FORCING THE QUARREL
Prussian logic having thus triumphantly proved that the one prospective
enemy must remain quiescent, drew the obvious conclusion that the
other Powers of the Entente would not move a finger to baulk Austria
of her prey. And this was an all-important factor in the reckoning of
the Teutonic States. Russia’s active participation in the war would
perhaps entail, besides the onrush of her own countless swarms, the
co-operation of France, whereas the fundamental axiom of Prussia’s
war policy was to seek to try issues with each member of the Entente
separately, and for this purpose to force such a quarrel, now upon one,
now upon the other, as would leave the interests of that member’s
allies untouched for the time being. A further device was to constrain
the enemy formally to play the part of aggressor, so as to provide
a convenient bridge for the allies to withdraw within the sphere
of benevolent neutrality. This latter precaution was not adopted
towards Russia, the reason being the aforesaid conviction that, come
what might, Russia’s inactivity was a foregone conclusion. There are
convincing grounds for my statement that this consideration supplied
the motive for the Kaiser’s amendment to the Austrian ultimatum,
limiting the time given to Servia for reflection to forty-eight
hours[7] and for according to the Russians only twelve hours to
demobilize.
Austria-Hungary, whose quarrel with Servia was the little well-spring
from which the world-stream of armies took its source, showed herself
some degrees less confident than her Prussian ally. Her statesmen were
swayed by an instinctive forefeeling that some great element of the
Russian problem was still unaccounted for and might suddenly spring up
and upset all calculations. Tabulated figures and copies of the reports
of certain pessimistic Russian public men carried conviction to their
minds, but failed to dispel irrational fears. This despondent frame of
mind was intensified by the knowledge that if the punitive expedition
against Servia were to culminate in a European war, the Dual Monarchy
stood to lose more than her ally. And if fortune should prove adverse,
the Habsburg Monarchy would, in all probability, go to pieces.
To the members of the Vienna and Budapest Cabinets, therefore, caution
seemed more imperatively demanded than to their Berlin colleagues.
No effort, however, was spared by the German Ambassador in Vienna,
von Tschirschky, to bring vividly home to Counts Berchtold and Tisza
the utter disorganization of the Russian finances, armies, railways,
and administration, and to dissipate their ineradicable misgivings.
But in spite of the Ambassador’s incessant exertions, there was ever
present to the Austro-Hungarian mind a residue of doubt and disquietude
which stood in jarring contrast to the insolent demands embodied in
the amended ultimatum. And after that document had been presented in
Belgrade, and the desired answer received from the Servian Premier,
Pasitch, the anxiety of Austria’s statesmen threw a still darker cloud
over the vista that opened before them.
If Russia were to remain neutral during the punishment of Servia, it
was plain that France, too, would keep quiet. Her Government had no
concern with the way in which the Balkan equilibrium was established;
it cherished no sympathies with Bosnian assassins, and it had no spare
funds for military ventures. Still less were the French people desirous
of embarking on a European struggle for aims which could not be made
plausible to the average bourgeois taxpayer. French money had been
poured into Russia in never-ending streams, but that streams of French
blood should follow it was inconceivable to the mind of the people.
This line of reasoning was unanswerable. Given Russia’s neutrality,
then France’s quiescence was unquestionable. But suppose the premisses
turned out to be a mistake? Assuming, as during those anxious days
Austrians sometimes did, that Russia, belying all calculations, rose
up and girded her loins for battle, what then? The Republic would
assuredly throw in its lot with the Tsardom. Of that it would be rash
to doubt. Now, what this would mean to the two Central military States
was the next question which it behoved them to put clearly and solve
fully. And this is how they did it.
France (it was argued) is in the last phase of political
decadence. Comfort, luxury, self-indulgence, and the financial
means to procure these are the goal of her latter-day strivings.
She has no faith, no moral or religious ideals, no lofty
aspirations, no generous ambitions. Her enthusiasms are burnt out,
her thirst for military glory is stilled by historic memories. She
possesses territory enough to absorb whatever energies she may
still have left. Contented to live as she now is, her one desire
is to be undisturbed. Above all else, she loathes the idea of a
war which would bereave her of her material well-being and force
her to put forth strenuous exertions for which she no longer has
the heart. Her population, and therefore the race itself, is being
systematically sacrificed to this love of ease. Peace, universal
peace, is the French ideal to-day, and pacificism the form in which
it is popularized for the man in the street. Look at the debates
on the introduction of the three years’ military service in the
Republic, and compare the reception accorded to that measure by
the nation with the way in which the German race received, nay,
welcomed, the sacrifices imposed by the recent war-tax. The truth
is, France is undergoing a process of rapid decay. The martial
spirit that flashed forth during the French Revolution and nerved
the nation to withstand the world was the last flicker before
extinction. The people of France is dying of self-indulgence.
And coming to particulars, the public men of the Military Powers
derided the army and the navy. They revelled in accounts of the
long sequence of mishaps that befell French warships a couple of
years ago. They savoured the stories of the powder that was not
only smokeless, but fireless, when it was needed for the guns,
and which exploded quickly enough to hurl ships and crews into
destruction. Yet the most patriotic statesman of the Republic, M.
Delcassé, was then presiding over the destinies of the Republic’s
sea forces. And as for the army, who, it was asked, has forgotten
the exodus of its best generals and officers on account of the
treatment to which their views on religion subjected them? Here
in Germany we have Catholic generals and officers fighting side
by side with Protestants and Atheists, because one and all we are
and feel ourselves Germans. It is possible that our Government
or our Kaiser may impose a Professor on a University because he
is an Orthodox Lutheran or a good Catholic, as was the case when
the Kaiser sent Professor Spahn to a University chair in order
to conciliate the Centre. But is it conceivable that any man,
however influential or favoured, should receive a command in the
German army or navy on other grounds than his strictly technical
qualifications? Of course not. If we possessed a really good
strategist, he would make his way to the top even if he were an
incarnate demon. We have no political appointments in either of
our services. There the maxim is supreme that the career is open
to talents. For over forty years we have concentrated all our
energies, diplomatic, financial, scientific, technical, upon the
creation of two formidable weapons of defence and aggression,
and have subordinated every other consideration to that end. What
other people in Europe has done this, nay, attempted it? And we now
possess that weapon. There is not the slightest doubt that if the
Republic were foolish enough to venture all it has and is on the
issue of a war with Germany, it would not stop at this blunder. It
would go further, and select for its army leaders men who are good
radicals or republicans, and who never go to mass, rather than able
military men who can handle millions of soldiers and make their
mark in strategy.
“You must surely have read the disclosures about the plight of the
French army recently made by Senator Humbert,” politicians remarked
to me. “They reveal a condition of affairs which renders France,
as we say in German, ‘harmless.’ It would be a mistake, therefore,
to take the Republic too seriously. Such fighting power as is left
in her is but a pithless simulacrum of what once was hers. You
doubt the accuracy of the Senator’s allegations? But they are of
a piece with everything else we saw and heard and knew of France
long before M. Humbert rose to complain of the mess his friends
and colleagues had made of the national defences. But if you want
a more direct proof, read the corroborating testimony of the
present War Minister, M. Messimy. That personage must surely know.
He took stock of his department before uttering his opinion. And
he endorsed the judgment of the Senator. No. France among virile
nations is what Maxim Gorky’s ‘beings that once were men’ are among
the social classes. She is to be included among the submerged.
And that is why your Government will shake her off if she is
drawn into war for Russia’s sake. You cannot save a nation against
itself. And France is dying gradually of self-inflicted wounds.
“One of the most valuable assets of a nation which has to hold its
possessions by force of arms is the ease and rapidity with which
it can get its fighting men and material together and throw them
into the enemy’s country. Well, no country can approach Germany
or even Austria in this respect. Our system of mobilization goes
with unparalleled smoothness and velocity. To use a slang phrase,
which is not without picturesqueness, it works with the swiftness
and sureness of greased lightning. Now of all countries in Europe,
Russia herself not excepted, the French are the most backward in
this respect. Forty-four years’ peace have not provided them with
leisure enough to make perceptible progress in this elementary
operation of war.”
To my query on what grounds this amazing statement could be advanced
and supported, I was treated to a sort of lecture on the subject
which was then applied to the French railway system in the following
ingenious way:
What mobilization is to a campaign, the railway system of a country
is to mobilization. Almost everything depends upon the smooth and
rapid running of the trains from all parts of the country to the
base, and from there to the front or fronts. Order and rapidity are
essential to success. And in the railway system of the Republic
you look for these qualities in vain. To you who have travelled
much in France the truth of this statement should be self-evident.
Everybody who has used the German and French railways has had the
contrast between them borne in upon him unpleasantly. Once off the
principal lines in France, you find yourself in a railway sphere a
quarter of a century behind the times. Examine the rolling stock,
inspect the carriages, watch the railway officials at their work,
compare the time-tables with the actual hours of the trains’
departure and arrival, and you will then be able to form some
notion of the disadvantage under which the French armies would
begin a campaign against this country. They would resemble the
warrior who, having set out for the field of battle, had to go home
for the weapons which he had forgotten.
Military transport in war-time is a much more formidable enterprise
than the conveyance, say, of agricultural produce in peace. In
fact, there is no comparison between them. But if the easier of the
two problems makes impossible demands on the railway system, one
is warranted in concluding that the more difficult one will prove
wholly beyond its capacities. Well, that demonstration has already
been made in the eyes of the world.
The test case occurred in the autumn of the year 1911, and we
watched it closely.[8] In Austria-Hungary, Germany, Switzerland,
and Italy the fruit-crops had failed, and the demand for fruit
in those countries was unprecedented. Most of their supplies had
to be drawn from France. On the French railways, therefore, an
unusually heavy strain was put, very much less, of course, than
one would look for during a general mobilization, but still a
telling strain. One difference, however, there was between the
two emergencies: the export of French fruit in abnormal quantities
had been anticipated and prepared for in advance, whereas the need
for mobilization might make itself felt unawares and without any
margin of time for preparative measures. Well, the French railway
administration provided for the exportation of these enormous
quantities of fruit no less than 15,000 wagons. The average
distance over which this produce had to be conveyed was in round
numbers six hundred miles.
Some of the trains accomplished the journey much quicker than
others. But the swiftest of them all took twelve or thirteen days.
And these expeditious ones were few. The next in order required
three weeks--three whole weeks for a journey of 600 miles in peace
time, and despite a long notification and elaborate preparations.
But some of the trains were four, five, and even six weeks on the
way. One hundred miles a week for perishable fruit, which rotted
at the stations and sidings! Now, over against this speed-rate of
thirty miles a day in normal times, you have to set the speed of
the German and Austrian military train in war-time. It is thirty
miles an hour. And the German goods trains running to the western
borders of the Empire go from six to eight and a half times more
quickly than the French.
With the reasons for this astounding backwardness we are not, they
went on to say, concerned. That is the business of the Republic,
not ours. Speaking summarily, one might fairly ascribe it to the
lack of sufficient numbers of side stations, soundly laid rails,
of engines and rolling stock, and last, but nowise least, to the
Republican system of railway administration. In this branch of
the public service, as in the army and the navy, what is most
peremptorily required is authority, and that in France is lacking.
Everybody wants to command, nobody cares to obey. Not only an army,
but also a railway administration should be organized on the lines
of an absolute monarchy--of a despotic State, if you like--one
man’s will and its manifestations, direct and indirect, being law,
and from that law there should be no facile appeal. Unless this
condition is realized, you cannot reasonably expect to get from
the railway mechanism all the advantages which the general staff
should be able to count on securing from it in war-time. This is
especially true in France, where personal jealousy or disfavour so
often disqualifies talent and pitchforks mediocrity into the high
places of responsibility and trust. In short, France is politically
moribund. From her we have nothing to fear. She will certainly not
go to war to shield Servia from well-deserved punishment. And that
is precisely the present issue.
On two occasions since then these strictures and the German
anticipations which were built upon them came back to my mind with
painful vividness. During the first couple of weeks after the war,
I heard the Belgians in Liége, Louvain, Brussels, Alost, Ghent, and
Bruges anxiously inquiring, “Where are the French troops that should
be here to succour us? When are they coming? It is only a few hours’
railway journey to Paris. Why are they not here? Surely they have
had ample time to get to Belgium.” And when I ransacked my brain for
a comforting reply, all I found there was the image of the German
statesman propounding his view of French railways and the chaotic
confusion which would accompany and retard mobilization.
The second time I recalled that conversation on reading the newspaper
accounts of the fall of Namur. The Namur forts were to have held out
for weeks or months, we had been told, because they were the most
powerful in Europe, and also because the triangle between the Sambre
and the Meuse was held by French army corps in great force. But it
turned out that the French troops which were believed to be there had
not yet arrived, owing to difficulties that had been encountered _in
the mobilization_. These were the difficulties that had been foretold
me, that were confidently counted upon by the German War Ministry, and
of which I warned the French Government over two years ago.
Those statements were volunteered to me in order that I should make
them known in Great Britain as arguments to be taken into account when
the attitude of our own Government came up for discussion. As a matter
of course, I never brought them forward, my own conviction having
been uttered in season and out of season for twenty years--that all
Germany’s energies, military, naval, financial, commercial, diplomatic,
and journalistic, had been focussed upon exhaustive preparations for
a tremendous struggle to establish Teutonic supremacy in Europe, that
that struggle was unavoidable, and that the German war-machine was in
all respects worthy of the money, time, and energies that had been
spent on creating and perfecting it, and that no European army could
compete with it. Over and over again I expressed my regret at finding
the people of Great Britain irrationally hopeful and unsuspecting,
utterly ignorant of Germany’s systematic strivings and subversive
machinations, yet unwilling to learn from those who were conversant
with these matters. A considerable section of the French people was
equally trustful and supine. They were the blind of the class that will
not see. They pointed to the honest Chancellor, to the peace-loving
Kaiser, to the fair-minded professors and journalists who had assured
the British people that it had nothing to fear, and to the treaties
which they considered binding. They laughed to scorn the notion that
these instruments would be treated as scraps of paper.
In October, 1911, I wrote:
The truth is, in this country we fail utterly to fathom the
German _psyche_, just as in the Fatherland they misunderstand the
workings of the national British soul. What is meanwhile clear
enough is that the peace of Europe is at the mercy of well-armed,
restless, ill-balanced Germany; that no section of that gifted and
enterprising people differs sufficiently in its mode of thought
and feeling from any other section to warrant our regarding it
as a check upon rash impulse, vengeful aggression, or predatory
designs; _that treaties possess no binding or deterrent force, and
that friendly conduct on the part of Great Britain or France has no
propitiatory effect. Brute force is the only thing that counts; and
henceforth the Peace Powers must store it up at all costs_.[9]
Three months later I wrote:
Germany would fain get wealthy colonies without the sacrifice
of money and blood, but she is bent on getting them, cost what
they may. And that is one of the main factors which it behoves us
to bear in mind. Another is that in the pursuit of her aims she
deems all means good. Success is the unique test. “You can expect
forgiveness for a breach of faith only from a foe worsted on the
battlefield,” says a latter-day German aphorism.[10]
Those statements, forecasts, and warnings were clear and emphatic. I
had been urging them on the attention of the British nation for twenty
years. But the bulk of the British nation refused to think evil of
their German cousins, whom I was believed to be calumniating.
But I continued to set the facts as I knew them before the public, and
the line of action which our rivals would, and we should, follow under
those difficult conditions I sketched briefly in the following words:
The spirit in which German statesmen deem it meet and advantageous
to hold intercourse with foreign nations is apparently as
far removed from ours as the moon from the earth. Not only
sentimentality, but more solid motives which can be much less
easily missed, are lacking.... The practical outcome of this would
seem to be that British relations towards Germany should be marked
by cordiality, frankness, and a desire to let live, bounded by the
vital necessity of abstaining from everything calculated to give
umbrage to our intimate friends. And in the second place, from this
line of conduct _we should look for no abiding results, because it
cannot touch the heart of the rival nation_.[11]
But the faith of the easy-going British people and Government in
Germany’s honour and in the sincerity of her peace professions was
unshaken. They seemed possessed by the demons of credulity and
pacificism. Like the Russian Tsar who on the eve of the Manchurian
campaign exclaimed, “There cannot be war because I am in favour of
peace,” they fancied that because Great Britain was satiated with
territory and only demanded to be left in the undisturbed enjoyment
of what she possessed, therefore Germany, who yearned for territorial
expansion, would suppress her longings, relinquish her costly plans,
and likewise work for peace. That, too, was the belief of our own
Government, with the exception of a few permanent officials who, having
travelled, heard, and seen what was going on, yielded to the evidence
of their senses and bore witness to what they knew.
Accordingly the British Foreign Office set its hand to the work of
establishing peace, animated by a spirit of compromise which, sooth to
say, is rare in these days of national egotism and narrow patriotic
endeavour. Lord Haldane visited Berlin. An exchange of views took
place between that capital and London. Hopes of arriving at an
understanding on all points were entertained and expressed. And I, as
a friend of peace and a citizen of my country, felt bound to second
those endeavours to the best of my limited means. But I took care to
accompany my support with a warning. For I regarded Prussia’s attitude
as a snare. Acquainted with the methods of her diplomacy, I recognized
the trail of the serpent in the movements of the dove. This is what I
wrote:
After a long period of political estrangement Great Britain and
Germany are now circumspectly endeavouring to make friends again.
The effort is painful and success is dubious, but it is recognized
that the present conjuncture is the flood-water of opportunity.
It must be now or not until after distrust has become enmity, and
peaceful rivalry has degenerated into war.... It is felt that
whatever is feasible in the way of healing the wounds which are
still aching must be effected at once. The British Government and
nation not only favour an understanding, but are eager to see it
arranged. They are prepared to make sacrifices for it, on condition
that it is no mere semblance of a settlement.[12]
But I made it clear that we could “look for no abiding results” from
any settlement of our differences to which we might come, because
we were dealing with a Government and a nation whose assurances are
worthless, and whose promises are no more than a scrap of paper. Since
then the Imperial Chancellor has borne out what I then advanced in
words and acts that have branded his nation with the stigma of infamy.
But the well-meaning pacifists of all shades and degrees, from the
wordy interpreters of Prussian philosophies in high places down to
the credulous man in the street, who pinned his faith to the business
instincts of our German customers, clung tenaciously to their
comfortable faith. At last, five months ago, I uttered a further
warning:
Among the new or newly intensified currents of political life now
traversing the Continents of Europe, none can be compared in its
cultural and political bearings and influence with the rivalry
between the Slav and Teutonic races. This is no mere dispute about
territorial expansion, political designs, or commercial advantages.
It is a ruthless struggle for mastery in all domains of national
and international existence, which, so far as one can now see,
may at most be retarded by diplomatic goodwill on both sides, but
can hardly be settled with finality by any treaty or convention.
For here we are dealing with an instinctive, semi-conscious
movement which obeys natural laws, and not with a deliberate
self-determining agency which may be modified by argument or swayed
by persuasion.[13]
In that same article I gave Germany’s plea for a preventive war,
which I felt was then in the air. And I quoted the pregnant remark
of my German colleague of the _Berliner Tageblatt_, who deliberately
wrote: “It cannot be gainsaid that the growth of Russia is in itself
a peril.” This chosen people, these apostles of culture and humanity,
could not brook the natural growth of a gifted neighbour. Russia must
be exterminated that Germany might thrive.
The Governments of Germany and Austria-Hungary then considered that the
odds against Russia’s participation in a war to shield Servia were,
under the existing conditions, almost tantamount to certainty. The
German Ambassador in Vienna stated this positively to our Ambassador
there and to his other colleagues. It was an axiom which admitted of
no question. It followed that France and Great Britain would also
hold aloof, and a duel with a foregone conclusion could, under these
propitious conditions, be fought by Austria against Servia. And this
was the state of things for which the Central European Powers had been
making ready from the conclusion of the Bucharest Treaty down to the
assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. This monstrous crime,
for which there are neither excuse nor extenuating circumstances,
wholly changed the aspect of affairs, and provided the Teutonic allies
with a most welcome war-cry which was sure to rally their friends,
while immobilizing their enemies. It was not, therefore, to be wondered
at that they took such a long time to study the ways and means of
utilizing it to the fullest. And in this they succeeded so well that
France, Great Britain, Italy, and even Russia freely admitted Austria’s
right not merely to punish Servia for her aggressive agitation, but
also to take effective guarantees for her future good behaviour.
Never before was European public sentiment so universally and
whole-heartedly on the side of Austria-Hungary. Every nation and
political party sympathized with her aged monarch and supported the
legitimate claims of her Government. If the grievances ostensibly
put forward in Vienna and Budapest, and recognized by all civilized
peoples, had really represented the full extent of what Austria desired
to see redressed once for all, there would have been no war. And
left to herself, Austria would probably have contented herself with
this measure of amends for the past and guarantees for the future.
But she was not a free agent. In all fundamental issues she is the
vassal of Prussia. And the development of this crisis brought out
their inseparability in sharp outline and relief. Every act of the
Austro-Hungarian Government, from the moment when the Archduke fell in
Sarajevo to the declaration of war against Servia, was conceived with
the knowledge and collaboration of Berlin, and performed sometimes at
its instigation and always with its approval.
Germany herself is commonly said to have been bent upon war from the
outset of the crisis. Conscious of her readiness for the struggle,
she is supposed to have been eager to seize on the puissant war-cry
afforded her by the crime of Sarajevo to profit by the military
unpreparedness of France, Russia, and Great Britain, and the internal
strife in these countries, which had seemingly struck their diplomacy
with paralysis and disqualified their Governments from taking part in
a European conflict.
That this theory is erroneous I know on the highest authority. Having
watched, sometimes at close quarters, the birth, growth, cultivation,
and ripening of the scheme which has now borne fruit in the bitterest
and most tremendous war on record, and having had more than once
some of the decisive State papers under my eyes, I can affirm that
Germany’s hope and desire and striving were on the opposite side. She
deprecated a European war sincerely. She sought to ward it off by
every means compatible with the realization of her main scheme, and
she was disappointed beyond words at her failure. Her main scheme was
to deal with each of the Entente Powers separately, and to reserve
Great Britain for the last. And it was presumably in furtherance of
this programme that Admiral von Tirpitz tendered his advice to the
Kaiser--as we are told he did--not to break with England yet, but to
conciliate her by every available means, and thus to gain time for the
German navy to reach the standard which would enable it to cope with
ours.
That the German scheme of separating the Entente Powers and crushing
them one by one was feasible will hardly be denied. One has only to
read the recent diplomatic correspondence on the crisis in the light
of certain other data to realize how lucky the Entente Powers may
account themselves at having been provoked one and all by Germany.
Each Power felt strongly tempted to circumscribe its own interests to
the narrowest limits, and to keep its powder dry until these were
manifestly assailed. That was the temper of the Entente States. “In the
present case,” Sir Edward Grey explained to the German Ambassador, “the
dispute between Austria and Servia was not one in which we felt called
to take a hand. Even if the question became one between Austria and
Russia, we should not feel called upon to take a hand in it.”
Clearly, then, Germany might tackle Russia without drawing Great
Britain to the side of her enemy. But even “if Germany were involved,”
the Foreign Secretary went on to say, “and France became involved, we
had not made up our minds what we should do.” Consequently it might
well seem no great feat of diplomacy for Germany to set inducements
and deterrents before us sufficiently powerful to keep us neutral. In
no case was the Prussian scheme of dealing separately with each Power
chimerical.
The invasion of Servia as the first step had a twofold object for
Germany, who encouraged it from the outset: first, to gratify her
Austrian ally, on whom Servia had in truth inflicted terrific losses
during the past four years, thus enabling the Habsburgs to cripple
the independent Slavs of the South, and obtain guarantees against
the recurrence of the evil; and then to compel the principal Balkan
States to form a block against Russia, so that they could be relied
upon as a new Great Power in the coming struggle against that Empire.
On this subject I write with knowledge, having myself taken a hand
more than once in the international negociations which had the Balkan
equilibrium for their object. The first phase in the Teutonic advance
towards supreme world-power, then, was the tossing aside of the
Bucharest Treaty as a worthless scrap of paper, and the formation of
this Balkan League. And the first serious obstacle to it was raised by
myself in a series of negociations which may be made public elsewhere.
Germany, therefore, was not anxious to bring about a European war
just yet. On the contrary, her efforts to postpone it were sincere
and strenuous. And to her thinking she had reduced the chances of a
clash of nations to a faint possibility. Consequently it would be
much nearer the mark to say that, convinced that she would succeed in
“localizing the war,” she was bent on carrying out her policy in every
event, but that this policy being ultimately found incompatible with
the vital interests of Russia, the limits of whose forbearance she had
miscalculated, led necessarily to the present conflict. But for this
emergency, too, she had been extensively preparing and deemed herself
quite ready. Into Germany’s calculations and expectations I have more
than once had an insight, and I can affirm that she was twice out in
her reckoning of the probabilities. I ought, however, emphatically to
add that even for one of these miscalculations she made due allowance.
When the latent crisis became acute the opinion prevailed in Berlin
that the stability of the Tsar’s dynasty, as well as the solvency and
the integrity of his Empire, were bound up with the maintenance of
peace, and that Russia, being thus fettered, Austria would be allowed,
with certain formal reserves, to have a free hand against Servia. And
Germany’s initial efforts were directed to enlisting the co-operation
of Great Britain and of France in the task of securing this advantage
for her ally. That is why she was credited with a praiseworthy desire
to restrict the war-area as much as possible.
As we have seen, the grounds for Germany’s optimistic forecast
were reinforced by the opinions of certain Russian authorities.
These experts strongly held that a war with Germany would open the
sluice-gates of disaster for their country. There are always such
Calchases in every land, but Russia possesses an abnormally large
number of them. Some of these views were committed to paper, laid
before the highest authorities, and also reported simultaneously to
the Foreign Office in Berlin. The financial, military, and political
considerations adduced in support of these conclusions were also fully
set forth in the communications on the subject which Germany’s agents
in St. Petersburg supplied to the Wilhelmstrasse. Much of interest
might be written on this aspect of the preliminaries to the war--much
that is striking, instructive, and in a way sensational--but this is
hardly the moment for anything in the nature of startling disclosures.
In what the policy consisted which Germany and Austria pursued under
the mask of indignation against the Servian abettors of murder is
well known by now even to the general public. Over and over again I
unfolded it in the columns of the _Daily Telegraph_; and from the day
on which ominous rumours about Austria’s expected Note to Servia began
to disquiet Europe, I announced that the assassination of the Archduke
Franz Ferdinand was but the flimsiest of pretexts, that Austria was
minded to take the initiative in the struggle of the Teutons against
the Slavs, and that the European press was making a strange mistake in
accepting the theory that her aim was the condign punishment of the
accomplices of the assassins. I added that this was no dispute, in the
ordinary sense of the term, between Austria and Servia; it was only a
question of which of the two could impose its will on the other. In a
word, it was a trial of strength--_eine Machtfrage_.
Germany’s aim, I repeat, was, and had long been, to sever the bonds
that linked France with Russia, so as to be able to tackle each one
separately. The methods to which her statesmen had recourse in order
to effect a severance between the two allies were of a piece with the
expedients now being resorted to for the purpose of egging on Turkey to
a breach of her neutrality--such as the forging of Mr. Burns’ alleged
oration and the speech of the Lord Mayor of London against the war.
But some of them which have never yet been even hinted at are far more
sensational even than this. One of the Kaiser’s own little schemes
which has never been mentioned even in well-informed diplomatic
circles outdid in breeziness the episode of the scrap of paper.
The Entente was to be dealt with like an artichoke--to have leaf
after leaf torn off. To attain this Germany employed fair means and
foul--first flattered and cajoled the French--and when blandishments
failed passed abruptly to brutal threats. But her diplomacy in its
obsequious as well as its menacing mood had failed of its purpose.
And now war was to be essayed as a means to the end, but a war with
Servia only. Its objects, as we saw, were materially to weaken Slavdom,
humiliate Russia, create a Balkan League against that Empire, and
supply an object-lesson to those politicians in France who were opposed
to the alliance with the Tsardom, on the ground that it might at any
moment involve the Republic in a sanguinary struggle for obscure Slav
interests. The duel contemplated was to be confined to Austria-Hungary
and Servia. Every lever was to be moved to keep it restricted to
that narrow compass. As an Austrian victory would ensure a partial
dismemberment of Servia, to be followed by a new grouping of the Balkan
States--this time under the ægis of the Habsburgs--the Central European
Powers would have won a most useful ally in the shape of a new and
compact Balkan League.
A partnership of Turkey, Bulgaria, Roumania, and Greece, under the
lead of Austria and Germany, Servia being constrained to keep the
step with these, would have constituted a stout bulwark against the
tide of Slavdom flowing towards the Adriatic, and a puissant ally in
the event of a European war. That this was a real scheme, and is not
merely an inference or an assumption, may be taken as certain. I became
acquainted with the details of it at its inception. Bulgaria knows it
and Turkey knows it. Bulgaria’s pressing offer, made to Turkey at the
very moment when I was successfully endeavouring to obtain the assent
of the Porte and of the King of Greece to a treaty which I had drawn
up for the settlement of all their differences, was brought to my
cognizance. Happily, the suggested deal was scrutinized and rejected
by the Porte. Turkey, as represented by Talaat Bey, had brought an
open mind to the matter, allowing herself to be swayed only by her own
interests; and as it appeared that these would fare best by the treaty
which I proposed, she assented to this. Greece, needing permanent peace
as a condition of internal development, showed herself amenable to
reason and ready to compromise. And she, too, agreed to the treaty.
Roumania, animated by a like broad and liberal spirit, was steadfastly
opposed to every move, by whomsoever contemplated, which was likely
to jeopardize public tranquillity or modify the Treaty of Bucharest,
and favoured every arrangement capable of imparting stability to the
_status quo_.
But perseverance and importunity are characteristic traits of German
methods in diplomacy as in commerce. And on this occasion they stamped
her Balkan policy with the well-known cachet of the Hohenzollerns. The
moment it was decided that the Austrian demands should be so drafted as
to ensure their rejection by Servia, the two Central European Powers
set to work anew to stir up opposition to the Treaty of Bucharest,
realize the scheme for a Balkan League with its sharp point turned
against Russia, and have a large part of King Peter’s realm carved up
by the Balkan States themselves without the ostensible intervention of
Austria or Germany. This is an important point in the march of events
which preceded the war--a point, too, which, so far as I am aware, has
not been noticed by any publicist or statesman.
It is worth a moment’s consideration. The world has not forgotten
the assurance which Austria gave to Russia as an inducement to hold
her hand and allow Servia to be punished. It took the shape of an
undertaking that the Dual Monarchy would not annex any portion of
Servian territory. Now, on the face of it, this was a concession the
worth of which, from Russia’s point of view, might well be reckoned
considerable. And in truth it had great weight with the St. Petersburg
Foreign Office. For it seemed to imply that at the close of Austria’s
campaign against Servia the vanquished Slav State would at any rate
lose none of the land of which it was possessed before the war. That
was the obvious meaning of the official Austro-Hungarian assurance,
and it was construed in this sense by all the Chancelleries of the
Entente Powers without exception. It worked as a motive to lure Russia
to the far-reaching concessions she offered to Austria-Hungary in the
hope of “localizing the war.” Sir M. de Bunsen wrote to Sir Edward Grey
that the Austrian Minister of Foreign Affairs thought “that Russia
would have no right to intervene after receiving his assurance that
Austria sought no territorial aggrandisement.”
But in reality the phrasing of this self-denying promise was deceptive.
Austria undertook that she would not incorporate Servian territory
in her own Empire, but in reading this declaration the accent should
be laid on the word _she_. She would refrain from cutting off slices
of Servian territory _for herself_. But it was resolved, none the
less, that Servian territory should be carved up and partitioned
among Servia’s neighbours--Bulgaria, Turkey, and Albania. The three
Greek islands--Samos, Chios, and Mytilene--were to revert to their
late owner. Russia never suspected this curious wile. Otherwise she
would not have fallen into the trap as she did. That it was part of
a deliberate plan which Germany and Austria set about realizing is
established beyond question. Neither can it be gainsaid that the form
of words chosen later on by Germany for the assurance she offered to
Sir Edward Grey respecting the integrity of France left room, and was
meant to leave room, for a similar subterfuge. To my knowledge, and to
that of at least one European Chancellery, Germany decided on making
an offer to Italy of Tunis, Nice, and Savoy, all which she might claim
and receive as a recompense for active co-operation during the war. And
this by-compact was deemed perfectly consistent with her promise to
Sir Edward Grey. Whether that bid for co-operation was actually made
to Italy, I am unable to say. That it was one of the inducements to be
held out to the Consulta, I know.
Meanwhile Turkey was exhorted to throw aside the Treaty which I had
drafted, and which was to have been signed by the Grand Vizier and
M. Venizelos at my house during the week ending on August 3rd. She
was further urged to close with Bulgaria’s offer of a treaty of
partition without delay, and to make common cause with her. At the
same time M. Venizelos was advised to treat with King Ferdinand’s
representatives, and come to an arrangement by which Bulgaria should
retake from the Serbs “the territory which by right belongs to them,”
and a certain lesser slice from Greece, who would receive in turn
partial compensation and perpetual guarantees. Moreover, all Bulgaria’s
territory, new and old, should be insured by Turkey and Greece. A
draft of this treaty actually existed. In case of refusal, Greece was
menaced with the loss of everything she had acquired by her Balkan
victories. How these suggestions were received I had no means of
learning. But the final upshot is disclosed by recent events. Turkey,
eager to regain some part of what she lost, and believing the present
moment propitious, lent herself readily to Germany’s designs. It was
only after the infraction of her neutrality by the warships _Goeben_
and _Breslau_, and moved by fear of the consequences to which her
connivance had exposed her, and by the proofs adduced that neutrality
would pay better than a fresh Balkan campaign, that she reined back.
She now apparently takes a modified view of the situation, and the more
statesmanlike of her leaders recognize that, after all, her interests
may turn out to be dependent upon the goodwill of the Entente Powers.
But Enver Pasha, a Pole by extraction and a German by sympathy, still
seems bent on exposing the Ottoman Empire to the risks of a single cast
of the die.