THE PLAN AND ITS EXECUTION
But between a plan and its execution there is always a space, and
sometimes an abyss. In this case the chief difficulty consisted in
the ways and means, the choice lying between pacific and warlike
expedients. Germany and Austria-Hungary had tried to rearrange the
Balkan balance of power by diplomatic measures, but failed. Shortly
before and during the Bucharest Conference I had authoritatively
announced their intention to have whatever agreement the Balkan States
might come to laid before them for reference and revision. Congruously
with this announcement, after the Conference they endeavoured to have
the Treaty submitted to them. But the other Powers negatived the
demand emphatically. And Servia naturally would refuse to disgorge.
Diplomacy thus proving ineffectual, other methods were contemplated,
and the most promising seemed a direct conflict with Servia. For the
Central European Powers could not use Turkey as their tool, owing to
her financial dependence on France, the disorganized condition of her
army, her naval inferiority to Greece, and the firm resolve of Roumania
to uphold the Treaty, if needs were by force. The sole remaining
issue, then, was to clip the wings of the little Slav State which had
so suddenly waxed great and would fain soar to dizzier heights at the
cost of the Austrian Eagle. How and when to achieve this feat was the
problem which had for months exercised the ingenuity of the statesmen
of Austria-Hungary and Germany. The wearisome series of negociations
on commercial and railway questions had to be tackled by Vienna and
Belgrade, and it was expected that they would offer the requisite
opportunity. But it turned out on trial that for a serious conflict
they offered no suitable handle. The two military Powers then tackled
Bulgaria, Turkey, and Roumania, who were to form a Balkan League,
with the point turned against Russia. Austria’s wish was to reach
this consummation without risking an open breach with Russia, which,
whatever the upshot, would have subjected her to a painful ordeal.
Here, however, Germany’s statesmen were confronted with no misgivings
as to Russia’s attitude. Austria was fitfully apprehensive. She was
ready to punish Servia and to force her to acquiesce in the partition
of her recently acquired territory, but she was in dread of drawing
in Russia. Germany, whose maxim was to cope with the Entente Powers,
if possible one by one, not with the whole group, would also have
preferred this solution, and believed it most probable, without, of
course, acting on the belief. Her estimate of Russia’s military plight
was, as we saw, very low. Russia’s army was considered to be still
suffering grievously from the effects of the Japanese campaign. Her
military experts were said to be opposed to war. The Tsar himself was
believed to have a horror of a fresh campaign on political and dynastic
grounds.
But there was one little speck of apprehension on this otherwise
cloudless horizon. In November, 1912, when a European war seemed
imminent to many, Russia was in the compromising mood which tallied
with Germany’s expectations. But not all Russia. There was one
exception, but a noteworthy one, which might possibly upset all
calculations. The Tsar having felt his way by eliciting the opinions
of the most experienced men around him, who were almost unanimously
in favour of a compromise, heard one dissentient voice uplifted. He
was advised by the Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolayevitch, the present
Commander-in-Chief of the active army, not to shrink from a spirited
policy solely because war might appear to loom large at the end of
it. Russia could, the Grand Duke held, embark in a military conflict
without any of the risks apprehended by non-military men. Her army
was eager and ready. Its leaders were men of experience and tested
worth, and their strategical ability nowise inferior to that of their
prospective German and Austrian enemies. In a word, it behoved Russia
to pursue that policy which best harmonizes with her interests,
irrespective of the deterrent which war constitutes for so many.
That was the judgment of a Grand Duke who has many friends and some
enemies in his own country, but whom friends and enemies alike regard
as an ideal military leader, full of dash, dauntless, and devoted
to his profession with single-mindedness. Now, this man’s view, the
Germans argued, which was set aside just then, might prevail in a
second crisis. In any case, before opening the campaign against Servia,
it would be well to ascertain which way the wind was blowing. For this
purpose a _ballon d’essai_ might with profit be set flying. Such was
the happy thought which was conceived last spring and promptly carried
out.
Teuton methods are instructive, if not edifying. Almost always they
are crooked, clumsy, and as recognizable as the goods marked “made
in Germany” once were. The device adopted on this occasion formed no
exception to the type. A long and carefully worded letter was sent to
the _Cologne Gazette_ by its correspondent in the Russian capital,
a plodding journalist named Ulrich. In this missive he dwelt on the
Russian army, its present defects and future possibilities, on the
exertions which the Tsar’s Government was making to reorganize it,
on the rôle it was destined to play when it became effective, and on
other cognate topics. The conclusion to which it pointed was: Russia is
very disorganized and weak to-day. Soon she will become redoubtable.
Now is the moment for a preventive war. There will never be a better
opportunity. This letter was known to have been inspired in St.
Petersburg by a high official of a foreign Embassy, who himself had
received instructions either from Vienna or Berlin, or both capitals.
At first suspicion fell upon the German Ambassador, Count Pourtalès,
but he had no difficulty in clearing himself of the charge. The
message had been written and published without his knowledge. Then
an ex-German adjutant of the Tsar was believed to be the inspirer of
the missive. But again the public was on a false scent. I know the
author--the real author--of the letter, and whence his instructions
came. But even now that war is being waged by the Empires involved,
I do not feel at liberty to disclose his name. Nor is it of any
consequence.
What happened was what had been prearranged. All the German newspapers
of importance, taking the essay in the _Cologne Gazette_ as their text,
inaugurated a venomous press campaign against Russia as the marplot of
Europe and the enemy of the German people.
Why, it was asked, should she seek to reorganize her army if she
harboured no aggressive designs against Germany and Austria? Who
menaces her? Torrents of vituperation flowed through the canal of the
German and Austrian press, and for a few days it looked as if diplomacy
itself would be sucked into the vortex. For nearly a fortnight this
concerted attack on Russia was steadily pursued.
One day, before there were any signs of its abating, a telling article
appeared in an evening paper of St. Petersburg, the _Birshevya
Vedomosti_. And like the production of the _Cologne Gazette_ it,
too, was inspired, but inspired by the Tsar’s gifted War Minister,
Sukhomlinoff. And in this article were enumerated the army reforms
which had been put through by the War Office since the Manchurian
campaign. The peace effective, it was said, had been increased
considerably, the standard of training had been raised, the fortresses
supplied with material of the newest type, the artillery possessed more
effective guns than those of Austria or France, the air fleet disposed
of numerous aerial dreadnoughts, and Russia’s army was in a position,
and likewise in the mood, to assume the offensive instead of limiting
itself to the rôle heretofore assigned to it by Berlin and Vienna of
awaiting the enemy’s onslaught.
Such was the burden of M. Sukhomlinoff’s message. It was sharply
criticized by the Austro-German press, in the light of the documents to
which I have already alluded. Those vaunted reforms, it was urged, were
all imaginary. They stood not for results achieved, but for defects to
be remedied. No such results had been attained as yet, nor even striven
for. They could not be attempted without the expenditure of large sums
set apart for those specific purposes, and in Berlin and in Vienna we
know, as well as in St. Petersburg, that no large credits were allotted
to the army. “We also are aware,” it was added, “that the War Minister
will shortly ask the Duma to vote a credit for these very reforms, and
it is not to our interest to wait inactive until they are carried out.
Within three years they are not realizable, and before the expiry of
this term it behoves us to square accounts with the Tsardom.”
Soon afterwards the Russian War Minister did ask the Duma for an
extraordinary credit for the defences of the Empire. And he received it
without a dissentient voice among the recognized parliamentary parties.
Thus the statements of the _Birshevya Vedomosti_ made little impression
either in Berlin or Vienna, where the belief was still hugged that
Russia would have to recoil from war and adjust her diplomacy to this
recognized necessity.
This belief was destined to be further strengthened by the controversy
which raged around Russian finances as soon as the patriotic Premier
and Finance Minister had been relieved of his duties. M. Kokofftseff
had accomplished much as Minister of Finances and also as Premier. But
he was cordially disliked by the Germans, whose plots and intrigues
he had seen through and baulked. He had never allowed himself to be
cajoled by German flattery or hoodwinked by German wiles. The alliance
with France and the good understanding with Great Britain lay at the
foundations of his policy. And he made no secret of his convictions.
On his fall, which was hailed as a triumph by the Germans, his home
critics analysed his financial policy, and some of them charged him
with niggardliness towards the army. To my knowledge, however, it was
he who arranged for the extraordinary credit to be allotted to the
Russian War Office, which M. Sukhomlinoff received last March.
But the gravest count in the wide indictment against M. Kokofftseff
turned upon his financial operations and their alleged effect upon
Russia’s foreign policy, and her ability to uphold that policy by force
of arms. It was asserted, as I have already said, that the free reserve
of gold which was fondly supposed to be safe in the Imperial Bank,
ready for any national emergency, had been dissipated for the time
being and was immobilized. This enormous sum had, it was stated, been
lent out by the Bank to private financial institutions throughout the
Empire. One milliard and fifty million roubles! And these institutions
in turn had distributed this money among private individuals, doubtless
on good securities, but for unjustifiably long terms. Now, if a
national crisis were to break out while these terms were still running,
all that money would be locked up, the Tsar’s Government would have at
its disposal at most a miserable pittance of sixteen millions sterling,
and the Empire would be confronted with bankruptcy.
This pessimistic judgment, embroidered with figures and calculations,
was, as we have seen, treasured up in Berlin, Vienna, and Budapest,
where it produced an impression that may be truly termed decisive. It
certainly contributed in a large measure to change the loose belief
into a hard conviction that Russia was definitely debarred from
appearing on the field of battle against Austria, and, of course,
against Germany. This I know. And yet the allegations in question were
partly unfounded, partly exaggerated, and so little remained when truth
had been sifted from fiction that the weighty conclusions based upon
them by Germany and Austria lacked solid support. Subsequent events
have shown this conclusively. But it was not then realized by either of
the two Governments, whose leading members had pored over the figures
until they knew them by heart. It is my unalterable conviction that if
Germany had been delivered from this naive illusion respecting Russia,
and from certain others bearing upon Great Britain and Ireland, the war
now waging would have been--postponed.
Another miscalculation which played a part in heartening the Central
European Powers had to do with the internal condition of the Tsardom.
And it was accounted incompatible with any strenuous military
endeavour. Nowadays wars are waged not by dynasties, but by armed
nations. The entire nation shoulders its rifle and goes forth to do
battle with the foe. But unless it does so resolutely and unanimously,
the outlook is dismal. Now, can Russia accomplish this? it was
asked. And by way of answering the query the various elements of the
population were passed in review, the non-Russians coming first.
Are the Finns (it was queried) likely to join hands with the
Orthodox inhabitants who have been encroaching steadily on the
guaranteed rights of the Grand Duchy? Is it not infinitely more
likely that if the Tsar’s army were hard pressed, these once
loyal subjects would rise up against it? And is it not equally
certain that Sweden, despite her official neutrality, would lose
no chance of aiding and abetting them? Is it to be supposed that
the Poles would act differently? Have they any motive for liking
Russia, still more for sacrificing themselves to succour her? Can
the Little Russians and the people of the Caucasus be credited with
more cordial feelings towards their conquerors than those which
animate the Finns and the Poles? And the Jews? Would not these
be the most dangerous of Russia’s foes, because they would ally
themselves with the domestic as well as the foreign enemies of the
Empire, creating insuperable difficulties on the railway lines, in
the army, in finances?
Coming to the Russians themselves, we find whole sections of them
as badly disposed towards their Government as the Jews, the Poles,
and the Finns. The industrial population is one seething mass of
disaffection. Rebellion is smouldering among them, and needs only
a puff of wind, such as a European war would supply in abundance,
to break out into flame.[6] Before Russia could decide to go to war
she would have to station one army corps in Finland, another in
Poland, and a third and fourth in the interior to keep order among
the restless peasants, who have their own aims and grievances,
which would have to be considered if war broke out. In a word,
Russia is bound hand and foot. She cannot make a warlike move. And
if her diplomatists speak as though she contemplated such a step,
it will be nothing more than bluff.
Moving along this line of reasoning, the statesmen of Berlin and
Vienna reached the comforting conclusion that they had nothing to
fear from the Tsardom. And that was the crucial point that had needed
elucidation. For if the Tsar’s Government remained inactive while
Servia was being punished and Turkey and Bulgaria bribed, there
would be no cause to apprehend a hitch. Certes, no European Power
would risk hostilities to help Servia out of a tight place, or,
indeed, to bring about any change in the map of the Balkans. The only
interference possible must come from the Tsardom, and if that Empire
were indeed paralysed, opposition from the group of three Powers would
be eliminated. And it was clear that Russia was, for the moment at
any rate, paralysed in almost every organ. The Tsar, the Duma, the
army, the War Office, the Finance Ministry, the ethnic elements of the
Empire, held each other in check.
That this was the theory held in Berlin, and with a trifle less
tenacity and conviction in Vienna, I know. I can also aver that the
principal grounds on which it was based were those which I have set
forth. And although it is idle now to speculate on what might have
been under conditions that were not realized, I think one may fairly
hazard the conjecture that if it had been proved to the satisfaction
of the statesmen of Austria that their inferences and the half-truths
or undiluted errors from which they drew them were indeed erroneous,
and that Russia’s forbearance would not stretch as far as the meditated
aggression nor her resources prove as limited as her enemies’ theories
assumed, the ultimatum to Servia would have been worded by Austria,
acting alone and in accordance with international usage, and the
demands it embodied would have been whittled down to the maximum of
what could reasonably have been exacted.
But Germany was literally too well informed and too little qualified
to determine the bearings of the overwhelming mass of materials
for a judgment which were laid before her. While immersing herself
in so-called facts, she left out of sight the soul of the nation,
with whose holiest possessions she was about to tamper. Despite her
undoubted gifts of observation and analysis, Prussianized Germany
is entirely lacking in the psychological sense. She deals with the
superficial, the obvious. As though a nation’s history were the
resultant of a sequence of lifeless events, of outward changes! As
though the inherited streams of racial impulse, of national volition,
of patriotic, irrepressible energy went for nothing in the equation!
As though the latent forces and tendencies of centuries would not
be brought into far resonant action by the rousing of slumbering
passion, by the fire-flames which the shock of war must kindle! In
all her minute calculations, Prussia’s materialistic leaders lost
sight of the spiritual, of the ideals that haunt a nation’s soul and
infuse into it in moments of stress a superhuman strength capable of
working miracles. The wild enthusiasm dormant in the Russian race,
but ready to start into life and action for the support of a heroic
cause, constitute an algebraical x for the Prussian calculator, who can
measure only coarse energies and brutal forces.