It was too late. When Tschirschky carried Bethmann's messages to Berchtold, the Austrian Foreign Minister listened silently, then coldly declared that "the restriction of Austrian military operations against Serbia" was "out of the question in view of the feeling in the Army and among the people." On the morning of the thirty-first, Bethmann's call for mediation was discussed by the Austro-Hun-garian Cabinet. The German request that Austria submit to mediation was refused by setting three unfulfillable conditions: war against Serbia must be allowed to continue; all Russian mobilization must be stopped; Serbia must unconditionally accept all terms of the Austrian ultimatum. There was bitterness that Berlin, having urged Vienna for weeks to begin the war, should now demand that it be stopped. In the Austrian Cabinet minutes, the source of this reversal was falsely identified: "We had a very doubtful support in the German representative in London. Anything might sooner be expected from Prince Lichnowsky than that he would warmly represent our interests."
Bethmann was becoming desperate. Twisting and turning to escape the implications of what was happening, the Chancellor made an impetuous move to ensure British neutrality. Near midnight on July 29, he summoned the British Ambassador, Sir Edward Goschen, to the Wilhelmstrasse and offered him a bargain. He understood, the Chancellor said, that "Great Britain would never allow France to be crushed." But suppose Germany defeated France in war and then did not "crush" her? Would England remain neutral if the Reich guaranteed in advance the postwar territorial integrity of France and Belgium? (The Chancellor's offer covered only the European homelands; Bethmann refused to promise that Germany would not divide the French and Belgian colonial empires in Africa.) Goschen forwarded the request to London, where it was described by Crowe as "astounding" and rejected by Grey as "dishonorable" and "a disgrace."
While the exhausted Chancellor struggled, the German generals became impatient. The Schlieffen plan did not envisage war against Russia alone, but against both parties to the Dual Alliance, Russia and France. On the Western Front, the distances were shorter, the enemy less numerous, the imponderables fewer. Accordingly, the German war plan called for hurling the bulk of the German Army against France, striving for a knockout blow and the seizure of Paris within six weeks, before the Russian colossus could be mobilized and set into motion. The fact that France had no current quarrel with Germany made no difference; on July 30, Jagow told Sir Edward Goschen that if Germany mobilized, France would be attacked. "He regretted this," Goschen reported to London, "as he knew that France did not desire war, but it would be a military necessity." As the days passed, the German generals worried that the Entente diplomats, with their attempts at mediation in Vienna, and their own Chancellor, with his demands that Russia must mobilize first, would scramble their own fine-tuned plans. Who started the war was of little concern to the generals; their concern was with who would win it. They began to take control.
On Wednesday, July 29, General von Moltke sent a long political memorandum to the Chancellor in which he characterized the Austrian march on Serbia as "a purely private quarrel" undertaken "to burn out with a glowing iron a cancer that has constantly threatened to poison the body of Europe." Because "Russia has placed herself at the side of this criminal nation," a "war which will annihilate for decades the civilization of almost all Europe" was imminent, Moltke continued. Germany had no wish to participate in this war, but to turn her back on Austria would "violate the deep-rooted feelings of fidelity which are among the most beautiful traits of the German character." That afternoon, at a Crown Council in Potsdam, War Minister General von Falkenhayn urged the Kaiser to proclaim "danger of war" (Kriegsgefahr). At Bethmann's earnest pleading, William temporarily refused. Disgusted, Moltke sent his own telegram to Vienna, insisting to Conrad that Austria proceed immediately to full mobilization, promising that Germany would follow. On Thursday, July 30, the Emperor Franz Josef proclaimed full mobilization of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. That afternoon at Peterhof, Tsar Nicholas II gave way to pressure from his generals and ordered Russian general mobilization. By nightfall, this news was in Berlin. The German generals demanded a decision about German mobilization. Declaring that he still had not received official word from St. Petersburg, a haggard Bethmann put Moltke and Falkenhayn off for one more night. By noon the next day, he promised, he would give them an answer.
At 11:55 AM- on Friday, July 31, the official telegram from Pourtales arrived in the Wilhelmstrasse, where the political and military leaders of the German Empire were assembled. "General mobilization of the [Russian] army and fleet," the telegram reported. "First day of mobilization July 31." For what it was worth, Bethmann had won: the Russians had mobilized first. Together the Chancellor and the War Minister telephoned the Kaiser and asked for a proclamation of Kriegsgefahr. William complied. That afternoon, a German ultimatum addressed to St. Petersburg commanded the Tsar to demobilize within twelve hours and to "make us a distinct declaration to that effect." Otherwise Germany would mobilize and declare war. A second ultimatum, more insulting, was sent to Paris: Berlin demanded to know whether France would remain neutral in the coming Russo-German war. If the answer was yes, Germany demanded that France hand over the fortresses of Toul and Verdun as security on her pledge of neutrality. (These great fortress systems anchored France's defenses along her eastern frontier.) Paris was given eighteen hours to reply. Announcement of the German ultimatum to Russia (but not the ultimatum to France) was published in extra editions of Berlin newspapers on the night of July 31 as crowds milled about on the Unter den Linden.
At noon on Saturday, August 1, the German ultimatum to Russia expired without a reply from St. Petersburg. At 12:52 p.m., fifty-two minutes after the expiration of the ultimatum, Count Pourtales was instructed to call on Count Sazonov and declare that Germany was at war with Russia. At five p.m. the Kaiser signed a decree of general mobilization, and at seven-ten p.m. Count Pourtales handed Sazonov the German declaration of war. "The curses of the nations will be upon you," Sazonov declared. "We are defending our honor," Pourtales replied. Then, he stumbled and wept. "So this is the end of my mission," he said. Sazonov patted him on the shoulder and helped him out the door. "Goodbye, goodbye," mumbled the elderly, heartbroken Ambassador.
War had begun in the east, but not in the west. That afternoon, a telegram from London arrived in Berlin. Lichnowsky said that he had spoken to Sir Edward Grey. The Foreign Secretary had asked whether, in response to a promise of French neutrality in a Russo-German war, Germany would refrain from attacking France. On his own authority, Lichnowsky had said yes. William had just signed the general mobilization order and given it to Moltke, who was driving from Potsdam back to Berlin. Excitedly, William sent an aide hurrying after Moltke to bring him back to the New Palace. Before the General arrived, the Kaiser telegraphed his cousin, King George V: "If France offers me neutrality which must be guaranteed by the British fleet and army, I shall of course refrain from attacking France and employ my troops elsewhere. I hope France will not become nervous. The troops on my frontier are in the act of being stopped by telephone and telegraph from crossing into France." The last sentence referred to the sudden cancellation of the 16th Division's planned occupation of Luxembourg as a preliminary to the invasion of France. Bethmann insisted that the army must not cross the border until a reply was received from King George, and William-without consulting Moltke-had commanded his own military aide to telephone the headquarters of the 16th Division and halt the operation.
When Moltke again stood before him, William announced to the astonished General, "Now we can go to war against Russia only. We simply march the whole of our army to the East."
Moltke, witnessing the collapse of his entire war strategy, was "crushed." "Your Majesty, it cannot be done," he pleaded. "The deployment of millions cannot be improvised. If Your Majesty insists on leading the whole army to the East it will not be an army ready for battle but a disorganized mob… These arrangements took a whole year of intricate labor to complete and once settled they ca
nnot be altered."
The Kaiser listened in frustration. "Your uncle would have given me a different answer," he said to Moltke, a reproach, the General wrote later, which "wounded me deeply." Moltke went back to General Staff Headquarters and "burst into tears of abject despair… I thought my heart would break." When a staff officer brought him the order officially cancelling the Luxembourg foray, "I threw my pen down on the table and refused to sign. 'Do what you want with this telegram,' I said, 'I will not sign it.' " At eleven that evening, Moltke was back at the palace, where he discovered the Kaiser wearing a military greatcoat over his nightshirt. Another telegram from Lichnowsky had revealed that the Ambassador had misinterpreted Sir Edward Grey's meaning. "A positive proposal by England is, on the whole, not in prospect," Lichnowsky had wired. The Kaiser greeted Moltke stiffly, said, "Now you can do what you like," and went back to bed. Moltke attempted to pull himself together, but never entirely succeeded. "This was my first experience of the war," he wrote later. "I never recovered from the shock of this incident. Something in me broke and I was never the same thereafter."
The German ultimatum to France expired at one p.m. on August 1. At 1:05 p.m. the German Ambassador, Baron von Schoen, inquired at the Quai d'Orsay for France's reply.
He was told coldly that "France would act in accordance with her interests." At three-forty p.m. the French Army and Navy were mobilized. Germany understood that there would be no French neutrality; the Republic would stand by its Russian ally. The German response was automatic: "When the French Cabinet, on our inquiry… [replied] that France would act as its own interests required, we had no choice but to declare war on France," said Bethmann.
Four Great Powers were now at war: Germany and Austria versus Russia and France. Italy managed to break free. On July 31, the Italian Council of Ministers voted for neutrality, explaining that neither "the letter nor the spirit of the Triple Alliance oblige… [Italy] to take part in a war that does not bear the character of a war of defense." It was obvious to Rome that the war had been precipitated by Austria's attack on Serbia, and the Italian government seized on this. Italy had always been fearful of exposing her long coastline to the British Navy; now, when it seemed possible that Britain would enter the war on the side of the Entente, Italy used the treaty language of the Triple Alliance to escape.
There was a final irony. Even as Germany declared war on Russia-ostensibly because Germany's ally, Austria, was threatened by Russian mobilization-Russian and Austrian diplomats continued to negotiate. On July 27, Austria declared officially that it "does not seek any territorial acquisition in Serbia, and that it has no intention of making any attempt against the integrity of the Kingdom; its sole intention is that of assuring its own tranquillity." Count Sazonov considered this a sufficient basis for talks.
Austria, despite Conrad's strutting, did not want war with Russia. Austria's hope had been that the Tsar would back down; Austria then would be able to proceed against the Serbs. The pace of events in Berlin alarmed Vienna. On August 1, the day Germany was declaring war on Russia, the Austrian Ambassador in St. Petersburg called on Sazonov to continue Austro-Russian negotiations. The difference of interpretation as to what constituted a breach of Serbian sovereignty was discussed; after the meeting the Austrian Ambassador reported to Count von Berchtold that he believed the gap could be bridged. Sazonov meanwhile counselled his visitor that Vienna should not be alarmed by Russian mobilization. "There was no fear that the guns would go off by themselves," said the Russian Foreign Minister, "and… the Russian Army… was so well-disciplined that the Tsar with one word could make it retire from the frontier." That same morning, the Russian Ambassador in Vienna called on Count von Berchtold. He came, Berchtold noted, "in the most friendly manner… he still hoped that it would be possible to settle the question at issue by direct negotiations… [He] took his leave with the remark that between us and Russia there was really only a great misunderstanding."
That evening, August 1, Vienna and St. Petersburg knew of the German declaration of war on Russia. Austro-Russian negotiations could not continue; Austria now had no choice but to follow her ally. During the next five days, while Germany was at war with Russia, Austria, originally the threatened party, remained at peace. A number of stern telegrams arrived from Berlin before, on August 6, Austria-Hungary finally declared war on Russia.
CHAPTER 46
The Coming of Armageddon: London
On Friday afternoon, July 24, the British Cabinet met in the Prime Minister's Room at the House of Commons.
The subject was Ireland. Through the spring, Home Rule, the great cause and incubus of the Liberal Party, had once again been moving through Parliament. Debate had focussed on whether the Protestant counties of Ulster, not wishing to be ruled by a Catholic Parliament in Dublin, should be entitled to refuse participation in Home Rule. As passage of the bill became more certain, Ulstermen became more fiercely agitated. Certain they were about to be betrayed by Westminster, they had resolved to help themselves. They talked of setting up a provisional Ulster government; there were active preparations for armed resistance. By summer, 36,000 rifles and three million rounds of ammunition were in Protestant hands. In their defiance, the Orangemen had the open encouragement of the British Conservative Party and the quiet complicity of a number of officers of the British Army. These officers, many with roots in the Anglo-Irish gentry, opposed Home Rule and were unwilling to participate in any military coercion of Ulster. On March 20, the Commander-in-Chief in Ireland had addressed a large group of officers at the Curragh barracks and found himself confronted with the refusal of the majority of these officers to accept orders to take their soldiers to Ulster. Rather than fight the Protestant Orangemen, they said they would resign. This near-mutiny had shaken Parliament and the nation. Conservatives accused the Liberal government of sacrificing Ulster; Liberals accused the opposition of encouraging rebellion against the Crown. On July 21, the King had summoned representatives of the interested parties to Buckingham Palace to find a solution. Three days of argument resulted in deadlock and, on July 24, the Conference broke up. These facts, reported in detail to Berlin by German diplomats, helped convince the Wilhelmstrasse that British involvement in Ireland was so great that England need not be taken seriously as a factor in European diplomacy.
That afternoon, the Irish deadlock had been reported to the Cabinet. The meeting was ending, and most members were standing, ready to leave the room, when Sir Edward Grey asked the ministers to remain a few minutes. They resumed their seats. Grey's description of the situation in Central Europe and the Balkans was the first discussion of foreign affairs in more than a month. As he read the Austrian ultimatum to Serbia, preoccupation with Ireland began to fade. Churchill recalled: "[Grey] had been reading or speaking for several minutes before I could disengage my mind from the tedious and bewildering debate which had just closed… Gradually as the phrases and sentences followed one another, impressions of a wholly different character began to form in my mind… The parishes of Fermanagh and Tyrone faded back into the mists and squalls of Ireland and a strange light began immediately, but by perceptible gradations, to fall and grow upon the map of Europe." Grey's words, in his quiet, careful voice, had an impact. That night, in his report to the King, Asquith termed the Austrian ultimatum "the gravest event for many years past in European politics as it may be the prelude to a war in which at least four of the Great Powers may be involved." He wrote to Venetia Stanley, "We are within measurable, or imaginable, distance of a real Armageddon. Happily, there seems to be no reason why we should be anything more than spectators."
Asquith's optimism, as far as England was concerned, was based on recent diplomatic history. Three times in eight years (1905, 1908, and 1911) Europe had approached the brink of war and each time diplomacy had prevailed. In the spring of 1914, the Continent appeared tranquil. Sovereigns and chiefs of state shuttled between each others' capitals, bowing and waving to cheering crowds. Anglo-German relations had reached e
quilibrium; the naval issue was quiescent; a settlement of the Berlin-to-Baghdad Railway dispute only awaited German signature. The German Ambassador, Prince Lichnowsky, a partisan of improved relations, was popular in London society. On July 23, the day before Grey informed his Cabinet colleagues of the Austrian ultimatum, Lloyd George had told the House of Commons that relations with Germany were better than they had been for years and that he could predict "substantial economy in naval expenditure." Expanding on this hopeful theme, the Chancellor of the Exchequer announced, "I cannot help thinking that civilisation, which is able to deal with disputes among individuals and small communities at home, and is able to regulate these by means of some sane and well-ordered arbitrament, should be able to extend its operations to the larger sphere of disputes among states."
Even after Sarajevo, the mood in London had not changed. People in Britain reacted as people elsewhere: with horror, with indignation toward the criminals, with sympathy for the elderly Franz Josef. Britons expected the guilty parties to be discovered and punished. Fear of international implications was dispelled by the deliberate atmosphere of calm arranged by the Austrian and German governments. Until July 24, the Foreign Secretary, responsible for monitoring the behavior of other nations, had not mentioned anything to the Cabinet. Grey's silence had not meant ignorance. Lichnowsky returned to London from Berlin on July 6 and gave Grey a hint that, behind the facade, tempers were running high in Berlin and Vienna. The Austrians were determined to have a reckoning with Serbia, he reported, and the Imperial government felt it must support its ally. Grey was understanding. Admitting that Austria had been greatly provoked, the Foreign Secretary declared that "the merits of the dispute between… [Austria and Serbia] were not the concern of His Majesty's Government." He would consider the matter "simply and solely from the point of view of the peace of Europe"; here he was "very apprehensive of the view Russia would take." Grey attempted to influence that view, working to persuade St. Petersburg to take a conciliatory attitude toward Austria, but this, he told Lichnowsky on the ninth, would depend heavily on the steps Austria was preparing to take. In general, Grey told the Ambassador, he "saw no reason for taking a pessimistic view of the situation."
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