies, Tactics and Turf Wars,” pp. 1054–1055.
5. Portugal adopted a five-year naval construction plan in 1895, the Netherlands
passed a ten-year plan in 1900, Mexico enacted a plan in 1901, and Spain announced
a long-term program of naval construction in 1908.
6. Jonathan Steinberg, Yesterday’s Deterrent: Tirpitz and the Birth of the German
Battle Fleet (New York: MacMillan, 1965), p. 164.
7. Martin Kitchen, The German Officer Corps, 1890–1914 (Oxford: Clarendon,
1968), pp. 5, 22, and 24.

317
Notes to Chapter 7

8. Jonathan Steinberg, “The Kaiser’s Navy and German Society,” Past and Present,
Vol. 28 (July 1964), pp. 105–106.
9. In today’s language, this reflected a demand for social mobility. Moreover, both
the middle class and liberal intellectuals understood the navy as a symbol of a unified
Germany and as a historical manifestation of liberal ideals. The reasons for this date
back to the 1848 revolutionary era. At the Frankfort Conference organized by German
liberals, one of the few actions taken was a proposal to establish a German Navy.
Thus, from its very inception, the German Navy was a unified national force, unlike
the army, which belonged to the various states and would only fall under the unified
command of the kaiser in event of war.
10. William L. Langer, The Diplomacy of Imperialism 1890–1902 (New York: Alfred
A. Knopf, 1935), p. 429.
11. Ibid., p. 656.
12. Ibid., pp. 437–438.
13. Ivo Nikolai Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics 1862–1914 (Boston:
Allen and Unwin, 1984), p. 34.
14. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, p. 17.
15. Lambi, The Navy and Germany Power Politics, pp. 35–36.
16. Before Tirpitz took office in 1897, the naval official with the greatest influence
over the kaiser was Gustav Freiherr von Senden-Bibran, chief of the Navy Cabinet
from 1889 to 1906. He believed that Germany needed a large fleet centered on battle-
ships and repeatedly emphasized to the kaiser the need for large publicity efforts to stir
up national interest in the Navy. After Tirpitz took office, Senden-Bibran continued to
play an important role as a promoter of German naval construction.
17. Steinberg, Yesterday’s Deterrent, pp. 89-90.
18. Ibid., p. 41.
19. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, p. 40.
20. Waijiao shi, ed. B. M. He-wo-si-tuo-fu, di er juan shang 491–492. Translator’s
Note: The original Chinese edition quoted directly from this speech at length, based
on the version that appears in this Chinese translation of a Russian textbook. The
original speech could not be identified, thus only a paraphrase of its contents has been
provided.
21. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 139.
22. Steinberg, Yesterday’s Deterrent, p. 209.
23. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 142.
24. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, p. 38.
25. Tirpitz calculated that a ratio of two German ships to three British ones would be
enough. Hobson, Imperialism at Sea, pp. 254–255.

318
 Notes to Chapter 7

26. Paul Kennedy, Strategy and Diplomacy 1870–1945 (Boston: George Allen and
Unwin, 1983), p. 133.
27. The earliest mention of this was an August 19, 1897, report from the German
naval attaché in London, but Tirpitz “made no attempt to verify it.” Instead, it was used
as a political weapon. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, pp. 144–145.
28. In 1807, the British fleet launched a sneak attack, without declaring war, on the
Danish capital and seized its entire navy.
29. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, p. 37.
30. Kennedy, Strategy and Diplomacy, p. 132.
31. Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Influence of Sea Power on History, 1660–1783 (Boston:
Little, Brown and Company, 1891), p. 29.
32. Cited in Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 421.
33. There are two main views about the level of Mahan’s influence on the German
Navy. The first of these argues that Mahan’s ideas formed the theoretical basis of
German naval expansion. For an example, see Volker R. Berghahn, Der Tirpitz Plan:
Genesis und Verfall einer innenpolitischen Krisenstrategic unter Wilhelm II (Dusseldorf:
Droste Verlag, 1971), pp. 145 and 421. The second argument is that his influence was
not significant and points to German misreadings of Mahan, claiming that Wilhelm
II and Tirpitz cut and pasted portions of Mahan’s theories to fit their own needs while
ignoring the intellectual content of these theories. For an example of these, see Holger
Herwig, “The Failure of German Sea Power, 1914–1915: Mahan, Tirpitz, and Raeder
Reconsidered,” International History Review, Vol. X (1988), pp. 68–105. This author
tends toward the later argument—that Mahan mainly served as a propaganda tool and
was merely one part of the ideology behind the High Seas Fleet. If Tirpitz and others
had truly understood what they read in Mahan, they would have known that their
challenge to British naval supremacy would be fruitless.
34. Langer, Diplomacy of Imperialism, p. 435.
35. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 144.
36. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 149.
37. Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, Vol. IV, p. 28. Translator’s Note: The
quotation used in the Chinese edition could not be located, so a thematically similar
one has been substituted.
38. Ibid., p. 50.
39. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 156.
40. Ibid., p. 147.
41. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 251.
42. Monger, The End of Isolation, p. 63.
43. Ibid., pp. 68–69.

319
Notes to Chapter 7

44. Ibid., p. 69.

45. Ibid., p. 82.
46. The “two-power” standard was that British naval power should equal the
combined naval power of the next two largest powers. This was first used in 1889 and
abandoned in 1912.
47. Arthur J. Marder, Fear God and Dread Nought: The Correspondence of Admiral of
the Fleet Lord Fisher of Kilverstone, Vol. II (London: Cape, 1956), p. 20.
48. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, p. 37.
49. Kennedy, The Rise of the Anglo-German Antagonism, p. 420.
50. Die groβe Politik der Europäischen Kabinette 1871–1914: Sammlung der Diploma-
tischen Akten des Auswärtigen Amtes [The Foreign Policy of the European Cabinets,
1871–1914: Collection of diplomatic documents of the Foreign Office], Johannes
Lepsius, et al., eds. Vol. XIX, Part 1 (Berlin: Deutsche verlagsgesellschaft Für Politik
und Geschichte, 1922–1927), p. 292.
51. Ibid., p. 359.
52. Jonathan Steinberg, “The Copenhagen Complex,” Journal of Contemporary
History, Vol. 1, No. 3 (July 1966), pp. 35 and 38.
53. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 275.
54. Ibid., pp. 275–276.
55. Tirpitz first suggested this in his 1919 memoirs and later expanded upon it in
other publications. Many historians have accepted this assessment, although Volker
Berghahn refutes it in Der Tirpitz Plan.
56. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, pp. 55–57.
57. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 270.
58. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, pp. 59–60.
59. Ibid., pp. 64 and 69.
60. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXIV, p. 27.
61. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 458.
62. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, p. 70.
63. Ibid., p. 61. Statistics are cited from ibid., pp. 61, 63, and 70–71.
64. Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, Vol. IV, pp. 427–428.
65. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, pp. 297–298.
66. E. T. S. Dugdale (selected and translated), German Diplomatic Documents 1871–
1914, Vol. III (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1928), p. 342.
67. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXVIII, p. 81.
68. Ibid., pp. 78–79.
69. J.C.G. Röhl, “Admiral von Muller and the Approach of War,” Historical Journal,
Vol. 12, No. 4 (1969), pp. 651–673.
70. Craig, Germany, p. 287.

320
 Notes to Chapter 8

71. Cited in Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 460.

72. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 301.
73. Geiss, German Foreign Policy, p. 130.
74. Jack Snyder, Myths of Empire: Domestic Politics and International Ambition
(Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1991), p. 108.
75. G. P. Gooch and H. W. Temperley, eds., British Documents on the Origins of the War
1898–1914, Vol. X, Part 2 (London: His Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1926–1938), p. 736.
76. Ibid., Vol. VI, pp. 309–310.
77. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, p. 369.
78. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, pp. 296–297.
79. Sidney Bradshaw Fay, Origins of the World War, Vol. I (New York: MacMillan
Company, 1928), p. 303.
80. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, pp. 77–78.
81. Ibid., p. 75.
82. Waijiao shi, ed. He-wo-si-tuo-fu, p. 1058.
83. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, p. 78.
84. Ibid., pp. 80-82.
85. Churchill, The World Crisis, pp. 77-80.
86. Fay, Origins of the World War, Vol. I, p. 327.
87. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 298.
88. Lambi, The Navy and German Power Politics, pp. 379–380.
89. Kennedy, Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, p. 212.
90. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, pp. 461–462.
91. Pinson, Modern Germany, p. 301.

Chapter 8. The Schlieffen Plan and the Retreat of Grand Strategy

1. Gordon A. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, 1640–1945 (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1955), p. 279.
2. Gunther E. Rothenberg, “Moltke, Schlieffen, and the Doctrine of Strategic Envel-
opment,” in Peter Paret, ed., Makers of Modern Strategy from Machiavelli to the Nuclear
Age (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986), p. 312.
3. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 281.
4. Gerhard Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan: Critique of a Myth (New York: Frederick A.
Praeger, 1958), p. 22.
5. Robert T. Foley (trans.), Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings (London: Frank
Cass, 2003), pp. 144–145.
6. The younger Moltke formally suspended this plan in 1913, making the Schlieffen
Plan the German military’s only strategic plan. On August 1, 1914, when the kaiser

321
Notes to Chapter 8

demanded that he deploy the main force of the German Army to the east in order to
prevent France from being dragged into the war, the younger Moltke claimed that it
would be impossible for technical reasons. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, pp. 34–37.
7. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings, p. 145.
8. Ibid., p. 146.
9. Ibid.
10. Ibid., p. 149.
11. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, pp. 41 and 80.
12. Jehuda L. Wallach, The Dogma of the Battle of Annihilation: The Theories of
Clausewitz and Schlieffen and Their Impact on the German Conduct of Two World Wars
(Westport, Conn.: Greenwood, 1986), p. 55. In the battle of Solferino, Napoleon III's
Franco-Sardinian Alliance defeated the Austrian Army. The battle of Sedan, however,
was a decisive Prussian victory of the Franco-Prussian War. The battle of Königgrätz,
also known as the battle of Sadowa, was a decisive Prussian victory of the Austro-
Prussian War. Schlieffen considered the battle of Sedan to be a “compete victory,” while
seeing the battle of Königgrätz as incomplete.
13. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings, pp. 152–153.
14. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, pp. 44.
15. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings, p. 155.
16. Ibid., p. 165.
17. Ibid., pp. 165–174.
18. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, p. 5.
19. B. H. Liddell Hart, Strategy, 2nd rev. ed. (New York: Meridian, 1991), p. 153.
20. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings, pp. 175–177.
21. Gordon A. Craig, Germany 1866–1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981),
p. 317.
22. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, p. 33.
23. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings, p. 153.
24. Rothenberg, “Moltke, Schlieffen, and the Doctrine of Strategic Envelopment,”
p. 319.
25. Wallach, The Dogma of the Battle of Annihilation, p. 118, n. 44.
26. Ibid., pp. 58–59.
27. Gunther E. Rothenberg, The Army of Francis Joseph (West Lafayette, Ind.: Purdue
University Press, 1976), pp. 112–117.
28. Denys Myers and J. G. Paul (trans.), The Secret Treaties of Austria-Hungary, Vol.
I (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1920), pp. 25–31.
29. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, p. 32.
30. Ibid., p. 28.

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 Notes to Chapter 8

31. Holger Herwig, “The Dynamics of Necessity: German Military Policy during
the First World War,” in Allan R. Millett and Williamson Murray, eds., Military Effec-
tiveness, Vol. I (Boston: Allen and Unwin, 1988), p. 89.
32. Gordon A. Craig, “The World War I Alliance of the Central Powers in Retro-
spect: The Military Cohesion of the Alliance, Journal of Modern History, Vol. 37, No. 3
(September 1965), p. 338.
33. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 243.
34. Holger Herwig, “Strategic Uncertainties of a Nation-State: Prussia-Germany,
1871–1918,” in Williamson Murray, et al., eds., The Making of Strategy: Rulers, States,
and War (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 255.
35. Herwig, “Luxury” Fleet, p. 75.
36. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, p. 244–245.
37. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings, p. 151.
38. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, p. 61.
39. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, J. J. Graham, trans. (London: N. Trubner and
Company, 1873), pp. 39–41.
40. Wallach, The Dogma of the Battle of Annihilation, p. 54.
41. Hajo Holborn, “The Prusso-German School: Moltke and the Rise of the General
Staff,” in Peter Paret, ed., Makers of Modern Strategy from Machiavelli to the Nuclear
Age, p. 289.
42. Dennis E. Showalter, “Total War for Limited Objectives: An Interpretation of
German Grand Strategy,” in Paul Kennedy, ed., Grand Strategies in War and Peace
(New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1991), p. 112.
43. Luo-si-tu-nuo-fu [Unidentified Soviet Author], Di yi ci shijie da zhan shi [History
of the First World War], trans. Zhong Shi (Shanghai: Shanghai Yiwen chubanshe,
1982), pp. 321–322.
44. Martin van Creveld, Supplying War: Logistics from Wallenstein to Patton (London:
Cambridge University Press, 1977), pp. 140–141.
45. Creveld, Supplying War, pp. 119–21.
46. Liddell Hart, Strategy, p. 156.
47. Luo-si-tu-nuo-fu, Di yi ci shijie da zhan shi, p. 179.
48. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, p. 66.
49. Liddell Hart, Strategy, p. 208.
50. Clausewitz, On War, p. 12.
51. Rothenberg, “Moltke, Schlieffen, and the Doctrine of Strategic Envelopment,” p. 298.
52. Erich Ludendorff, Ludendorff ’s Own Story, Vol. I (New York: Harper and
Brothers, 1919), p. 28.
53. Showalter, “Total War for Limited Objectives,” p. 112.
54. Wallach, The Dogma of the Battle of Annihilation, pp. 37–38.

323
Notes to Chapter 9

55. Bruce Condell and David T. Zabecki, ed. and trans., On the German Art of War:
Truppenfuhrung (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2001), p. 29.
56. Hobson, Imperialism at Sea, p. 121.
57. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings, pp. 202–205.
58. Rich and Fisher, The Holstein Papers, Vol. I, pp. 159–167.
59. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings, p. 186.
60. Rothenberg, “Moltke, Schlieffen, and the Doctrine of Strategic Envelopment,” p. 297.
61. Wallach, The Dogma of the Battle of Annihilation, p. 36.
62. Ibid., p. 46.
63. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Military Writings, p. 189.
64. Ibid.
65. Wallach, The Dogma of the Battle of Annihilation, p. 37.
66. Herwig, “Strategic Uncertainties of a Nation-State,” p. 252.
67. Clausewitz, On War, pp. 4 and 148.
68. Wallach, The Dogma of the Battle of Annihilation, p. 41.
69. Ibid, p. 45.
70. Foley, Alfred von Schlieffen’s Miltary Writings, p. 190.
71. Isabel V. Hull, Absolute Destruction: Military Culture and Practices of War in
Imperial Germany (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2005), p. 168.
72. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan, pp. 53–54.
73. Wallach, The Dogma of the Battle of Annihilation, p. 53.
74. Hajo Holborn, “The Prusso-German School,” pp. 290–291.
75. Antulio Echevarria, After Clausewitz: German Military Thinkers before the Great
War (Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 2001), pp. 197–198.
76. Hull, Absolute Destruction, pp. 170–171.

Chapter 9. Crisis Management on the Path to World War, 1908–1914

1. Edward Grey, Twenty-five Years 1892–1916, Vol. I (New York: Frederick A.

Stokesco, 1925), p. 205.
2. Die groβe Politik der Europäischen Kabinette 1871–1914: Sammlung der Diploma-
tischen Akten des Auswärtigen Amtes [The Foreign Policy of the European Cabinets,
1871–1914: Collection of diplomatic documents of the Foreign Office], Johannes
Lepsius, et al., eds., Vol. XXV (Berlin: Deutsche verlagsgesellschaft Für Politik und
Geschichte, 1922–1927), pp. 474–479.
3. Piedmont is a region in northern Italy. The kingdom of Sardinia-Piedmont,
based in this region, played a central role in the unification of the Italian peninsula. As
an indicator of the region’s historical significance, the crown prince of post-unification

324
 Notes to Chapter 9

Italy was designated as the Prince of Piedmont. Marx and Engels penned an essay
about the defeat of the Piedmontese Army.
4. E. T. S. Dugdale (selected and translated), German Diplomatic Documents 1871–
1914, Vol. III (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1928), p. 303.
5. Sidney Bradshaw Fay, The Origins of the World War (New York: MacMillan
Company, 1928), pp. 378–379.
6. A. J. P. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, 1848–1918 (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1954), p. 452.
7. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXVI, Part 1, p. 39.
8. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. III, p. 306.
9. Ibid., pp. 304–306.
10. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 453.
11. Ibid.
12. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. III, pp. 317–318.
13. Craig, The Politics of the Prussian Army, pp. 288-89.
14. Ibid.
15. Ibid., p. 289.
16. Die groβe Politik, pp. 440–41.
17. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXVI, Part 1, pp. 222–223.
18. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 455.
19. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXVI, Part 2, pp. 669–670.
20. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. III, pp. 321–322.
21. In the end, Izvolsky demanded that Germany persuade Austria against releasing
these documents; German pressure worked.
22. Fay, The Origins of the World War, Vol. I, p. 391.
23. Ibid., p. 393.
24. Michael Balfour, The Kaiser and His Times (London: Cresset Press, 1964), p. 295.
25. G. P. Gooch and H. W. Temperley, eds., British Documents on the Origins of the
War 1898–1914, Vol. VI (London: His Majesty’s Stationary Office, 1926–1938), p. 261.
26. Fay, The Origins of the World War, Vol. I, pp. 398–399.
27. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 456.
28. Fay, The Origins of the World War, Vol. I, p. 405.
29. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 464.
30. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXIX pp. 97–98.
31. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. IV, p. 2.
32. Ibid., pp. 2–4.
33. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXIX, p. 119.
34. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 470.

325
Notes to Chapter 9

35. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXIX, p. 167.

36. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. IV, pp. 10–11.
37. Ibid., pp. 11–12.
38. Die groβe Politik, Vol. XXIX, p. 189.
39. Edward Grey, Twenty-five Years, Vol. I, p. 216.
40. Churchill, The World Crisis, p. 30.
41. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. IV, p. 15.
42. Churchill, The World Crisis, p. 30.
43. Craig, Germany, pp. 328–329.
44. Churchill, World Crisis, p. 66.
45. Fay, The Origins of the World War, Vol. I, pp. 335–336.
46. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 488.
47. Die gross Politik, Vol. XXIX, p. 406.
48. Fritz Fischer, War of Illusion: German Policies from 1911 to 1914 (London: Chatto
and Windus, 1975), pp. 89–90.
49. Fritz Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the First World War (London: Chatto and
Windus, 1967), p. 25.
50. Craig, Germany, p. 329.
51. In the early twentieth century, the importance of oil grew, as did its strategic
implications, particularly once the Royal Navy began using it to power warships.
German interest in oil increased as well. Great Britain principally extracted its Middle
Eastern oil from southern Persia, while German oil came from Mesopotamia. Compe-
tition between the two nations for Middle Eastern oil grew fierce. Later, when the
American Standard Oil Company planned to enter the Middle East, the two countries
quickly reached an agreement in March 1914 (negotiations had been broken off in
1912, but had resumed in February 1913) to create a joint company to extract Meso-
potamian oil. Deutsche Bank, representing German oil interests, provided only 25
percent of the company’s capital, thus illustrating the constrained nature of German
resources.
52. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 513.
53. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. IV, p. 369.
54. Geiss, German Foreign Policy, p. 143.
55. Ibid., p. 149.
56. Dugdale, German Diplomatic Documents, Vol. IV, p. 370.
57. Joll, The Origins of the First World War, p. 35.
58. Geiss, German Foreign Policy, p. 157.
59. Karl Kautsky, et al., eds., Outbreak of the World War: German Documents
Collected by Karl Kautsky, trans. Carnegie Endowment for International Peace (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1924), p. 61.

326
 Notes to Chapter 9

60. Fay, The Origins of the World War, Vol. II, p. 199.
61. Ibid.
62. Ibid., pp. 201–203.
63. Ibid., p. 203.
64. Karl Kautsky, et al., Outbreak of the World War, p. 78.
65. Ibid., pp. 92–94.
66. Ibid., p. 95.
67. J. C. G. Röhl, “Admiral von Muller and the Approach of War, 1911–1914,”
Historical Journal, Vol. 12, No. 4 (December 1969), p. 668.
68. Outbreak of the World War, p. 122.
69. Ibid., pp. 616–620.
70. Ibid., pp. 131–132.
71. P. H. S. Hatton, “Britain and Germany in 1914: The July Crisis and War Aims,”
Past and Present, Vol. 36 (April 1967), p. 141.
72. Jack S. Levy, “Preferences, Constraints, and Choices in July 1914,” International
Security, Vol. 15, No. 3 (Winter 1990–91), pp. 163–166.
73. Cited in Geiss, German Foreign Policy, pp. 141–142.
74. Karl Kautsky, et al., Outbreak of the World War, pp. 230–231.
75. Ibid., p. 209.
76. Ibid., pp. 250–254.
77. Ibid., pp. 288–289.
78. Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the First World War, pp. 73–75.
79. Karl Kautsky, et al., Outbreak of the World War, pp. 306–308.
80. Ibid., p. 302.
81. Ibid., p. 315.
82. Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the First World War, pp. 57-64.
83. Karl Kautsky, et al., Outbreak of the World War, pp. 321–322.
84. Fischer, Germany’s Aims in the First World War, p. 78.
85. Karl Kautsky, et al., Outbreak of the World War, pp. 344–345.
86. Ibid., pp. 345–346.
87. The Social Democratic Party was the leading anti-war force inside Germany. The
party, however, viewed the czar as the symbol of reaction, leading many German elites
to conclude that it would not oppose a war directed at Russia.
88. Fay, The Origins of the World War, 506–511.
89. Taylor, The Struggle for Mastery in Europe, p. 524.

327
 About the Author

Xu Qiyu is Deputy Director of the Institute for Strategic Studies at National

Defense University in Beijing, China. He is also an advisor to the Chinese
Ministry of Defense, as well as a researcher at the Academy for Military Sciences
and at Peking University. Additionally, he has been a visiting scholar at the
Institute for Security and Development Policy in Stockholm, Sweden.

Xu received his MA from National Defense University and his Ph.D. from the
Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. He participated in the U.S.-China Young
Leaders Forum of the National Committee on U.S.-China Relations in 2003,
and was elected a member of the Eleventh Committee of the All-China Youth
Federation in 2010.
 Contributors

Graham Allison is Director of the Belfer Center for Science and International
Affairs and Douglas Dillon Professor of Government at the John F. Kennedy
School of Government at Harvard University. The “founding dean” of the
modern Kennedy School, Allison has served as a special advisor to the secretary
of defense under President Ronald Reagan and as an assistant secretary of
defense under President Bill Clinton. His first book, Essence of Decision:
Explaining the Cuban Missile Crisis, ranks among the all-time best-sellers with
more than 450,000 copies in print. His latest book, Lee Kuan Yew: The Grand
Master’s Insights on China, the United States, and the World, coauthored with
Robert D. Blackwill, has been a best-seller in the United States and abroad.

Joshua Hill is Assistant Professor of History at Ohio University. A historian

of modern China, Hill earned his Ph.D. at Harvard University and held an
appointment as a postdoctoral scholar at the University of California, Berkeley
in the Center for Chinese Studies.
 Index

Adowa, 125 Anglo-Russian Convention, 187,

Aehrenthal, Alois Lexa von, 185, 216, 259
260–264, 267 Anglo-Russian Entente, 182–189.
Afghanistan, 41, 101, 186 See also Triple Entente
Agadir Crisis, 274–278 Anglo-Russian relations, 14–15, 27,
agriculture, 6, 135-136 29, 43, 53, 114, 173–174, 266,
Albania, 24, 115 282
Albedyll, Emil von, 90, 192 anti-German alliance, 9, 27, 29,
Albert II (Belgian), 110 31–32, 36–38, 76, 81, 105,
Alexander I (Russian), 37 185, 187, 192, 201
Alexander II (Russian), 14, 18, 40, anti-Russian alliance, 39–41, 79, 86,
44 96, 167–168
Alexander III (Russian), 85, 105 arms races, 146, 188, 200, 202,
Algeciras Conference, 173, 182, 210–218, 218–222, 222–226
184–185, 263, 272–273, 278 Austro-German alliance, 39–41,
“all-big-gun” battleship, 210–211 41–45, 45–49, 89, 219,
Alsace-Lorraine, 4, 10, 11, 14, 17, 223–224, 228, 250, 263, 265,
61, 63, 84, 159, 163, 183, 188, 268–269, 279, 280–281, 286,
228, 230, 233, 234, 237, 271 288, 290. See also Triple Alli-
Andrássy, Count Gyula, 23–24, 39, ance
40 Austro-Hungarian Army, 230, 242
Anglo-French Entente, 131, 161, Austro-Hungarian Empire, 6, 13, 23,
173–174, 178, 180, 181, 187, 39, 42, 78–81, 100, 184, 241,
208, 216, 220, 223, 242, 259, 260–261
280. See also Triple Entente Austro-Hungarian Foreign Ministry,
Anglo-German alliance, 163–173, 47, 79, 80, 88, 99, 112, 117,
271 261, 283, 289, 292
Anglo-German competition, 82–83, Austro-Hungarian General Staff,
101, 188, 210–218, 220, 221, 241, 242, 243, 291
225, 265, 269, 274 Austro-Prussian War, 46, 96
Anglo-German relations, 12, 75, Austro-Russian tensions, 44–45, 79,
99, 100, 102–103, 105–108, 80–82, 85, 266
110–111, 117, 121–124, 158, Austro-Serbian tensions, 266
186, 194, 196, 204, 209, 220, Austro-Serbian war, 284–287
225, 251, 252, 265, 271, 277,
281 balance of power, 10, 18, 23, 30, 106,
Anglo-German Yangzi Agreement, 113, 133, 135, 137–139, 221,
166–168 286, 288
Anglo-Japanese alliance, 171, 176 Balfour, Arthur, 125, 165, 206
Fragile Rise

Balkans, 13, 18, 22–28, 42–44, 53, disagreements with other politi-
69, 76, 78–82, 84, 86, 88–89, cians, 7–8, 58, 59–63, 63–65,
99, 110, 112, 116–118, 185, 147
261, 263, 265–267, 269, 270, dismissal from office, 67, 95, 96,
279, 284 97–100, 127, 128, 130, 137,
Balkan Wars, 222, 281, 286 158, 259
Ballin, Albert, 129, 160, 216 and the Egyptian Crisis, 51–56
Baltic Sea, 9, 196, 224, 251 and France, 17, 19, 49–51, 54, 75,
battleships, 123, 160, 163–164, 193, 83, 84
199, 203–205, 210–214, 217, and the Kissingen Dictation,
220, 222–224 33–37, 43, 52
Belgium, 17, 61, 63, 228, 232–233, and the League of Three
236, 239, 247, 251, 256, 288, Emperors, 14, 22, 29, 38,
292 41–44, 45, 50, 78, 82, 85, 87
Berchtold, Leopold, 283, 289, 291, and the Near East Crisis, 27–30,
292 30–32, 53
Berlin Conference, 26–27, 28, and Russia, 11, 12, 14, 18, 20–21,
30–32, 33, 45, 78, 80, 92, 102, 28, 29, 31–32, 38, 42, 43, 44,
111, 115, 159 45–47, 49, 79, 81, 82, 85–87,
Bernhardi, Friedrich von, 144, 252, 90, 97, 149, 162
254, 257 Thoughts and Reminiscences, 4–5,
Bethmann-Hollweg, Theobald von, 12, 150
138, 218–223, 270, 272, 276, and the Triple Alliance, 47–49,
280–282, 284, 286–291 50
bipolarity, 6, 136, 157, 258 and the “War in Sight” Crisis,
Bismarck, Herbert von, 55, 56, 81, 18–20, 21, 22, 59, 84
96, 97 Bismarckian era, 9, 65, 72, 136, 140,
Bismarck, Otto von, 1, 2, 7, 9, 16, 144, 158, 178, 182, 192. See
53, 56, 57, 67, 71, 72, 91–94, also post-Bismarckian era
98–100, 122, 131, 136, 139, Black Sea, 11, 12, 26, 31, 35, 36,
140, 143, 148, 149, 185, 192, 43–44, 53, 74, 89, 101, 109,
201, 204, 259, 264, 266 262
and Austria-Hungary, 13, 25, Black Seas Straits, 87, 89, 98–99, 101,
31–32, 39–40, 43, 44, 46, 48, 116, 125, 261, 266, 282
49, 79, 82, 83, 87, 88, 90, 162, blank check, 263–265, 270, 283–284,
265 288
Bismarck revelations, 148–149 Boer Republics, 69, 119, 166, 195
and Britain, 10, 12, 14, 20, 21, Boer War (1899–1902), 152, 163,
25, 28, 29, 41, 43, 49, 50, 54, 177
55–56, 74, 75–78, 82, 83, 87, Bosnia Crisis (1908–1909), 219,
89, 102 259–261, 261–268, 268–270,
and the Bulgaria Crisis, 78–82, 272, 274, 279, 280, 289
84, 85, 90, 91, 265 Bosnia-Herzegovina, 23–28, 31,
and colonial policies, 72–78, 157 261–268, 268–270, 283

334
 Index

British Army, 52, 125, 162, 171, 239, China, 76, 114, 118, 151, 155
246, 277 Churchill, Randolph, 83
British Empire, 101, 123, 172, 173, Churchill, Winston, 183, 215,
187, 208 223–225
British Foreign Ministry, 20, 23, 41, Clausewitz, Carl von, 58, 245, 249,
55, 70, 74–75, 76, 107, 169, 254
176, 183, 185, 274, 276 Cleveland, Grover, 122–123
British foreign policy, 80, 115, 123, Concert of Europe, 43, 54, 55
187 Congo, 75, 77, 110, 111, 118, 155,
British General Staff, 183, 278 275, 278–279
British naval scare/panic, 213–215, Conrad, Franz von Hötzendorf, 185,
220, 269 243, 260, 264, 291
British Navy, 52, 55, 104, 108–109, Continental League, 113–116,
125, 164, 192–193, 195, 117–118, 119–120, 124, 162,
199–200, 203, 205, 206, 207, 177, 202,
208, 209, 210–213, 213–215, continental war, 220, 225, 279, 286,
215–218, 223, 224, 225. See 288, 291
also Royal Navy “Copenhagen-style” attack, 200,
Bulgaria, 24–27, 31, 39, 45, 46, 59, 207–208, 208–210, 319 n28
78–85, 85–86, 88, 89, 90–91, Crimean War, 24, 25, 26, 30, 39
112, 155, 261, 265, 266, 284 cruisers, 123, 160, 163, 199, 203,
Bulgaria Crisis, 59, 78–85, 85–86, 204, 211–213, 214, 215, 222
88, 90–91, 265
Bülow, Bernhard von, 6, 129, 137, Daily Telegraph incident, 130, 138,
151, 152, 155, 157, 159–160, 153
162–163, 168–171, 174, 175, Dardanelles, 36, 44, 86, 88, 116, 117,
181, 184, 187, 188, 189, 200, 126
202, 203, 204, 209, 216–218, democracy (national liberalism), 68,
219, 222, 260, 262–263, 265, 70, 72, 134, 144,
270, 272 Derby, Lord, 20, 21, 23
diplomacy, 7, 19, 31, 33, 50, 56–59,
Caprivi, Leo von, 96–99, 101, 108, 61, 64, 68, 70, 87, 90, 93, 95,
111–113, 137, 140, 149, 155, 100, 102, 118, 148, 163, 170,
159, 218, 244, 250 171, 184, 187, 189, 196, 200,
cartelization, 133–135, 136, 137, 220, 232, 239, 250, 275
139–143, 153 Disraeli, Benjamin, 10, 23, 26, 29,
Catholic Centre Party (German), 16, 41, 43, 52, 54, 72,
100, 136, 137, 146 domestic politics, 2, 16, 43, 51, 67,
Catholics, 5, 6, 15–18, 46, 48, 136, 68, 70, 72, 77, 78, 83–84, 93,
185 101–102, 112, 115, 124, 127,
Centre Party (German), 136, 138 134–136, 140–142, 144, 148,
Chamberlain, Joseph, 106, 123, 125, 155, 157–158, 184, 189, 197,
165, 166, 168, 171–172, 173, 204, 250,
174

335
Fragile Rise

Dreadnought battleships, 188, French Navy, 279

210–218, 224, 225 French Revolution, 10, 69

East Prussia, 62, 63, 241 German Army, 3, 8, 56, 57, 61, 62,
Eastern Question, 23, 43, 69, 82, 88, 65, 84, 94, 130–132, 141–142,
99, 208, 228–231, 233–235,
Egypt, 28, 35, 36, 50, 51–56, 74–77, 237, 238, 240, 241, 243, 244,
87, 101, 106, 116, 118, 121, 246–250, 252–254, 257–258,
124–126, 162, 177, 292
encirclement (German), 124, 142, Army Bill, 83–84, 111, 223,
149, 155, 182–189, 226, 233, 244
251, 259, 260, 263, 270, 271, Army Cabinet, 90, 94, 131,
282 244
German Empire, 1–4, 5, 8, 9, 12,
First Morocco Crisis, 141, 182–185, 127, 139, 141, 145, 161, 166,
187, 216, 265, 266, 271, 278 185, 196, 198, 218, 224, 243,
First Naval Amendment, 212, 217 248, 272, 280, 292
First Naval Law, 202–204, 205 German Foreign Ministry, 84, 97,
Fisher, John “Jackie,” First Sea Lord, 120, 148, 165, 176, 217, 222,
183, 207–211, 223, 259 283
Franco-German relations, 11, German foreign policy, 35, 48, 50,
15–18, 44, 75–77, 84, 85, 92, 75, 96–97, 137, 158–159, 161,
103–105, 119, 162, 178–181, 283
183, 229–230, 271, 274–276, German General Staff, 3, 230, 233,
277, 281, 287 243
Franco-Prussian War, 10–12, 14, 17, German grand strategy, 1, 2, 9, 33,
18, 19, 21, 37, 58, 60, 63, 96, 56, 59–63, 65, 67, 72, 75, 78,
104, 171, 249, 255, 257 85, 90, 91–94, 95, 99, 127,
Franco-Russian alliance, 45, 47, 133–134, 137, 142, 153, 155,
49, 76, 85, 87, 93, 98, 100, 159, 191, 218, 227, 260
103–104, 105, 107–109, German Navy, 132, 141–142, 160,
111–113, 117–118, 148, 156, 172, 192–196, 200, 201–202,
158, 161, 162, 169, 170, 171, 202–203, 206–208, 212, 222,
174–175, 178, 181, 183, 184, 225
198, 206, 219, 250, 267, 274, Navy Cabinet, 131–132, 160,
279 203, 218, 220
Franz Ferdinand, Archduke, 269, Navy General Staff, 132, 160,
282 194
French Army, 60, 63, 231–235, German War Ministry, 130–131,
236–238, 246, 248, 272 244, 250, 252
French Empire, 51 Germany and the Next War (1911),
French Foreign Ministry, 19, 103, 144, 252, 254
104, 151, 177–178, 179, 274 Giers, Nikolay, 45, 80, 85, 98, 103,
French General Staff, 103, 278 104, 105

336
 Index

Gladstone, William, 25, 43, 106 Holstein, Friedrich von, 27, 48, 81,
Gorchakov, Alexander, 11, 14, 93, 96–98, 100, 106, 112,
17–18, 20, 24, 28, 29 113, 115–116, 118, 121, 124,
great powers, 1, 9, 12, 13, 18, 19, 129, 149, 162, 166, 170, 171,
20–22, 22–27, 27–28, 31–32, 174–176, 178–180, 189, 203,
34, 36, 37, 43, 50–52, 60, 204, 209, 216–217, 239, 252
65, 76, 79, 80, 91, 113–114, Holy Alliance, 13, 22
116–117, 124, 161, 164, 166, House of Commons (British), 10,
177, 182, 184, 193, 201, 210, 165
217, 219, 230, 239, 242, 251, House of Lords (British), 20, 74
267, 268, 285, 291, 292
Greater Bulgaria, 26, 31, 78, 80 ideology, 26, 37, 68, 69, 72, 144, 146,
Greater Germany, 34, 39, 144 193
Grey, Sir Edward, 183, 185, 187, 221, Imperial Admiralty, 96, 132
224, 266, 269, 271, 274, 276, Imperial Navy (German), 132, 141,
277, 286, 287 152, 161, 194, 195, 197, 202
imperialism, 68, 69, 70–72, 113,
Haldane, Lord Richard, 183, 144–146, 193
221–222, 286 India, 51–53, 101, 107, 118, 120, 166,
Hamilton, George, 166, 172 167, 186, 187
hard-line policies, 79, 120, 124, 127, industrialization, 6, 63, 71, 91, 113,
141, 143–144, 146, 147, 150, 123, 135–138, 139–141, 157,
152–153, 178, 182, 183, 194, 158, 164, 193, 194, 198, 219,
217, 264, 266–268, 268–269, 271
272, 274, 276–278, 280 institutions, 3, 8, 16, 65, 70, 93,
Hatzfeldt, Paul von, 82, 83, 107–108, 127–128, 131, 134–135, 139
115–116, 156–157, 165–166, Italy, 15, 18, 20, 21, 45–47, 47–49,
170 51, 79, 84, 87–89, 98,
hegemony, 1, 10, 33–34, 64, 102, 104–105, 106–107, 110–
124, 145, 156, 173, 186, 191, 111, 115–118, 121, 125, 155,
202, 226, 269 170, 174, 177, 179, 182, 251,
Heligoland, 100, 101–102, 103, 106, 266, 268–269, 283, 287,
196, 199 288, 291
“hide and bide,” 1, 12, 15, 22, 33 Izvolsky, Alexander, 186, 260–262,
High Seas Fleet, 151, 152, 156, 158, 266–268, 270, 279
161, 189, 191, 192–196, 198,
212, 225, 243 Jagow, Gottlieb von, 285–286
Hindenburg, Paul von, 57 Jameson Raid, 119–120
Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, Chlo- Japan, 114, 156, 164–165, 167–168,
dwig zu, 113, 119, 137, 171, 173, 176, 178, 181, 182,
159–160, 193–194, 205 186, 207, 208, 210–211, 217,
Hohenzollerns, 5, 34, 57, 151, 153, 235, 280
244 Japanese Army, 114
Holland, 29, 206, 251. See also the Japanese Foreign Ministry,
Netherlands 114

337
Fragile Rise

July Crisis (1914), 270, 280–282, 287 Mediterranean Agreements, 85,

Junker landlords, 4, 6, 113, 136–138, 87–90, 99
157, 194 Meditteranean Sea, 26–27, 35, 42,
49, 50, 53, 87–88, 99, 104,
Kálnoky, Count Gustav (Austrian), 107, 108, 110, 115– 116,
79, 88, 99 125–126, 177, 196, 207, 223,
Kennan, George, 187 225, 273, 278, 279
King Edward VII (British), 95, 259, Metternich, Klemens von, 13, 22,
263 36–37, 93
Kissingen Dictation, 33–34, 43, 50, Metternich, Paul Wolff, 174, 187,
52, 274 188, 209, 218, 221
Kissinger, Henry, 37, 93 middle road, 161–173
Königgrätz, 233. See also Sadowa Moltke, Helmuth von (the elder),
Kruger Telegram, 119–121, 122–124, 91, 253
125, 148, 151, 155, 158, 162, as Chief of Prussian General
163, 194 Staff, 14, 17, 19, 58–59, 90,
Kuhlmann, Richard von, 174, 177, 156, 227, 241
225 and Schlieffen, 227–230, 231,
Kulturkampf, 15–16, 18, 48 239, 240, 255, 258
strategic philosophy of, 61, 62,
Lansdowne, Lord, 168–170, 173, 63–65, 227–230, 231, 240,
176, 178 245, 249, 254, 256–257
Lascelles, Frank, 120, 173, 206–207 Moltke, Helmuth von (the younger),
League of Three Emperors, 14, 218, 219, 238, 242–243, 247,
22–23, 27, 29, 38, 39, 41–45, 252, 264–265, 280, 282, 288,
49, 50, 76, 78, 80, 82, 84, 85, 291–292
87, 89 Moroccan Question, 176–177, 272
Lenin, Vladimir, 156 Morocco crisis see First Morocco
Leveson-Gower, George Granville, Crisis, Second Morocco Crisis
55, 75
Liddell Hart, B.H., 238, 247, 249 Napoleonic Wars, 36, 51, 60, 69, 115,
Lloyd George, David, 276–277, 280, 188, 214, 245, 249
281 National Liberal Party (German),
Lobanov, Aleksey, 114, 117 138, 145–146, 153, 280
Ludendorff, Erich von, 58, 245, 249 nationalism, 2, 4, 24, 68, 69, 70, 72,
Luxembourg, 232, 233, 234, 236 144–146, 152, 263
naval arms race, 146, 188, 200,
magic pill, colonies as, 73, 230, 242 202, 210–216, 218, 219–220,
Mahan, Alfred, 193, 195, 197, 222–226, 251, 265, 271
201–202 Navy, German, 132, 160, 172,
Marriage of iron and rye, 136–137, 192–196, 200, 201–202,
139 202–208, 212, 222, 225,
Marschall, Adolf von, 96, 110–111, Nazi period, 139
119–121, 124, 130, 160 Near East Crisis, 22–32, 34, 53

338
 Index

the Netherlands, 193, 236, 239. See Protestants, 5–6, 15–16, 18, 136, 185
also Holland Prussian Army, 8, 10, 96, 171, 194,
new course, 97–100, 103–111, 231
112–113, 155, 158 Prussian General Staff, 3, 8, 14, 17,
Nicholas II (Russian), 112, 148, 176, 18–19, 56, 58–59, 132, 156,
290 227, 234–235, 245, 249, 252
Nile River, 101–102, 125–126, 162 Prussian Ministry of War, 56, 57,
North Sea, 9, 33, 100, 101, 199, 222, 244
207–208, 209, 212, 223, 224, public opinion, 25, 32, 46, 70, 73,
279, 285 78, 84, 94, 101, 123, 125,
127, 134, 140–141, 143–147,
one-front war, 240 147–153, 157, 175, 177, 195,
open-door policy, 178–179 267, 272–273, 276–277, 279,
Ottoman Empire, 23–25, 28, 42, 44, 285
54, 55, 80, 84, 115–116, 261,
262. See also Turkey Qing dynasty, 114, 164, 168
Queen Victoria (British), 20, 54, 108,
Pan-German League, 141, 144–146, 123, 165, 195
150–151, 153, 271, 272, 276,
280 Radowitz, Joseph Maria von, 17–19,
pan-Slavism, 24, 26, 45, 80, 87, 262, 93, 98
269 Rhodes, Cecil, 71, 119
patriotism, 146–147 risk theory (Tirpitz), 199, 202, 205,
peace, 8, 14, 19, 20–21, 26, 28–30, 212
36, 42, 45, 48, 59–63, 65, 81, Romania, 24, 31, 45–46, 98, 112,
89, 109, 114, 120, 124, 125, 155, 159, 283, 284, 291
132, 142, 150, 172, 181–182, Roosevelt, Theodore, 179
184, 188, 204, 227, 260, Rosebery, Lord (Archibald Prim-
276–277, 284, 287–290 rose), 107, 111, 121
Poland, 5, 62, 63 Royal Navy (British), 26, 163, 164,
Poles, 5–6, 16, 45, 105, 117 191, 195, 199, 200, 205–210,
Portugal, 75, 120, 193, 281 212, 223–224, 251, 274, 277,
post-Bismarckian era, 97–102, 111, 278, 282
112, 118, 127–128, 130, 137, Russell, Lord Odo, 10, 20
146, 158, 218 Russian Army, 25, 31, 62, 63, 105,
post–Great Man effect, 147–150 168, 178, 208, 229, 241–242
Praetorian societies, 134–135 Russian Empire, 62
preemptive war, 49, 59, 84, 91, 264 Russian Foreign Ministry, 11, 80, 85,
preventive war, 17, 19–20, 21, 59, 98, 114, 117, 163, 186, 261,
83, 90 267, 268, 270
Prince Alexander of Battenberg Russian Navy, 108, 208, 209, 261
(Bulgarian), 78–80, 87 Russo-Austrian relations, 29, 30,
Prince Philipp Friedrich Alexander 76, 82
Eulenberg (Prussian), 129, Russo-German Reinsurance Treaty,
149 85–87, 97–100

339
Fragile Rise

Russo-German relations, 17, 32, 42, Skobelev, Mikhail, 45–46, 47

53, 60, 86, 87, 97, 99, 105, Slavs, 23–25, 260–261, 262, 267, 269,
113, 148, 175, 181, 185, 270, 282, 287. See also pan-Slavism
290 Social Darwinism, 70, 144, 193
Russo-Japanese War, 175, 176, 208, Social Democratic Party (German),
211, 238, 266 136–137, 147, 149, 157, 273
Socialism, 68
Sadowa, 48, 58, 254, 255. See also Solferino, 233
Königgrätz South Africa, 69, 74, 101, 119, 122,
Salisbury, Lord Robert, 10, 41, 52, 166, 171, 205
77, 87, 89, 100–102, 106, 107, Southwest Africa, 77, 110, 152, 256
115–117, 123–125, 167, 168, sovereignty, 2, 3, 31, 89, 177, 222,
170 261, 272
Schlieffen, Alfred von, 183, 209, 232, Spain, 51, 106, 165, 179, 193, 194,
234–235, 236, 238, 241, 244, 205
245, 246, 250, 252, 254, 255, sphere of influence, 101
256, 258. See also Schlieffen Austrian, 86
Plan German, 165
and Moltke the elder, Russian, 78–80, 86, 164, 165
227–230, 231, 239, 240, 255, stalemate, 83, 113, 136, 220, 231
258 State Secretaries (German), 4, 7, 96,
Schlieffen Plan, 63, 189, 235–238, 132, 141, 157, 218
248–258, 259, 282, 288, 292. Strassburg, 61, 63, 230
See also Schlieffen, Alfred von Suez Canal, 26, 51, 54, 55
creation of, 227–238 sultan, Moroccan, 106, 170, 177,
problems with, 238–248, 179, 273
248–252, 253–254, 255–258 sultan, Ottoman, 52, 54, 79, 83, 115
versus Moltke the elder’s strategy,
61, 64, 227–230, 239, 253 tariffs, 77, 136, 137, 140, 155
Schweinitz, Lothar von, 98, 103 Third Naval Amendment, 221–222,
Second Morocco Crisis, 141, 153, 222–226
221, 222, 270–280, 281 Thirty Years’ War, 5, 6, 185
Second Naval Amendment, Thoughts and Reminiscences
213–214, 220 (Bismarck), 4–5, 12, 150
Second Naval Law, 202, 204–208, Three Eastern Monarchies, 38, 39
212 Thucydides, 134
Second Reich, 95, 145 Tirpitz Plan, 156, 189, 202, 204, 216,
security dilemma, 214, 220 217, 218–226, 259
Sedan, 76, 233, 255, 257 Tirpitz, Alfred von, 132, 141, 152,
Selborne, First Sea Lord (William 156, 160–161, 165–166, 191,
Palmer), 164, 172, 206, 208 197–201, 201–202, 202–204,
Senden, Admiral (Gustav von 204–208, 209–210, 212, 213,
Senden-Bibran), 160, 203 214, 215, 217, 218, 259
Serbia, 18, 23, 24–25, 31, 78–79, 86, risk theory, 199, 202, 205, 212
155, 261–268, 269, 282–292 Tirpitz memorandum, 198

340
 Index

Transvaal, 119–120 Wilhelm I (German), 14, 20, 29, 40,

Treaty of Berlin, 80, 261–262, 267, 45, 91, 95, 149
268 Wilhelm II (German), 77, 95–96,
Treaty of Frankfurt, 10, 11, 17 100, 148, 153, 180, 188, 195,
Treaty of Madrid, 51, 178–179 202, 252, 279, 280, 281, 283,
Treaty of San Stefano, 26–27, 31 287, 288
Treitschke, Heinrich von, 71, 145 and Bismarck, 57, 71, 75, 91, 95,
Triple Alliance, 47–49, 50, 98, 99, 97
103–105, 105–109, 111, 112, and Bülow, 160, 263, 265
115, 116, 117–118, 119–121, and Hohenlohe, 159, 160
125, 168, 170, 174, 182, 188, and the German Navy, 195–197,
269 204, 208, 209, 220, 222
Triple Entente, 143, 175, 259, 263, political actions of, 3, 103, 108,
265, 268, 269, 271, 274 112–113, 114, 117, 127,128–
Triple Intervention, 114, 155 130, 130–133, 137, 138–139,
Turkey, 24, 25, 27, 36, 83, 86, 112, 163, 167, 171, 177, 178, 183,
222, 223, 263, 266, 271. See 262, 265, 268, 272, 273, 284
also Ottoman Empire Wilhelmine Germany, 77, 135, 137,
two-front war, 59–60, 84, 105, 109, 139, 140, 141, 142, 144, 146,
227, 231–235, 239, 251 147, 150, 151, 153
two-power standard, 207, 217 World War I, 3, 11, 29, 75, 142, 147,
157, 238, 246, 249, 259, 292
Ukraine, 44, 53 pre–World War I, 157, 227, 230,
unification of Germany (1871), 1–2, 245, 249, 277
4–6, 7, 8, 9–12, 15, 19, 29, 33, post–World War I, 210, 225
46, 56, 58, 59, 65, 69, 72, 92,
112, 126, 135, 144, 145, 148,
150, 182, 192, 193, 244, 245,
278
United States, 71, 110, 122, 164, 165,
167, 175, 179, 193, 194, 205,
211, 252, 266

Waldersee, Alfred von, 90–91, 94,

155, 156, 167, 228, 238, 239,
241
Wallis Bay, 74, 110
“War in Sight” Crisis, 15–22, 34, 59,
84, 153
Weber, Max, 145, 197
Weimar Republic, 141
Weltpolitik (world policy), 146, 149,
151, 155–161, 163, 174, 175,
184, 189, 191

341
 Belfer Center Studies in International Security

Published by The MIT Press

Sean M. Lynn-Jones and Steven E. Miller, series editors
Karen Motley, executive editor
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