July 1914: Countdown to War

by Sean McMeekin

  It had been quite an evening at Chorister’s Bridge. In less than three hours, Russia’s foreign minister had (1) instructed Serbia’s minister not to comply with Austria’s ultimatum and promised that “Serbia may count on Russian aid” (although it is unclear whether he also spelled out what form this “aid” would take); (2) warned Germany’s ambassador that Russia would go to war with Austria if she “swallowed up” Serbia; and (3) informed France’s ambassador about Russia’s impending mobilization measures. Making the performance still more remarkable, before making these moves Sazonov had not consulted with any of the three statesmen most directly involved with Russian policy. Tsar Nicholas II was sailing his yacht off the Finnish coast while most of this took place (although he had been ordered to return to Tsarskoe Selo in time for the next morning’s Crown Council). President Poincaré was cruising the Baltic aboard the France. Serbia’s prime minister, Pašić, had not even returned from the campaign trail to Belgrade. When these men awoke on Saturday, it would be in a different world.

  * A number of Spalaiković’s crucial 24 July dispatches to Belgrade have gone missing, but at least one survives, which contains the passages cited here.

  * The French word Sazonov used was avaler (“to absorb or swallow”). Pourtalès rendered this in German as verschlingen, with roughly the same sense. Szapáry, reporting to Vienna, retranslated this back into French as dévorer (“to devour”).

  * Paléologue claims in his memoirs that he saw Pourtalès leaving Sazonov’s office, “his face purple and his eyes flashing.” According to Schilling, however, the French ambassador deliberately avoided Pourtalès by waiting in the anteroom, to which the German, as a “hostile” ambassador, was not allowed access.

  15

  Russia, France, and Serbia Stand Firm

  SATURDAY, 25 JULY

  AS DAWN BROKE ON SATURDAY, the streets of St. Petersburg were already beginning to simmer. All through July the heat wave had been building. Now it reached its terrible peak. The train stations were packed with vacationers desperate to escape the swampy heat of the capital. In the working-class districts, the situation had steadied somewhat since Wednesday, when many strikers had been injured in clashes with Cossacks. Still, the heat was doing nothing to improve the mood in the factories and cramped housing quarters. Police feared that a new explosion was imminent.

  On the parade ground at Krasnoe Selo, a better-heeled crowd had gathered to observe the annual summer review of imperial troops. The maneuvers were to have been held in the late morning, before the midday sun had ascended over the baking-hot plain. Unfortunately for the overdressed spectators, they would not be this lucky. Although at first no one was told why, the review was postponed until early afternoon.

  THE REASON, IT SOON EMERGED, was that an emergency session of the Council of Ministers had been convened at nearby Tsarskoe Selo to ratify the decisions made in Petersburg the previous afternoon. While Petersburg high society was gathering for a lazy Saturday at the parade ground, Sazonov had been furiously making the rounds. He had spent the night at Tsarskoe Selo, risen early, and gone to his office at Chorister’s Bridge to pick up the evening’s telegrams before returning for the council. This session, unlike yesterday’s, was presided over by Tsar Nicholas II himself. The historic resolutions went even further than those taken on Friday.

  First, Russia’s sovereign approved the previous day’s decision “in principle” to undertake a “partial mobilization” of the four military districts of Kiev, Odessa, Moscow, and Kazan, along with the Black Sea and Baltic fleets. The idea was to telegraph a limited mobilization “against Austria alone,” although even this would not be announced publicly until Austria moved against Serbia. Mobilizing these four districts would prime for war a substantial force of 1.1 million men, not including naval forces.

  Second, all troops were to return to standing quarters. As at Tsarskoe Selo, most of the army was at summer quarters instead, engaging in seasonal maneuvers and drills. Standing quarters were the permanent bases where arms and other war matériel were stored—equipment soldiers must have in hand before they could be mobilized. While not tantamount to mobilization itself, this measure would rapidly put troops into motion across the vast reach of the Russian Empire—not just the 1.1 million men who were to be mobilized in the four districts “against Austria,” but the entire army. It was given the highest priority. On Chief of Staff Yanushkevitch’s orders, Dobrorolskii sent out secret cipher telegram no. 1547 at 4:10 PM:

  PREPARE QUICKLY TRANSPORT PLANS AND PROVISIONS FOR THE RETURN OF ALL TROOPS TO STANDING QUARTERS. TIME FOR THE COMPLETION OF THIS WORK: 24 HOURS.1

  Third, army cadets were immediately promoted to officers. Russia’s army was notably inferior to the German one in the strength of its subalterns and noncommissioned officers. This measure would go some way toward closing the gap. It not only enlarged the officer corps in absolute terms but also freed for active service many mature officers previously engaged in training recruits.

  Four, a “state of war” (that is, martial law) was proclaimed in Moscow, St. Petersburg, all towns in European Russia containing fortresses, and “in the frontier sectors facing Austria and Germany.”2

  Finally, and most important, the council issued top-secret orders to inaugurate the “Period Preparatory to War in all lands of the empire,” beginning at midnight. This was a premobilization directive akin to the Germans’ own Kriegsgefahrzustand, which immediately preceded mobilization (which, in the German case, also meant war). The Russian version was no less portentous than the German. As a secret military commission had reported to War Minister Sukhomlinov in November 1912, “it will be advantageous to complete concentration without beginning hostilities, in order not to deprive the enemy irrevocably of the hope that war can still be avoided. Our measures for this must be masked by clever diplomatic negotiations, in order to lull to sleep as much as possible the enemy’s fears.”3 According to the final statute signed into law by the tsar on 2 March 1913, the Period Preparatory to War

  means the period of diplomatic complications which precedes the opening of hostilities in the course of which all Government departments must take the necessary measures for the preparation and smooth execution of the mobilization of the Army, the Navy and the Fortresses, as well as for the deployment of the army at the threatened frontier.4

  The gravity of these decisions was felt immediately on the parade ground at Tsarskoe Selo. Scarcely had the review of the imperial guard troops begun than it was cut short. As General Oskar von Chelius, Germany’s aide-de-camp to the tsar, reported to Berlin, “during the afternoon review it was announced . . . that maneuvers would be called off for tonight, and that troops must return [to base].” Showing that the orders applied to the top rank of the army too, General Adlerberg, the military governor of St. Petersburg, next “broke off” a conversation with Chelius, announcing that “he had to go to attend to the ‘mobilization.’”5

  Sazonov, too, returned to his own base—at Chorister’s Bridge—as soon as the review concluded at Krasnoe Selo. His first item of business was to inform the French and British ambassadors about what had been resolved at Tsarskoe Selo. To enhance the impression that the Entente Powers should work together as a team, he called them both in together. With Britain still on the diplomatic sidelines, Sazonov had to be very careful with Buchanan. So he discussed only the first resolution of the morning: the decision “in principle” to mobilize the four military districts against Austria (and even here, the Russian neglected to mention that the Baltic and Black Sea fleets would be mobilized as well). Sazonov, Buchanan reported to Foreign Secretary Grey, insisted that the imperial ukase “ordering mobilization of 1.1 million men” would “only be published when Minister for Foreign Affairs [Sazonov] considers moment come for giving effect to it.” When the Briton “expressed [his] earnest hope that Russia would not precipitate war by mobilizing before you [i.e., Grey] had had time to use your influence in favor of peace,” Sazonov assured him “that Russ
ia had no aggressive intentions, and she would take no action until it was forced on her.” In a seeming contradiction, however, Sazonov also told Buchanan and Paléologue that “necessary preliminary preparations for mobilization would, however, begin at once”—an allusion to the “Period Preparatory to War,” although the Russian did not spell this out.

  Paléologue, speaking for France, endorsed the council’s decisions, Buchanan reported to London, “without the slightest sign of hesitation.” When Sazonov asked Buchanan whether Britain, too, would make a statement backing Russia, the answer was no. At best, the Briton was able to promise to “play the role of mediator at Berlin and Vienna.” Hearing this, Sazonov grew frustrated. Germany’s attitude toward war, he tried to convince Buchanan, depended on her view of what London would do. “If we [Britain] took our stand with France and Russia,” Buchanan said Sazonov argued, “there would be no war.” If, by contrast, “we failed them now, rivers of blood would flow and we would in the end be dragged into war.”

  To this veiled warning Buchanan replied with a warning of his own. Unable to give Russia the unequivocal endorsement she wanted, the Briton “said all he could to impress prudence on [Sazonov].” If, however, “Russia mobilized,” Buchanan warned Russia’s foreign minister, “Germany would not be content with mere mobilization or give Russia time to carry out hers, but would probably wish to precipitate a conflict.” Since neither Austria nor Russia looked like blinking, war now looked increasingly likely. The position, Buchanan concluded in his report to Grey, was “perilous.” Because Russia was now “secure of support of France, she will face all the risks of war.” Before long, Britain “shall have to choose between giving Russia our active support or renouncing our friendship.”6

  Paléologue had no such qualms. Poincaré and Viviani were still at sea. He had received no messages either from the France or from the acting director of foreign affairs at the Quai d’Orsay, Jean-Baptiste Bienvenu-Martin, urging any sort of caution (he may have agreed on a policy line with Poincaré before the president left). Paléologue therefore felt justified in assuring Sazonov that “France placed herself unreservedly at Russia’s side.”

  Unlike Buchanan, France’s ambassador was under no illusions about what the Period Preparatory to War meant. In a telegram sent to Bienvenu-Martin at 6:22 PM, following his afternoon audience with Buchanan and Sazonov, Paléologue reported not only Russia’s “partial” mobilization, to be announced if and when Austria-Hungary attacked Serbia, but also that “meanwhile secret [Russian military] preparations will begin today.”7 In the same telegram, Paléologue informed Paris that France’s military attaché, General Pierre de Laguiche, had been posted liaison at Krasnoe Selo to Russia’s War Minister Sukhomlinov and her future commander in chief, Grand Duke Nicholas. Laguiche, for his part, received secret instructions from the French General Staff this day to treat with the Russians on the assumption that “European war could no longer be avoided.”8 Thus even while her civilian government was at sea, France’s diplomatic and military liaisons in Petersburg would be fully in the loop—and in contact with Paris—as Russia’s secret mobilization proceeded.

  ABOARD THE FRANCE, Poincaré and Viviani remained unaware of the momentous decisions made at Tsarskoe Selo on Saturday. Although the ship’s wireless was working, the signal strength was often weak. Thus the France’s wireless operator was able to decode Paléologue’s Saturday morning telegram announcing Friday’s decision at the Council of Ministers to advise Serbia not to resist an Austrian invasion but not the telegram he sent at 6:22 PM announcing Russia’s impending partial mobilization and that “secret military preparations will begin today.” Poincaré, unaware that Sazonov was taking a carrot-and-stick approach, thus thought it was all carrots. He was apoplectic on hearing that Russia wanted Serbia to submit. In his diary Saturday evening, Poincaré called Russia’s advice to Belgrade an “abdication of the tsarist empire” that would mark a “sinister day in world history.” The French, he lamented, “can certainly not be more pan-Slavic than the Russians. Poor Serbia will thus likely be humiliated.”9 Had the France decoded Paléologue’s second telegram, Viviani almost certainly would not have approved. Poincaré, by contrast, would have danced a jig in joy.

  Meanwhile, in Belgrade, the ultimatum deadline was fast approaching. While Berchtold had told his colleagues, and the Germans, to expect a rejection, the signals coming from Belgrade were ambiguous. Somewhat to everyone’s surprise, Pašić’s initial response, given Saturday morning to foreign legations in Belgrade—including Austria’s—suggested that Serbia would comply with the ultimatum with only minor reservations. As Britain’s chargé d’affaires in Belgrade, Dayrell Crackanthorpe, reported to Grey, the reply “will be drawn up in the most conciliatory terms and will meet Austrian demands in as large measure as possible.” The key public demand, that Serbia publish in its official gazette a statement of apology and condemnation of anti-Austrian propaganda, would be met in full. The ten points of the ultimatum, Crackanthorpe continued, “are accepted with reserves.” Serbia would “agree to suppress Narodna Odbrana” and to “dismiss and prosecute those officers whose guilt can be clearly proved.” Apis’s right-hand man, Major Tankositch, whose apprehension for helping organize the assassination plot was demanded in point 7, was already under arrest. Even the onerous points 5 and 6, which demanded that Austro-Hungarian officials collaborate in the “suppression of the subversive movement” in Serbia and “take part in the investigations relating thereto,” were accepted conditionally, so long as the appointment of such a “mixed commission of enquiry . . . can be proved to be in accordance with international usage.”10

  France’s new minister to Belgrade, Jules August Boppe, added in his own report that Pašić had agreed to “dissolve the societies of national defense [i.e., Narodna Odbrana] and all other associations which might agitate against Austria-Hungary,” and to “modify the press law, to dismiss from the army, public instruction and other administrations all officials whose participation in the propaganda shall be proved”—Pašić telling Boppe, helpfully, that Austria-Hungary might provide her own list of guilty officials. As to points 5 and 6, Boppe said that Serbia would “ask for explanations” and “only agree to that which is consonant with international law or to relations of good neighborliness.”11 If this was the only objection Pašić would raise, Vienna would be hard-pressed to find fault with his reply.

  Sometime Saturday afternoon, however, the draft presented to the legations in Belgrade that morning was scrapped and replaced by something quite different. The final text of Serbia’s reply to the Austrian ultimatum, which Pašić presented to Giesl in person at six PM, reneged on many of the promises made earlier, beginning with the public apology. Rather than expressing regret “that Serbian officers and officials have participated in the above-mentioned propaganda,” as demanded in the ultimatum, Serbia expressed “regret that, according to the communication from [Austria-Hungary] certain Serbian officers and functionaries participated.” Rather than regretting an action, that is, Serbia regretted being accused of an action. Likewise, the Serbian reply note agreed that Narodna Odbrana would be dissolved but insisted that Serbia’s government “possess no proof, nor does the note of [Austria-Hungary] furnish them with any, that the Narodna Odbrana and other similar societies have committed . . . any criminal act.” Four other clauses were accepted in principle, but with enough conditions and camouflage as not to suggest compliance in practice.

  As to the crucial clauses 5 and 6, Pašić’s final draft split the difference. The first—collaboration of Austrian officials in suppressing the subversive movement—was accepted, as Boppe and Crackanthorpe had informed Paris and London it would be, insofar as this “agreed with the principle of international law, with criminal procedure, and with good neighborly relations.” The second, however, was shot down firmly. “As regards the participation in this inquiry of Austro-Hungarian agents or authorities,” Pašić’s reply read, Serbia “cannot accept such an arrangement,
as it would be a violation of the Constitution and of the law of criminal procedure.”12 There was no camouflaging this one: it was a blanket refusal.

  Had Pašić changed his mind? Because so many of the relevant Serbian documents have disappeared, it is difficult to determine exactly when, and why, Serbia’s prime minister decided not to comply with the Austrian ultimatum. One possibility is that he never meant to comply at all but told allied ministers such as Boppe and Crackanthorpe that he would in order to win British and French backing (Russian support was taken for granted). Buttressing this explanation, the final reply presented to Giesl at six PM, unlike the morning draft, was not presented to the other powers until days later (it was not sent by telegraph), by which time events had overtaken it and no one paid it much attention—with the curious exception of Kaiser Wilhelm II, who, on reading Pašić’s reply on 28 July, believed it to constitute acceptance.

  Another explanation is that Pašić resolved to take a firmer line after reading Spalaiković’s report from Petersburg, in which Sazonov had advised him not to accept points 5 and 6 and that “Serbia may count on Russian aid.” This report arrived in Belgrade before midnight on Friday and was probably decoded Saturday morning and then given to Pašić, who had returned from Nish overnight. It must have been welcome news. Were Pašić to comply with all or even most of the ultimatum, the faction of extreme nationalists in the Black Hand led by Apis would have an excellent pretext for overthrowing his government. On Friday, the German minister at Belgrade, Julius Griesinger, had reported to Berlin that the Serbian military “categorically demand the rejection of the note and war” and that in the event a Serbian public apology were published in the official Serbian gazette, as demanded by Austria, “a military uprising is feared.”13 Lending further credence to this version of events, Slavko Gruić, the secretary general of the Serbian Foreign Office charged with translating the reply note, recalled endless hassles over the text. All Saturday afternoon, Pašić and his advisers badgered poor Gruić with suggested changes, to the point where the running draft was “was so full of crossings out and additions as to be almost incomprehensible.”14 The prime minister clearly sweated over his draft until the last minute, trying to make it sound as conciliatory as possible to allies and neutrals, while still making a strong enough stand on point 6 such as he knew could not be acceptable to Austria-Hungary, thus protecting his political flank against Apis. Pašić may have wanted to reject the ultimatum anyway, but until he was sure of Russian backing, he could not risk doing so. Sazonov’s pledge thus saved him from the horns of a very serious dilemma—and, possibly, from a coup d’état.