July 1914: Countdown to War

by Sean McMeekin

  Paléologue has come in for a good deal of criticism for his role in urging on Russia’s secret war preparations without authorization from Viviani and Poincaré, as in his vow given on Tuesday, when they were still at sea, of “the complete readiness of France to fulfill her obligations as an ally.”11 Likewise, he has been faulted for deliberately misleading them about the critical events of Wednesday, 29 July. Certainly, in order to fulfill his primary duty as intermediary for the Franco-Russian military alliance, the ambassador should have informed Paris that the tsar had decided on general mobilization, even if he later changed his mind.

  It would be going too far, however, to claim that Paléologue was acting as a free agent. He and General Laguiche had kept Army Chief of Staff Joffre and War Minister Messimy fully informed about Russia’s Period Preparatory to War since the weekend, and there is no reason to doubt that they, in turn, had fully briefed Poincaré—who took a greater interest in military matters than Viviani—upon the president’s arrival in Paris on Wednesday. As for his tacit endorsement of Russia’s move from partial to general mobilization, Paléologue was acting on the express instructions of France’s General Staff (if not also its civilian government) to discourage any Russian tendency to mobilize against Austria alone, as he confessed in a postwar interview.12 In his communications with the Quai d’Orsay about Russian mobilization measures, the ambassador was indeed being cagey—but with good reason. Whenever it would come, the announcement of general mobilization was so explosive that Paléologue had been ordered by the Russians not to use his own cipher, ostensibly in order to keep German cryptographers in the dark. But then Paléologue, like Sazonov, was keeping a watchful eye on British opinion as well—and on Viviani, whom he knew to be far less fervently committed to the Franco-Russian cause than Poincaré. The longer he could delay news of Russian mobilization from reaching policymakers in London—and his own wavering premier—the more difficult it would be for them to stop it.

  Sazonov was just as careful in informing Paris about Russia’s mobilization. In his own message to Ambassador Izvolsky (copied also to Ambassador Benckendorff in London, which required still more deftness of tone), Russia’s foreign minister hinted only obliquely at the drama that had transpired on Wednesday evening in Petersburg. “The German ambassador,” Sazonov wrote, “informed me today of the decision of his government to mobilize its forces if Russia did not cease her military preparations. As we are unable to accede to Germany’s desire, it only remains for us to hasten our armaments and regard war as imminent.”13

  Izvolsky recognized the significance of this cryptic, but suggestive, message as soon as he received it at just past two AM on Thursday, 30 July. At once he sent his secretary to the Quai d’Orsay for urgent consultations, while ordering Count Ignatiev, Russia’s military attaché, to deliver Sazonov’s message to the French War Ministry on Rue Saint-Domingue, with urgent instructions that the war minister be awakened with the news. For good measure, Ignatiev went over to Messimy’s house, in full dress uniform, to demand how France would respond to Russian partial mobilization. Izvolsky then personally delivered Sazonov’s telegram to Premier Viviani, waking him up in the process. Messimy, in turn, phoned Viviani, finding him awake but not in a good mood. “Good God!” the premier exclaimed. “These Russians are even worse insomniacs than they are drinkers.” Viviani then roused Poincaré. The president, recognizing the gravity of the moment, dressed quickly and summoned Viviani and Messimy to the Elysée Palace at four AM.14

  The meeting lasted clear through the night. We do not know what was said, but it is not hard to guess at the subject. Back on Sunday, Jules Cambon, France’s ambassador in Berlin, had reported that “any mobilization orders issued in Russia will certainly be followed by mobilization orders in Germany.”15 Sazonov had just confirmed the veracity of Cambon’s report by informing the French government that Ambassador Pourtalès had warned him that if Russia mobilized, Germany would have to as well. Sazonov had then hinted that this was exactly what Russia was about to do (“it only remains for us to hasten our armaments”). Whether or not Viviani and Poincaré had signed off on Russian mobilization measures taken since the weekend, they needed to weigh in now. In a wire sent off to Paléologue in St. Petersburg at seven Thursday morning, 30 July, Viviani recounted what he had learned from Sazonov’s telegram—and from Izvolsky—about the “inevitability of war” (l’imminence de guerre) and the need to “hasten [Russia’s] armaments,” commenting that Russia was evidently “counting on the support of her ally, France, and she considered it desirable that England would join Russia and France without further delay.” Viviani instructed Paléologue to tell Sazonov that, while “France was resolved to fulfill all obligations of her alliance, in the interest of general peace and in view of the conversation pending between the less interested powers, I believe that it would be opportune that, as regards the precautionary and defense measures which Russia believes it necessary to adopt, she should not immediately take any step which might offer to Germany a pretext for a total or partial mobilization of her forces.”16

  There are several contradictory notes in this ambiguous message. The phrase “in the interest of general peace” was clearly Viviani’s (he also inserted a reminder that he had written Paléologue in this vein back on Monday, 27 July, from aboard the France). There is no reason to doubt Viviani’s sincerity in desiring to avert a European war, no matter how ineffectual his policies had been so far in furthering this aim. Just as clearly, we can detect the hands of Poincaré and Messimy in the telegram’s tacit approval of the “precautionary and defense measures” Russia was taking, conditioned only by a gentle hint that she should avoid giving the Germans a too obvious casus belli. In a diary entry that day, Poincaré explained his thinking: the idea in “warning” the Russians was not to prevent war from breaking out but to avoid “offering Germany a pretext,” “because of the ambiguous attitude of England” (à cause de l’attitude ambiguë de l’Angleterre).17 Poincaré’s tacit approval of Russia’s impending general mobilization is further confirmed in a telegram Izvolsky sent to Sazonov Thursday morning, reporting that he had been assured privately that “the French government had no desire to interfere in our military preparations.”18 Just as Bethmann, in Berlin, was busy trying (and largely failing) to put the diplomatic onus on Russia, so Poincaré wanted the Russians not to blow their cover in England by tipping their hand too early.

  Considering how far Russia’s mobilization had gone by Thursday, this was easier said than done. Still, though it had infuriated War Minister Sukhomlinov and Chief of Staff Yanushkevitch, the tsar’s decision to reverse the general mobilization order had opened a diplomatic lifeline of sorts. By intervening to cancel his own general mobilization order of Wednesday night, Tsar Nicholas II had given not only the Germans but also his own French allies a brief stay of execution. So long as Russia refrained from raising the red placards of general mobilization, there remained a faint glimmer of hope that everyone would back down from the brink.

  RUSSIA’S SOVEREIGN, however, still had to reckon with his own advisers. It was not only the military men who had been taken aback by his rescinding of the general mobilization order. By Thursday morning, it was clear that most of his cabinet was against him as well. Krivoshein, the bellicose agriculture minister, was livid. So, too, was M. V. Rodzianko, the president of the Duma. In light of the common view of Nicholas II both in Russia and abroad as a lightweight,* it is interesting to note that, on this critical day, he stood rather like the formidable Tisza had against the war party in Vienna—alone against all others.19

  Sazonov was at the center of the storm. It was he who had first pushed Russia into the Period Preparatory to War over the weekend and who had convinced Nicholas II to order general mobilization on Wednesday night (before the tsar changed his mind). On both occasions, he had acted decisively, belying his reputation for hesitation and cowardice. And yet because Sazonov had long been viewed as a cautious moderate in the cabinet, Nicholas II
trusted his counsel now, more than that of any other adviser. The tsar categorically refused to see Krivoshein. Next to try their luck were Sukhomlinov and Yanushkevitch, who phoned the palace around eleven AM and tried to persuade their sovereign that “it was indispensable to proceed to a general mobilization,” so as to “prepare for a serious war without loss of time.” After hearing his chief of staff make the same case as the war minister—the same case, indeed, that both men had made the previous night—the tsar curtly declared that “the conversation was at an end.” Yanushkevitch, thinking quickly, said that Sazonov was in the room, too: Would the tsar hear out his foreign minister, at least? After a “lengthy silence,” he agreed. Realizing that mobilization talk was a nonstarter, Sazonov asked for an audience so that he could “present a report concerning the political situation which admitted of no delay.” After another pause, the tsar agreed to see him at three PM.20

  Sazonov had just over three hours before his date with destiny. He did not waste his time. First, he huddled with Yanushkevitch to discuss his strategy for persuading the tsar to mobilize. The chief of staff had been thinking about this all night, but the tsar had cut him off on the phone before he could make his full argument. He urged that Sazonov impress on Russia’s sovereign the “extreme danger that would result for us if we were not ready for war with Germany.” General mobilization, he explained, “would be very seriously dislocated by the partial mobilization already ordered; this dislocation could only be avoided by an immediate general mobilization.” Every hour, every minute counted. If the tsar continued objecting to technical arguments, Yanushkevitch said, Sazonov should switch to a political tack and warn his sovereign that if he continued hesitating, Germany’s cunning kaiser would then “coax out of the French a promise of neutrality,” leaving Russia alone to face the German military machine. Assuming that this barrage of arguments would be enough, Yanushkevitch asked that Sazonov phone him from the palace once the tsar had decided. As soon as the order was received, Yanushkevitch vowed, “I shall go away, smash my telephone, and generally adopt measures which will prevent anyone from finding me for the purpose of giving contrary orders.” To Yanushkevitch’s relief, Sazonov “agreed completely.” The chief of staff then phoned Dobrorolskii, the army’s mobilization chief, and ordered him to “be ready to come to me with all the documents immediately upon my telephone call in the afternoon.”21

  After dismissing Yanushkevitch, Sazonov called in German ambassador Pourtalès, who had been demanding an audience after their dramatic encounter of the night before. According to the foreign minister, the ambassador “appealed to Sazonov to hold out a last straw and to make some suggestion which Pourtalès could telegraph to his Government.”22 Sazonov then quickly composed the following “formula,” in French: “If Austria, recognizing that the Austro-Serbian question has assumed the character of a question of European interest, declares herself ready to eliminate from her ultimatum points which violate the sovereign rights of Serbia, Russia engages to stop her military preparations.”

  Although, as Pourtalès noted optimistically in his report to Berlin, Sazonov had not—as before—demanded that Austria suspend her own military preparations, on the central ultimatum issue he had not budged an inch.23 Far more important than what Sazonov did or did not include in his hastily scribbled “formula,” however, was the fact that it was Germany’s ambassador, and not Russia’s foreign minister, who was begging to keep diplomatic channels alive.

  At noon, Sazonov called in Buchanan and Paléologue. Acquainting the British and French ambassadors with the gist of his exchange with Pourtalès, Sazonov claimed, erroneously, that this audience had taken place at two AM (the encounter that had ended with Sazonov vowing that Russia’s mobilization “could not be reversed”) rather than minutes earlier.* The reason Russia’s foreign minister lied becomes clear when we read Buchanan’s account of the proceedings: it was in the “two AM audience,” Sazonov claimed, that Pourtalès, “seeing war as inevitable, broke down completely” and asked the Russian to compose his peace formula as a “last straw.” To buttress his claim that it was the Germans who were committed to war, Sazonov told Buchanan and Paléologue that Russia had “absolute proof of military and naval preparations being made by Germany against Russia more especially in the direction of the Gulf of Finland” (whether or not he had any such proof—unlikely, as no such preparations had begun—he did not show evidence of them).** Because it was Germany’s ambassador who supposedly saw war as inevitable, and the Germans were up to, well, something or other “in the direction of the Gulf of Finland,” it was therefore clear, Sazonov told Buchanan and Paléologue, that “Russia can hardly postpone converting partial into general mobilization now that she knows that Germany is preparing and excitement in [Russia] has reached such a pitch that she cannot hold back if Austria refuses to make concession.”24

  In this way, Sazonov ingeniously covered his diplomatic flank, offering up a last-minute initiative with Germany (however cynically contrived and inaccurately reported) as evidence of Russia’s peaceful intentions, along with evidence of the enemy’s warlike intentions (however specious) to justify the general mobilization order he was about to demand of Tsar Nicholas II. If Buchanan had any suspicions about what Sazonov was up to, he failed to express them—or report them to London. Nor did Paléologue object to Sazonov’s suggestion that Russian general mobilization was about to begin, but then, as he had been in the loop on Russia’s war preparations all along, there was no reason to expect that he would have.

  Buoyed by the implied endorsement from the French and British ambassadors, Sazonov lunched with Krivoshein and Schilling. If Russia’s foreign minister was beset with any remaining doubts, the ever-war-ready Krivoshein did his best to scotch them. The atmosphere, Schilling wrote in his diary, “was tense and the conversation was almost exclusively concerned with the necessity for insisting upon a general mobilization at the earliest possible moment, in view of the inevitability of war with Germany, which every moment became clearer.”25 After returning to Chorister’s Bridge, Sazonov found Sukhomlinov waiting to fire him up, along with Duma president Rodzianko, who handed him a memorandum for the tsar. “As head of the representatives of the Russian people,” the message stated simply, Rodzianko, speaking on their behalf, “would never forgive a delay which might precipitate the country into fatal confusion.”26

  Fortified by this unanimous Greek chorus of Russia’s civilian and military leaders, Sazonov headed over to the Peterhof, arriving, as requested, at three PM. Nicholas II, endeavoring not to be cornered, had insisted that the meeting include General Tatistchev, who, incongruously, was to be handed orders for an urgent posting as the tsar’s personal liaison to Kaiser Wilhelm II (as Nicky had informed Willy in his ill-thought-through 1:20 AM telegram, the one in which he had confessed that Russia’s mobilization measures had been “decided five days ago”). Russia’s foreign minister would have to make his case for war in the presence of the man being posted to Potsdam to work for peace.

  Fortunately for Sazonov, General Tatistchev was so overwhelmed by the gravity of the moment that he remained silent as the foreign minister spoke. Having evidently forgotten Yanushkevitch’s instructions—or realizing that they would not work on the tsar—Sazonov skipped all the technical bits about partial versus general mobilization and focused instead on German intentions. “It was clear to everybody,” he declared, according to Schilling’s diary, “that Germany had decided to bring about a collision, as otherwise she would not have rejected all the pacificatory proposals that had been made and could easily have brought her ally to reason.” It was better, Sazonov continued, “to put away any fears that our warlike preparations would bring about a war, and to continue these preparations carefully rather than by reason of such fears to be taken unawares by war.” Assuming that war was now unavoidable, the foreign minister summed up his case in language similar to that of his telegram to Izvolsky the previous night: “it only remained to do everything that was nec
essary to meet war fully armed and under the most favorable conditions for ourselves.”27

  By the conclusion of Sazonov’s remarks, the tsar was “deadly pale.” As sovereign, he felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. Finally he replied, “in a choking voice”: “Just think of the responsibility you are advising me to assume! Remember it is a question of sending thousands of men to their deaths.”28 Another long silence followed. As the fate of Europe hung in the balance, suddenly and without warning, General Tatistchev spoke up. Despite the ostensible importance of his brief, he had been ignored, and he may have taken offense. Or he might simply have wanted to help alleviate the agony of his emperor. “Yes,” Tatistchev intoned gravely, “it is hard to decide.” Russia’s sovereign replied “in a rough and displeased tone, ‘I will decide,’” making clear that he would brook no further intervention. At last, shortly before four PM on Thursday, July 30, Tsar Nicholas II agreed to order general mobilization. Sazonov, on cue, rushed down to the palace telephone, called Yanushkevitch, and uttered the magic words: “Now you can smash your telephone!”29

  After Yanushkevitch had the ministers sign the tsar’s new mobilization order, Dobrorolskii headed over to the General Telegraph Office. “Every operator,” he recalled,

  was sitting by his instrument waiting for the copy of the telegram, in order to send to all the ends of the Russian Empire the momentous news of the calling up of the Russian people. A few minutes after six, while absolute stillness reigned in the room, all the instruments began at once to click. That was the beginning moment of the great epoch.30

  This time, unlike the previous evening, no contrary instructions were delivered. The tsar had made up his mind. There was no going back.