THE WEEK OF TRAGEDY.
I.
The Archduke Francis Ferdinand will go down to posterity without having
yielded up his secret. Great political designs have been ascribed to
him, mainly on the strength of his friendship with William II. What do
we really know about him? That he was strong-willed and obstinate, very
Clerical, very Austrian, disliking the Hungarians to such an extent
that he kept their statesmen at arm’s length, and having no love for
Italy. He has been credited with sympathies towards the Slav elements
of the Empire; it has been asserted that he dreamt of setting up, in
place of the dual monarchy, a “triune” State, in which the third factor
would have been made up for the most part of Slav provinces carved out
of the Kingdom of St. Stephen. Immediately after he had been murdered,
the _Vossische Zeitung_ refuted this theory with arguments which seemed
to me thoroughly sound. The Archduke, said the Berlin newspaper, was
too keen-witted not to see that he would thus be creating two rivals
for Austria instead of one, and that the Serb populations would come
within the orbit of Belgrade rather than of Vienna. Serbia would become
the Piedmont of the Balkans; she would draw to herself the Slavs of the
Danube valley by a process of crystallization similar to that which
brought about Italian unity.
From year to year, the Archduke had acquired more and more weight in
the governance of the Empire, in proportion as his uncle’s will grew
weaker beneath the burden of advancing age. Thus he had succeeded
in his efforts to provide Austria-Hungary with a new navy, the
counterpart, on a more modest scale, of the German fleet, and to
reorganize the effective army, here again taking Germany for his model.
Among certain cliques, he was accused of not keeping enough in the
background, of showing little tact or consideration in his manner of
thrusting aside the phantom Emperor, who was gently gliding into the
winter of his years at Schönbrunn, amid the veneration of his subjects
of every race. Another charge was that he appointed too many of his
creatures to important civil and military posts.
We may well believe that this prince, observing the gradual decay of
the monarchy, tried to restore its vigour, and that his first thought
was to hold with a firm grasp, even before assuming the Imperial crown,
the cluster of nationalities, mutually hostile and always discontented,
that go to make up the Dual Empire. So far as foreign relations are
concerned, we may assume that he was bent on winning her a place
in the first rank of Powers; that he wished, above all, to see her
predominant all along the Danube and in the Balkans; that he even
aimed at giving her the road to Salonika and the Levant, though it
were at the price of a collision with Russia. This antagonism between
the two neighbour Empires must have often been among the topics of his
conversations with William II.
The Archduke needed military glory, prestige won on the battlefield, in
order to seat his consort firmly on the throne and make his children
heirs to the Cæsars. He had been suspected, both in Austria and abroad,
of not wishing to observe the family compact which he had signed at the
time of his marriage with Countess Sophie Chotek. It was thought that
he perhaps reserved the right to declare it null and void, in view of
the constraint that had been put upon him. The successive honours that
had drawn the Duchess of Hohenberg from the obscurity in which the
morganatic wife of a German prince is usually wrapped, and had brought
her near to the steps of the throne, showed clearly that her rise would
not stop halfway. The Archduke, like William II. himself, was reputed
to be an exemplary father and husband. He was one of those princes who
adore their own children, but, under the spur of political ambition,
are very prone to send the children of others to the shambles. A fine
theme for Socialist and Republican preachers to enlarge upon!
I often met the heir to the Imperial crown, especially at Vienna in
1910, where I had the honour of accompanying my Sovereign, and two
years later at Munich, at the Prince Regent’s funeral. On each occasion
this Hapsburg, with his heavy features, his scowling expression, and
his rather corpulent figure (quite different from the slim build
characteristic of his line), struck me as a singular type. His face was
certainly not sympathetic, nor was his manner engaging. The Duchess
of Hohenberg, whom, after having known her as a little girl when her
father was Austrian Minister at Brussels, I found gracefully doing the
honours in the Belvedere Palace, had retained in her high station the
genial simplicity of the Chotek family. This probably did not prevent
her from cherishing the loftiest ambitions for herself, and above all
for her eldest son, and from coveting the glory of the double crown.
II.
The news that an assassin’s hand had struck down the Archduke and his
wife, inseparable even in death, burst upon Berlin on the afternoon of
Sunday, 28th June, like an unexpected thunderclap in the midst of a
calm summer’s day. I went over at once to the Austro-Hungarian Embassy,
in order to express all the horror that I felt at this savage drama.
Count Szögyeny, the senior member of the diplomatic corps, was on the
eve of resigning the post that he had held for twenty years, honoured
by all his colleagues. It was whispered that his removal had been asked
for by the Archduke, who was anxious to introduce young blood into
the diplomatic service. I found the Ambassador quite overcome by the
terrible news. He seemed stricken with grief at the thought of his aged
Sovereign, who had already lost so many of his nearest and dearest, and
of the Dual Empire, robbed of its most skilful pilot, and with no one
to steer it now but an octogenarian leaning on a youth of twenty-six.
M. Cambon had come to the Embassy at the same time, and we left
together, discussing the results, still impossible to foresee clearly,
that this fatality might have for European affairs.
From the very next day the tone of the Berlin Press, in commenting
on the Serajevo tragedy, was full of menace. It expected the Vienna
Cabinet to send to Belgrade an immediate request for satisfaction, if
Serbian subjects, as it was believed, were among those who had devised
and carried out the plot. But how far would this satisfaction go, and
in what form would it be demanded? There was the rub. The report,
issued by the semi-official _Lokalanzeiger_, of a pressure exerted
by the Austro-Hungarian minister, with a view to making the Serbian
Government institute proceedings against the anarchist societies of
which the Archduke and his wife had been the victims, surprised no one,
but was not confirmed. On the other hand, a softer breeze soon blew
from Vienna and Buda-Pesth, and under its influence the excitement of
the Berlin newspapers suddenly abated. An order seemed to have been
issued: the rage and fluster of the public were to be allowed to cool
down. The Austro-Hungarian Government, so we were informed by the
news agencies, were quietly taking steps to prosecute the murderers.
Count Berchtold, in speaking to the diplomatic corps at Vienna, and
Count Tisza, in addressing Parliament at Buda-Pesth, used reassuring
language, which raised hopes of a peaceful solution.
The Wilhelmstrasse also expressed itself in very measured terms on
the guarantees that would be demanded from Serbia. Herr Zimmermann,
without knowing (so he said to me) what decision had been arrived at
in Vienna, thought that no action would be taken in Belgrade until the
Austro-Hungarian Government had collected the proofs of the complicity
of Serbian subjects or societies in the planning of the Serajevo
crime. He had made a similar statement to the Russian ambassador,
who had hastened to impart to him his fears for the peace of Europe,
in the event of any attempt to coerce Serbia into proceeding against
the secret societies, if they were accused of intrigues against the
Austrian Government in Bosnia and Croatia. Herr Zimmermann declared to
M. Sverbeeff that, in his opinion, no better advice could be given
to the Serbian Government than this: that it should put a stop to the
nefarious work of these societies and punish the accomplices of the
Archduke’s assassins. The moderation of this remark fairly reflected
the general state of public opinion in Berlin.
But what of the Emperor, the Archduke’s personal friend? Would not
his grief and anger find voice in ringing tones? All eyes were turned
towards Kiel, where the fatal news reached William II. while he was
taking part in a yacht race on board his own clipper. He turned pale,
and was heard to murmur: “So my work of the past twenty-five years
will have to be started all over again!” Enigmatic words, which may
be interpreted in various ways! To the British ambassador, who was
also at Kiel, with the British squadron returning from the Baltic, he
unburdened himself in more explicit fashion: “_Es ist ein Verbrechen
gegen das Deutschtum_” (“It is a crime against Germanity”). By this he
probably meant that Germany, feeling her own interests assailed by the
Sarajevo crime, would make common cause with Austria to exact a full
retribution. With more self-control than usual, however, he abstained
from all further public utterances on the subject.
It had been announced that he would go to Vienna to attend the
Archduke’s funeral. What were the motives that prevented him from
offering to the dead man this last token of a friendship which, at
first merely political, had become genuine and even tender, with a
touch of patronage characteristic of the Emperor? He excused himself
on the ground of some slight ailment. The truth is, no doubt, that he
was disgusted with the wretched stickling for etiquette shown by the
Grand Chamberlain of the Viennese Court, the Prince di Montenuovo,
who refused to celebrate with fitting splendour the obsequies of the
late heir-apparent and his morganatic wife. Under these circumstances,
Vienna could have no desire either for the presence of William II. or
for his criticisms.
At the beginning of July, the Emperor left for his accustomed cruise
along the Norwegian coast, and in Berlin we breathed more freely. If he
could withdraw so easily from the centre of things, it was a sign that
the storm-clouds that had nearly burst over Serbia were also passing
off from the Danube valley. Such, I fancy, was the view taken by the
British Government, for its ambassador, who was already away on leave,
was not sent back to Berlin. Other diplomats, among them the Russian
ambassador, took their annual holiday as usual. But the Emperor, in
the remote fiords of Norway, was all the time posted up in the secret
designs of the Vienna Cabinet. The approaching ultimatum to Serbia
was telegraphed to him direct by his ambassador in Vienna, Herr von
Tschirsky, a very active worker, who strenuously advocated a policy
of hostility towards Russia, and from the first moment had wanted
war.[14] We may assume that the Emperor, if his mind was not already
made up at Kiel, came to a decision during his Norwegian cruise. His
departure for the North had been merely a snare, a device for throwing
Europe and the Triple Entente off the scent, and for lulling them
into a false security. While the world imagined that he was merely
seeking to soothe his nerves and recruit his strength with the salt
sea breezes, he was biding his time for a dramatic reappearance on the
stage of events, allowing the introductory scenes to be played in his
absence.
III.
During the first half of July, my colleagues and I at Berlin did not
live in a fool’s paradise. As the deceptive calm caused by Vienna’s
silence was prolonged, a latent, ill-defined uneasiness took hold of us
more and more. Yet we were far from anticipating that in the space of a
few days we should be driven into the midst of a diplomatic maelstrom,
in which, after a week of intense anguish, we should look on, mute and
helpless, at the shipwreck of European peace and of all our hopes.
The ultimatum, sent in the form of a Note by Baron von Giesl to
the Serbian Cabinet on 23rd July, was not disclosed by the Berlin
newspapers until the following day, in their morning editions. This
bolt from the blue proved more alarming than anything we had dared to
imagine. The shock was so unexpected, that certain journals, losing
their composure, seemed to regard the Vienna Cabinet’s arraignment
as having overshot the mark. “Austria-Hungary,” said the _Vossische
Zeitung_, “will have to justify the grave charges that she makes
against the Serbian Government and people by publishing the results of
the preliminary investigations at Serajevo.”
My own conviction, shared by several of my colleagues, was that the
Austrian and Hungarian statesmen could not have brought themselves
to risk such a blow at the Balkan kingdom, without having consulted
their colleagues at Berlin and ascertained that the Emperor William
would sanction the step. His horror of regicides and his keen sense of
dynastic brotherhood might explain why he left his ally a free hand, in
spite of the danger of provoking a European conflict. That danger was
only too real. Not for one moment did I suppose that Russia would prove
so careless of Serbia’s fate as to put up with this daring assault on
the latter’s sovereignty and independence; that the St. Petersburg
Cabinet would renounce the principle of “The Balkans for the Balkan
nations,” proclaimed to the Duma two months before by M. Sazonoff; in
short, that the Russian people would disown the ancient ties of blood
that united it with the Slav communities of the Balkan peninsula.
The pessimistic feeling of the diplomatic corps was increased on
the following day, the 25th, by the language addressed to it at the
Wilhelmstrasse. Herren von Jagow and Zimmermann said that they had not
known beforehand the contents of the Austrian Note. This was a mere
quibble: they had not known its actual wording, I grant, but they had
certainly been apprised of its tenor. They hastened to add, by the way,
that the Imperial Government approved of its ally’s conduct, and did
not consider the tone of its communication unduly harsh. The Berlin
Press, still with the exception of the Socialist organs, had recovered
from its astonishment of the day before; it joined in the chorus of
the Vienna and Buda-Pesth newspapers, from which it gave extracts, and
faced the prospect of a war with perfect calm, while expressing the
hope that it would remain localized.
In comparison with the attitude of the German Government and Press, the
signs pointing to a peaceful settlement seemed faint indeed. They all
came from outside Germany, from the impressions recorded in foreign
telegrams. Public opinion in Europe could not grasp the need for such
hectoring methods of obtaining satisfaction, when there was no case
for refusing discussion on the normal diplomatic lines. It seemed
impossible that Count Berchtold should ignore the general movement
of reproof which appeared spontaneously everywhere but in Berlin
against his ultimatum. A moderate claim would have seemed just; but
Serbia could not be asked to accept a demand for so heavy an atonement,
couched in a form of such unexampled brutality.
The more I reflected on the ghastly situation created by the collusion
of German and Austro-Hungarian diplomacy, the more certain did I feel
that the key to that situation (as M. Sazonoff said later) lay in
Berlin, and that there was no need to look further for the solution of
the problem. If, however, the choice between peace and war was left
to the discretion of the Emperor William, whose influence over his
ally in Vienna had always overruled that of others, then, considering
what I knew as to His Majesty’s personal inclinations and the plans of
the General Staff, the upshot of it all was no longer in doubt, and
no hope of a peaceful arrangement could any longer be entertained. I
communicated this dismal forecast to the French ambassador, whom I went
to see on the evening of the 25th. Like myself, M. Cambon laboured
under no illusions. That very night, I wrote to my Government, in order
to acquaint it with my fears and urge it to be on its guard. This
report, dated the 26th, I entrusted, as a measure of precaution, to one
of my secretaries, who at once left for Brussels. Early next morning,
my dispatch was in the hands of the Belgian Foreign Minister.
“The ultimatum to Serbia,” it ran, “is a blow contrived by Vienna and
Berlin, or rather contrived here and carried out at Vienna. Requital
for the assassination of the Austrian heir-apparent and the Pan-Serb
propaganda serves as a stalking-horse. The real aim, apart from the
crushing of Serbia and the stifling of Jugo-Slav aspirations, is to
deal a deadly thrust at Russia and France, with the hope that England
will stand aside from the struggle. In order to vindicate this theory,
I beg to remind you of the view prevailing in the German General
Staff, namely, that a war with France and Russia is unavoidable and
close at hand—a view which the Emperor has been induced to share. This
war, eagerly desired by the military and Pan-German party, might be
undertaken to-day under conditions extremely favourable for Germany,
conditions that are not likely to arise again for some time to come.”
After a summary of the situation and of the problems that it raised, my
report concluded as follows:
“We, too, have to ask ourselves these harassing questions, and keep
ourselves ready for the worst; for the European conflict that has
always been talked about, with the hope that it would never break out,
is to-day becoming a grim reality.”
The worst contingencies that occurred to me, as a Belgian, were the
violation of a part of our territory and the duty that might fall
upon our soldiers of barring the way to the belligerents. In view of
the vast area over which a war between France and Germany would be
fought, dared we hope that Belgium would be safe from any attack by the
German army, from any attempt to use her strategic routes for offensive
purposes? I could not bring myself to believe that she would be so
fortunate. But between such tentatives and a thoroughgoing invasion of
my country, plotted a long time in advance and carried out before the
real operations of the war had begun, there was a wide gulf, a gulf
that I never thought the Imperial Government capable of leaping over
with a light heart, because of the European complications which so
reckless a disdain for treaties would not fail to involve.
IV.
Until the end of the crisis, the idea of a preventive war continually
recurred to my mind. Other heads of legations, however, while
sharing my anxieties on this point, did not agree with me as to the
premeditation of which I accused the Emperor and the military chiefs.
I was not content with putting my questions to the French ambassador,
whose unerring judgment always carried great weight with me. I also
visited his Italian colleague, an astute diplomat, thoroughly versed
in German statecraft. He had always put me in mind of those dexterous
agents employed by the sixteenth-century Italian republics.
According to Signor Bollati, the German Government, agreeing in
principle with the Vienna Cabinet as to the necessity for chastising
Serbia, had not known beforehand the terms of the Austrian Note, the
violence of which was unprecedented in the language of Chancelleries.
Vienna, as well as Berlin, was convinced that Russia, in spite of the
official assurances that had recently passed between the Tsar and M.
Poincaré regarding the complete readiness of the French and Russian
armies, was not in a position to enter on a European war, and that
she would not dare to embark upon so hazardous an adventure. Internal
troubles, revolutionary intrigues, incomplete armaments, inadequate
means of communication—all these reasons would compel the Russian
Government to be an impotent spectator of Serbia’s undoing. The same
confidence reigned in the German and Austrian capitals as regards, not
the French army, but the spirit prevailing among Government circles in
Paris.
“At present,” added the Ambassador, “feeling runs so high in Vienna
that all calm reflection goes by the board. Moreover, in seeking to
annihilate Serbia’s military power, the Austro-Hungarian Cabinet is
pursuing a policy of personal revenge. It cannot realize the mistakes
that it made during the Balkan War, or remain satisfied with the
partial successes then gained with our aid—successes that, whatever
judgment may be passed upon them, were certainly diplomatic victories.
All that Count Berchtold sees to-day is Serbia’s insolence and the
criticism he has had to endure even in Austria. By this bold stroke,
very unexpected from a man of his stamp, he hopes to turn the criticism
into applause.”
The Ambassador held that Berlin had false ideas as to the course that
the Tsar’s Government would adopt. The latter would find itself forced
into drawing the sword, in order to maintain its prestige in the Slav
world. Its inaction, in face of Austria’s entry into the field, would
be equivalent to suicide. Signor Bollati also gave me to understand
that a widespread conflict would not be popular in Italy. The Italian
people had no concern with the overthrow of the Russian power, which
was Austria’s enemy; it wished to devote all its attention to other
problems, more absorbing from its own point of view.
The blindness of the Austrian Cabinet with regard to Russian
intervention has been proved by the correspondence, since published, of
the French and British representatives at Vienna. The Viennese populace
was beside itself with joy at the announcement of an expedition against
Serbia, which, it felt sure, would be a mere military parade. Not for a
single night were Count Berchtold’s slumbers disturbed by the vision of
the Russian peril. He is, indeed, at all times a buoyant soul, who can
happily mingle the distractions of a life of pleasure with the heavy
responsibilities of power. His unvarying confidence was shared by the
German ambassador, his most trusted mentor. We can hardly suppose that
the Austrian minister shut his eyes altogether to the possibility of a
struggle with the Slav world. Having Germany as his partner, however,
he determined, with the self-possession of a fearless gambler, to
proceed with the game.
At Berlin, the theory that Russia was incapable of facing a conflict
reigned supreme, not only in the official world and in society, but
among all the manufacturers who made a speciality of war material.
Herr Krupp von Bohlen, who was more entitled to give an opinion than
any other of this class, declared on 28th July, at a table near mine
in the Hôtel Bristol, that the Russian artillery was neither efficient
nor complete, while that of the German army had never before been so
superior to all its rivals. It would be madness on Russia’s part, he
inferred, to take the field against Germany and Austria under these
conditions.
V.
The foreign diplomatic corps was kept in more or less profound
ignorance as to the _pourparlers_ carried on since the 24th by the
Imperial Foreign Office with the Triple Entente Cabinets. Nevertheless,
to the diplomats who were continually going over to the Wilhelmstrasse
for news, the crisis was set forth in a light very favourable
to Austria and Germany, in order to influence the views of the
Governments which they represented. Herr von Stumm, the departmental
head of the political branch, in a brief interview that I had with
him on the 26th, summed up his exposition in these words: “Everything
depends on Russia.” I should rather have thought that everything
depended on Austria, and on the way in which she would carry out her
threats against Serbia.
On the following day I was received by Herr Zimmermann, who adopted the
same line of argument, following it in all its bearings from the origin
of the dispute.
“It was not at our prompting,” he said, “or in accordance with our
advice, that Austria took the action that you know of towards the
Belgrade Cabinet. The answer was unsatisfactory, and to-day Austria
is mobilizing. She can no longer draw back without risking a collapse
at home as well as a loss of influence abroad. It is now a question
of life and death to her. She must put a stop to the unscrupulous
propaganda which, by raising revolt among the Slav provinces of the
Danube valley, is leading towards her internal disintegration. Finally,
she must exact a signal revenge for the assassination of the Archduke.
For all these reasons Serbia is to receive, by means of a military
expedition, a stern and salutary lesson. An Austro-Serbian War is
therefore impossible to avoid.
“England has asked us to join with her, France, and Italy, in order to
prevent the conflict from spreading and a war from breaking out between
Austria and Russia. Our answer was that we should be only too glad
to help in limiting the area of the conflagration, by speaking in a
pacific sense to Vienna and St. Petersburg; but that we could not use
our influence with Austria to restrain her from inflicting an exemplary
punishment on Serbia. We have promised to help and support our Austrian
allies, if any other nation should try to hamper them in this task. We
shall keep that promise. If Russia mobilizes her army, we shall at once
mobilize ours, and then there will be a general war, a war that will
set ablaze all Central Europe and even the Balkan peninsula, for the
Roumanians, Greeks, Bulgarians, and Turks will not be able to resist
the temptation to come in.
“As I remarked yesterday to M. Boghitchevitch” (the former Serbian
_chargé d’affaires_, who was on a flying visit to Berlin, where he had
been greatly appreciated during the Balkan War), “the best advice I can
give Serbia is that she should make no more than a show of resistance
to Austria, and should come to terms as soon as possible, by accepting
all the conditions of the Vienna Cabinet. I added, in speaking to him,
that if a universal war broke out and went in favour of the Triplice,
Serbia would probably cease to exist as a nation; she would be wiped
off the map of Europe. I still hope, though, that such a widespread
conflict may be avoided, and that we shall succeed in inducing
Russia not to intervene on Serbia’s behalf. Remember that Austria
is determined to respect Serbia’s integrity, once she has obtained
satisfaction.”
I pointed out to the Under-Secretary that the Belgrade Cabinet’s reply,
according to some of my colleagues who had read it, was, apart from a
few unimportant restrictions, an unqualified surrender to Austria’s
demands. Herr Zimmermann said that he had no knowledge of this reply
(it had been handed in two days before to the Austrian minister at
Belgrade!), and that, in any case, there was no longer any possibility
of preventing an Austro-Hungarian military demonstration.
The Serbian document was not published by the Berlin newspapers until
the 29th. On the previous day they had all reproduced a telegram
from Vienna, stating that this apparent submission was altogether
inadequate. The prompt concessions made by the Pasitch Cabinet,
concessions that had not been anticipated abroad, failed to impress
Germany. She persisted in seeing only with Austria’s eyes.
Herr Zimmermann’s arguments held good solely on the hypothesis that, in
the action brought by Austria against Serbia, no Power had the right to
come forward as counsel for the defendant, or to interfere in the trial
at all. This claim amounted to depriving Russia of her historic rôle
in the Balkans. Carried to its logical conclusion, the theory meant
condemning unheard every small State that should be unfortunate enough
to have a dispute with a great Power. According to the principles of
the Berlin Cabinet, the great Power should be allowed, without let or
hindrance, to proceed to the execution of its weak opponent. England,
therefore, would have had no right to succour Belgium when the latter
was invaded by Germany, any more than Russia had a right to protect
Serbia from the Austrian menace.
Russia, it was asserted at the Wilhelmstrasse, ought to be satisfied
with the assurance that Austria would not impair the territorial
integrity of Serbia or mar her future existence as an independent
State. What a hollow mockery such a promise would seem, when the whole
country had been ravaged by fire and sword! Surely it was decreed that,
after this “exemplary punishment,” Serbia should become the lowly
vassal of her redoubtable neighbour, living a life that was no life,
cowed by the jealous eye of the Austrian minister—really the Austrian
Viceroy—at Belgrade. Had not Count Mensdorff declared to Sir Edward
Grey that before the Balkan War Serbia was regarded as gravitating
towards the Dual Monarchy’s sphere of influence? A return to the past,
to the tame deference of King Milan, was the least that Austria would
exact.
The version given out by the Imperial Chancellery, besides being
intended to enlighten foreign Governments, had a further end in
view. Repeated _ad nauseam_ by the Press, it aimed at misleading
German public opinion. From the very opening of the crisis, Herr von
Bethmann-Hollweg and his colleagues strove, with all the ingenuity at
their command, to hoodwink their countrymen, to shuffle the cards, to
throw beforehand on Russia, in case the situation should grow worse,
the odium of provocation and the blame for the disaster, to represent
that Power as meddling with a police inquiry that did not concern her
in the least. This cunning manœuvre resulted in making all Germany,
without distinction of class or party, respond to her Emperor’s call at
the desired moment, since she was persuaded (as I have explained in a
previous chapter) that she was the object of a premeditated attack by
Tsarism.
VI.
The game of German diplomacy during these first days of the crisis,
24th to 28th July, has already been revealed. At first inclined to
bludgeon, it soon came to take things easily, even affecting a certain
optimism, and by its passive resistance bringing to nought all the
efforts and all the proposals of the London, Paris, and St. Petersburg
Cabinets. To gain time, to lengthen out negotiations, seems to have
been the task imposed upon Austria-Hungary’s accomplice, in order
to promote rapid action by the Dual Monarchy, and to face the Triple
Entente with irrevocable deeds—namely, the occupation of Belgrade and
the surrender of the Serbians. But things did not go as Berlin and
Vienna had hoped, and the determined front shown by Russia, who in
answer to the partial mobilization of Austria mobilized her army in
four southern districts, gave food for reflection to the tacticians of
the Wilhelmstrasse. Their language and their frame of mind grew gentler
to a singular degree on the fifth day, 28th July. It may be recalled,
in passing, that in 1913, during the Balkan hostilities, Austria and
Russia had likewise proceeded to partial mobilizations; yet these steps
had not made them come to blows or even brought them to the verge of
hostilities.
On the evening of the 26th the Emperor’s return was announced in
Berlin. Why did he come back so suddenly? I think I am justified in
saying that, at this news, the general feeling among the actors and
spectators of the drama was one of grave anxiety. Our hearts were heavy
within us; we had a foreboding that the decisive moment was drawing
near. It was the same at the Wilhelmstrasse. To the British _chargé
d’affaires_ Herr von Zimmermann frankly confessed his regret at this
move, on which William II. had decided without consulting any one.
Nevertheless, our fears at first seemed to be unwarranted. The 28th was
marked by a notable loosening of Germany’s stiff-necked attitude. The
British ambassador, who had returned to Berlin on the previous day, was
summoned in the evening by the Chancellor. Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg,
while rejecting the conference proposed by Sir Edward Grey, promised
to use his good offices to induce Russia and Austria to discuss the
position in an amicable fashion. “A war between the great Powers must
be averted,” were his closing words. It is highly probable that the
Chancellor at that time sincerely wanted to keep the peace, and that
his first efforts, when he saw the danger coming nearer and nearer,
succeeded in curbing the Emperor’s impatience for forty-eight hours.
The telegram sent by William II. to the Tsar on the evening of the 28th
is friendly, almost reassuring: “Bearing in mind the cordial friendship
that has united us two closely for a long time past, I am using all
my influence to make Austria arrive at a genuine and satisfactory
understanding with Russia.”
How are we to explain, then, the abrupt change of tack that occurred
the following day at Berlin, or rather at Potsdam, and the peculiar
language addressed by the Chancellor to Sir Edward Goschen on the
evening of the 29th? In that nocturnal scene there was no longer any
question of Austria’s demands on Serbia, or even of the possibility of
an Austro-Russian war. The centre of gravity was suddenly shifted, and
at a single stride the danger passed from the South-East of Europe
to the North-West. What is it that Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg wants to
know at once, as he comes straight from a council held at Potsdam under
the presidency of the Emperor? Whether Great Britain would consent
to remain neutral in a European war, provided that Germany agreed to
respect the territorial integrity of France. “And what of the French
colonies?” asks the Ambassador, with great presence of mind. The
Chancellor can make no promise on this point, but he unhesitatingly
declares that Germany will respect the integrity and neutrality of
Holland. As for Belgium, France’s action will determine what operations
Germany may be forced to enter upon in that country; but when the war
is over, Belgium will lose no territory, unless she ranges herself on
the side of Germany’s foes.
Such was the shameful bargain proposed to England, at a time when none
of the negotiators had dared to speak in plain terms of a European war
or even to offer a glimpse of that terrifying vision. This interview
was the immediate result of the decisive step taken by German diplomacy
on the same day at St. Petersburg. The step in question has been made
known to us through the diplomatic documents which have been printed
by the orders of the belligerent Governments, and all of which concur
in their account of this painful episode. Twice on that day did M.
Sazonoff receive a visit from the German ambassador, who came to
make a demand wrapped up in threats. Count de Pourtalès insisted on
Russia contenting herself with the promise, guaranteed by Germany, that
Austria-Hungary would not impair the integrity of Serbia. M. Sazonoff
refused to countenance the war on this condition. Serbia, he felt,
would become a vassal of Austria, and a revolution would break out in
Russia. Count de Pourtalès then backed his request with the warning
that, unless Russia desisted from her military preparations, Germany
would mobilize. A German mobilization, he said, would mean war. The
results of the second interview, which took place at two o’clock in the
morning, were as negative as those of the first, notwithstanding a last
effort, a final suggestion by M. Sazonoff to stave off the crisis. His
giving in to Germany’s brutal dictation would have been an avowal that
Russia was impotent.
To the Emperor William, who had resumed the conduct of affairs since
the morning of the 27th—the Emperor William, itching to cut the
knot, driven on by his Staff and his generals—to him and no other
must we trace the responsibility for this insolent move, which made
war inevitable. “The heads of the army insisted,” was all that
Herr von Jagow would vouchsafe a little later to M. Cambon by way
of explanation. The Chancellor, and with him the Foreign Secretary
and Under-Secretary, associated themselves with these hazardous
tactics, from sheer inability to secure the adoption of less hasty
and violent methods. If they believed that this summary breaking off
of negotiations would meet with success, they were as grievously
mistaken as Count de Pourtalès, whose reports utterly misled them as
to the sacrifices that Russia was prepared to make for Serbia. At all
events this upright man, when he realized the appalling effects of his
blunder, gave free play to his emotion. Such sensitiveness is rare
indeed in a German, and redounds entirely to his credit.
But the Emperor and his council of generals—what was their state of
soul at this critical moment? Perhaps this riddle will never be wholly
solved. From the military point of view, which in their eyes claimed
first attention, they must have rejoiced at M. Sazonoff’s answer, for
never again would they find such a golden opportunity for vanquishing
Russia and making an end of her rivalry. In 1917 the reorganization
of her army would have been complete, her artillery would have been
at full strength, and a new network of strategic railways would have
enabled her to let loose upon the two Germanic empires a vast flood of
fighting-men drawn from the inexhaustible reservoir of her population.
The struggle with the colossus of the North, despite the vaunted
technical superiority of the German army, would in all likelihood have
ended in the triumph of overwhelming might. In the France of 1917,
again, the three years’ term of service would have begun to produce
its full results, and her first-line troops would have been both more
numerous and better trained than at present.
On the other hand, William II. could cherish no false hopes as to the
consequences of this second pressure that he was bringing to bear on
St. Petersburg. Had it succeeded in 1914 as in 1909, the encounter
between Germany and the great Slav Empire would only have been put
off to a later day, instead of being finally shelved. How could the
Tsar or the Russian people have forgiven the Kaiser for humbling them
once more? If they had pocketed the affront in silence, it would only
have been in order to bide their time for revenge, and they would have
chosen the moment when Russia, in possession of all her resources,
could have entered upon the struggle with every chance of winning.
Here an objection may be raised. The German Emperor, some may hold,
fancying that the weight of his sword in the scale would induce
the Tsar to shrink from action, had foreseen the anger of the Slav
nation at its sovereign’s timorous scruples, and looked forward
to revolutionary outbreaks which would cripple the Government for
years to come and make it unable to think of war, if indeed they did
not sweep the Romanoffs from the throne. I would answer that this
Machiavellian scheme could never have entered the head of such a ruler
as William II., with his deep sense of monarchical solidarity, and his
instinctive horror of anarchist outrages and of revolution.
No: the Emperor, together with the military authorities whose advice
he took, wished to profit by a juncture which he had awaited with
longing, and which fickle Fortune might never again offer to his
ambition. Everything proves it, down to his feverish haste, as soon
as M. Sazonoff’s reply was conveyed to him, to learn the intentions
of England, and to suggest, on that very day, a bargain that might
purchase her neutrality. This is why Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg received
orders to summon the British ambassador on the night of the 29th. The
Emperor could not wait until the following morning, so eager was he
to act. Is this impatience the mark of one who was the victim of a
concerted surprise? If he had not wanted war, would he not have tried
to resume negotiations with Russia on a basis more in keeping with her
dignity as a great Power, however heavy a blow it was to his own pride
that he had failed to intimidate her?
VII.
The abortive efforts to overawe St. Petersburg and the offers made to
the British ambassador, as if Great Britain’s inaction could be sold to
the highest bidder, brought results that were not hard to foresee.
In London, Sir Edward Grey’s indignation found immediate vent in the
following passage of his telegram of 30th July to Sir Edward Goschen:
“It would be a disgrace for us to make this bargain with Germany at the
expense of France—a disgrace from which the good name of this country
would never recover. The Chancellor also in effect asks us to bargain
away whatever obligation or interest we have as regards the neutrality
of Belgium. We could not entertain that bargain either.”
Through the brazen overtures of Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg, however, the
British Cabinet henceforth came to occupy itself, before all things,
with the fate allotted to our country by the Imperial Government in
the war that it was preparing. In order to tear off the mask from
German statesmanship, the surest method was to ask it a straightforward
question. On 31st July Sir Edward Grey, following the example of the
Gladstone Ministry of 1870, inquired both of Germany and France whether
they would respect the neutrality of Belgium. At the same time he gave
Belgium to understand that Britain counted on her doing her utmost to
maintain her neutrality.
The answer of the Republican Government was frank and unhesitating.
It was resolved to respect Belgian neutrality, and would only act
otherwise if the violation of that neutrality by some other Power
forced it to do so in self-defence. The Belgian Government, for its
part, hastened to assure the British minister at Brussels of its
determination to resist with might and main should its territory be
invaded.
At Berlin, however, the Foreign Secretary eluded Sir Edward Goschen’s
questions. He said that he must consult the Emperor and the Chancellor.
In his opinion, any answer would entail the risk, in the event of
war, of partly divulging the plan of campaign. It seemed doubtful to
him, therefore, whether he would be able to give a reply. This way
of speaking was perfectly clear in its ambiguity. It did not puzzle
Sir Edward Grey for a moment. On the following day he declared to the
German ambassador that the reply of the German Government was a matter
of very great regret. Belgian neutrality, he pointed out, was highly
important in British eyes, and if Belgium was attacked, it would be
difficult to restrain public feeling in his country.
On the same day, the 1st of August, in accordance with instructions
from my Government, I read to the Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs
(at the same time giving him a copy) a dispatch drafted beforehand
and addressed to the Belgian ministers attached to the Powers that
had guaranteed our neutrality. This dispatch affirmed that Belgium,
having observed, with scrupulous fidelity, the duties imposed on her
as a neutral State by the treaties of 19th April 1839, would manifest
an unshaken purpose in fulfilling them; and that she had every hope,
since the friendly intentions of the Powers towards her had been so
often professed, of seeing her territory secure from all assault, if
hostilities should arise near her frontiers. The Belgian Government
added that it had nevertheless taken all the necessary steps for
maintaining its neutrality, but that, in so doing, it had not been
actuated by a desire to take part in an armed struggle among the
Powers, or by a feeling of distrust towards any one of them.[15]
Herr Zimmermann listened without a word of comment to my reading of
this dispatch, which expressed the loyal confidence of my Government
in Germany’s good will. He merely took note of my communication. His
silence did not surprise me, for I had just learnt of Herr von Jagow’s
evasive reply to the British Government concerning Belgium; but it bore
out all my misgivings. His constrained smile, by the way, told me quite
as much as his refusal to speak.
From the 30th, Russia and Germany—as an inevitable sequel to the
conversations of the 29th—went forward actively with their military
preparations. What was the exact nature of these preludes to the German
mobilization? It was impossible to gain any precise notion at Berlin.
The capital was rife with various rumours that augured ill for the
future. We heard tell of regiments moving from the northern provinces
towards the Rhine. We learnt that reservists had been instructed to
keep themselves in readiness for marching orders. At the same time,
postal communication with Belgium and France had been cut off. At the
Wilhelmstrasse, the position was described to me as follows: “Austria
will reply to Russia’s partial mobilization with a general mobilization
of her army. It is to be feared that Russia will then mobilize her
entire forces, which will compel Germany to do the same.” As it turned
out, a general mobilization was indeed proclaimed in Austria on the
night of the 30th.
Nevertheless, the peace _pourparlers_ went on between Vienna and St.
Petersburg on the 30th and 31st, although on the latter date Russia,
as Berlin expected, in answer both to the Austrian and the German
preparations, had mobilized her entire forces. Even on the 31st these
discussions seemed to have some chance of attaining their object.
Austria was now more accurately gauging the peril into which her own
blind self-confidence and the counsels of her ally were leading her,
and was pausing on the brink of the abyss. The Vienna Cabinet even
consented to talk over the gist of its Note to Serbia, and M. Sazonoff
at once sent an encouraging reply. It was desirable, he stated, that
representatives of all the great Powers should confer in London under
the direction of the British Government.[16]
Was a faint glimmer of peace, after all, dawning above the horizon?
Would an understanding be reached, at the eleventh hour, among the only
States really concerned with the Serbian question? We had reckoned
without our host. The German Emperor willed otherwise. Suddenly, at
the instance of the General Staff, and after a meeting of the Federal
Council, as prescribed by the constitution, he issued the decree of
_Kriegsgefahrzustand_ (Imminence-of-War). This is the first phase of a
general mobilization—a sort of martial law, substituting the military
for the civil authorities as regards the public services (means of
communication, post, telegraphs, and telephones).
This momentous decision was revealed to us on the 31st by a special
edition of the _Berliner Lokalanzeiger_, distributed at every street
corner. The announcement ran as follows:—
“Russia wants war!
“From official sources we have just received (at 2 p.m.) the following
report, pregnant with consequences:
“‘The German ambassador at St. Petersburg sends us word to-day that a
general mobilization of the Russian army and navy had previously been
ordered. That is why His Majesty the Emperor William has decreed an
Imminence-of-War. His Majesty will take up his residence in Berlin
to-day.’
“Imminence-of-War is the immediate prelude to a general mobilization,
in answer to the menace that already hangs over Germany to-day, owing
to the step taken by the Tsar.”
As a drowning man catches at a straw, those who in Berlin saw
themselves, with horror, faced by an impending catastrophe, clutched at
a final hope. The German general mobilization had not yet been ordered.
Who knew whether, at the last moment, some happy inspiration from the
British Cabinet, that most stalwart champion of peace, might cause the
weapons to drop from the hands that were about to wield them? Once
more, however, the Emperor, by his swift moves, shattered this fond
illusion. On the 31st, at seven o’clock in the evening, he dispatched
to the Russian Government a summons to demobilize both on its Austrian
and on its German frontiers. An interval of twelve hours was given for
a reply.
It was obvious that Russia, who had refused two days before to cease
from her military preparations, would not accept the German ultimatum,
worded as it was in so dictatorial a form and rendered still more
insulting by the briefness of the interval granted. As, however, no
answer had come from St. Petersburg by the afternoon of 1st August,
Herren Von Jagow and Zimmermann (so the latter informed me) rushed to
the Chancellor and the Emperor, in order to request that the decree for
a general mobilization might at least be held over until the following
day. They supported their plea by urging that the telegraphic
communication with St. Petersburg had presumably been cut, and that
this would explain the silence of the Tsar. Perhaps they still hoped
against hope for a conciliatory proposal from Russia. This was the
last flicker of their dying pacifism, or the last awakening of their
conscience. Their efforts could make no headway against the stubborn
opposition of the War Minister and the army chiefs, who represented
to the Emperor the dangers of a twenty-four hours’ delay. The order
for a mobilization of the army and navy was signed at five o’clock in
the afternoon, and was at once given out to the public by a special
edition of the _Lokalanzeiger_. The mobilization was to begin on 2nd
August. On the 1st, at ten minutes past seven in the evening, Germany’s
declaration of war was forwarded to Russia.
As all the world knows, the Berlin Cabinet had to resort to wild
pretexts, such as the committing of acts of hostility (so the military
authorities alleged) by French aviators on Imperial soil, in order
to find motives, two days later, for its declaration of war on
France. Although Germany tried to lay the blame for the catastrophe
at Russia’s door, it was in reality her western neighbour that she
wished to attack and annihilate first. On this point there can be no
possible doubt to-day. “Poor France!” said the Berlin newspapers, with
feigned compassion. They acknowledged that the conduct of the French
Government throughout the crisis had been irreproachable, and that
it had worked without respite for the maintenance of peace. While her
leaders fulfilled this noble duty to mankind, France was offering the
world an impressive sight—the sight of a nation looking calmly and
without fear at a growing peril that she had done nothing to conjure
up, and, regarding her word as her bond, determined in cold blood to
follow the destiny of her ally on the field of battle. At the same time
she offered to Germany, who had foolishly counted on her being torn
by internal troubles and political feuds, the vision of her children
closely linked together in an unconquerable resolve—the resolve to beat
back an iniquitous assault upon their country. Nor was this the only
surprise that she held in store. With the stone wall of her resistance,
she was soon to change the whole character of the struggle, and to
wreck the calculations of German strategy.
No one had laboured with more energy and skill to quench the flames
lit by Austria and her ally than the representative of the Republic
at Berlin. “Don’t you think M. Cambon’s attitude has been admirable?”
remarked the British ambassador to me, in the train that was whirling
us far away from the German capital on 6th August. “Throughout these
terrible days, nothing has been able to affect his coolness, his
presence of mind, and his insight.” I cannot express my own admiration
better than by repeating this verdict of so capable a diplomat as Sir
Edward Goschen, who himself took a most active part in the vain attempt
of the Triple Entente to save Europe from calamity.
VIII.
The Berlin population had followed the various phases of the crisis
with tremendous interest, but with no outward show of patriotic
fervour. Those fine summer days passed as tranquilly as usual. Only
in the evenings did some hundreds of youths march along the highways
of the central districts, soberly singing national anthems, and
dispersing after a few cries of “Hoch!” outside the Austro-Hungarian
and Italian Embassies and the Chancellor’s mansion. On the 2nd of
August I watched the animation of the Sunday crowd that thronged the
broad avenue of the Kurfürstendamm. It read attentively the special
editions of the newspapers, and then each went off to enjoy his or her
favourite pastime—games of tennis for the young men and maidens, long
bouts of drinking in the beer-gardens for the more sedate citizens
with their families. When the Imperial motor car flashed like a
streak of lightning down Unter den Linden, it was hailed with loud,
but by no means frantic, cheers. It needed the outcries of the Press
against Russia as the instigator of the war, the misleading speeches
of the Emperor and the Chancellor, and the wily publications of the
Government, to kindle a patriotism rather slow to take fire. Towards
the close of my stay, feeling displayed itself chiefly by jeers at the
unfortunate Russians who were returning post-haste to their native
country, and blackguardly behaviour towards the staff of the Tsar’s
ambassador as he was leaving Berlin.
That the mass of the German people, unaware of Russia’s peaceful
intentions, should have been easily deluded, is no matter for
astonishment. The upper classes, however, those of more enlightened
intellect, cannot have been duped by the official falsehoods. They
knew as well as we do that it was greatly to the advantage of the
Tsar’s Government not to provoke a conflict. In fact, this question is
hardly worth discussing. Once more we must repeat that, in the plans of
William II. and his generals, the Serbian affair was a snare spread for
the Northern Empire before the growth of its military power should have
made it an invincible foe.
There is no gainsaying that uncertainty as to Britain’s intervention
was one of the factors that encouraged Germany. We often asked
ourselves anxiously at Berlin whether Germany’s hand would not have
been stayed altogether, if the British Government had formally
declared that it would not hold aloof from the war. We even hoped,
for a brief moment, that Sir Edward Grey would destroy the illusions
on which the German people loved to batten. The British Foreign
Secretary did indeed observe to Prince Lichnowsky on 29th July that the
Austro-Serbian issue might become so great as to involve all European
interests, and that he did not wish the Ambassador to be misled by the
friendly tone of their conversations into thinking that Britain would
stand aside. If at the beginning she had openly taken her stand by
the side of her allies, she might, to be sure, have checked the fatal
march of events. This, at any rate, is the most widespread view, for
a maritime war certainly did not enter into the calculations of the
Emperor and Admiral von Tirpitz, while it was the nightmare of the
German commercial world. In my opinion, however, an outspoken threat
from England on the 29th, a sudden roar of the British lion, would not
have made William II. draw back. The memory of Agadir still rankled
in the proud Germanic soul. The Emperor would have risked losing all
prestige in the eyes of a certain element among his subjects, if at the
bidding of the Anglo-Saxon he had refused to go further, and had thus
played into the hands of those who charged him with conducting a policy
of mere bluff and intimidation. “Germany barks, but does not bite” was
a current saying abroad, and this naturally tended to exasperate her.
An ominous warning from the lips of Sir Edward Grey would only have
served to precipitate the onslaught of the Kaiser’s armies, in order
that the intervention of the British fleet might have no influence on
the result of the campaign, the rapid and decisive campaign planned at
Berlin.
We know, moreover, from the telegrams and speeches of the British
Foreign Minister, how carefully he had to reckon with public feeling
among his countrymen in general and among the majority in Parliament. A
war in the Balkans did not concern the British nation, and the strife
between Teuton and Slav left it cold. It did not begin to be properly
roused until it grasped the reality of the danger to France’s very
existence, and it did not respond warmly to the eloquent appeals of
Mr. Asquith and Sir Edward Grey until the day when it knew that the
Germans were at the gates of Liège, where they threatened both Paris
and Antwerp—Antwerp, “that pistol pointed at the heart of England.”
Looking at the matter from a purely moral point of view, we must
recognize that the majority of the British have a deeply religious
spirit, but a Christian ideal that is utterly at variance with the
warlike pietism of the Kaiser and his subjects. Their unsophisticated
ideas and their Puritan principles lead them to condemn all statecraft
that lets loose the scourge of war. Their reluctance to take part in
a Continental war was only overcome through the dastardly attack of
Germany upon a little free people, too weak to parry the blow. Then
followed an irresistible impulse to punish and avenge, when news was
brought of the atrocities committed by the German soldiery in Belgium.
It is this nation, dowered with a true moral greatness, that enemy
speakers and pamphleteers accuse to-day of having formed the coalition
that bars the way to their ambitious schemes. It is England that
they denounce as having woven a web of intrigue to enmesh their
country. They know the British nation no better than Treitschke and
his followers knew it, when they proclaimed that it was a mere rabble
of shop-keepers, greedy of pelf and destitute of warrior virtues.
They misjudged it as hopelessly as Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg, who was
indignant at its setting so much store by an antiquated treaty. The
events leading up to the present war have revealed to us the honesty
and scrupulousness of British diplomacy, side by side with the bad
faith of German diplomacy; and they have thrown ample light upon the
loyalty of Great Britain and her ministers, as contrasted with the
double-dealing of Germany and her Imperial functionaries.