July 1914: Countdown to War

by Sean McMeekin

  Austria, however, had one more surprise in store for everyone. On Friday morning, yet another war council had convened in Vienna, this time with Emperor Franz Josef presiding. Conrad, as usual, was ready to move and declare general mobilization. Berchtold had been willing to wait in order to humor Bethmann, but the mixed signals coming from the German chancellor had elicited his contempt. In the end, it was the pressure from Moltke—who wired two more messages to Conrad during the day, begging that he mobilize against Russia—that wore down the resistance of Tisza, Berchtold, and the emperor, who agreed to order general mobilization just after noon. Oddly, although entirely consistent with Austria’s behavior so far, the mobilization would not actually begin until August 4, and it was still not made clear to Moltke’s satisfaction whether Conrad would follow Plan B (or “Balkans,” focusing on Serbia) or Plan R (for Russia).36

  It was another Austrian blunder that worked to Germany’s detriment. By announcing general mobilization on Friday, 31 July, five days before it would actually begin, Vienna handed yet another talking point to France and Russia in their goal of bringing Britain into the war. In reality, the decision was such a nonevent that almost no one in Petersburg, Berlin, London, or Paris took note of it at first—with the curious exception of Jules Cambon, France’s ambassador in Berlin, who learned about Russia’s general mobilization at about the same time. Indeed, in the same telegram in which he officially informed Viviani about Russia’s general mobilization, Cambon had erroneously reported that “Russia had just decided on total mobilization in response to Austrian total mobilization”—despite the fact that Russia’s decision had preceded Austria’s by twenty hours.37 The fact that no one in Paris took heed of this message on Friday—Austrian general mobilization was not mentioned in the nine thirty PM telegram to Paléologue in which Viviani demanded clarification on Russian mobilization—shows how little thought anyone gave Austria that day. But she would shortly make a comeback. The weekend would see a battle royale over British belligerence or neutrality, in which every new revelation—whether truthful or not—threatened to tip the balance.

  * Confusingly, at 9 PM Thursday, Bethmann recommended “most urgently that Austria should accept Grey’s proposal,” and then wired again at 11:20 PM for Tschirschky to disregard this message on account of news of Russian military preparations; then, upon receiving a peace-minded telegram from King George V around midnight, Bethmann changed his instructions again. Coupled with Moltke’s insubordinate message to Conrad on Thursday afternoon, the effect was to convince Berchtold that Bethmann was irresolute; thus there was no need for Austria to back down.

  * Grey did not mention his source, but we can confirm from Foreign Office sources that it was the secretary of the German embassy, who called at five PM with the news of Bethmann’s telegram from Berlin, reporting on Russian general mobilization. Certainly Grey did not learn this from Cambon or Benckendorff; neither the French nor Russians had fessed up yet.

  * France’s reserve corps would still lag nearly five days behind this (although a portion of them would be ready by M + 11). The Germans had decided to throw their reserve divisions right into the front lines, which would allow them to move faster and flank much further north than the French assumed they could. This was a serious flaw in Plan XVII. But Joffre, despite receiving credible intelligence reports about German plans for reserve deployment, did not believe them.

  * Curiously, both Viviani and Poincaré later maintained that Schoen had not specified that German mobilization would be tantamount to war. Schoen insists that he did specify this, as a “last urgent appeal to co-operate in saving the peace that was in dire peril.” Whether or not Schoen was telling the truth, it is hard to see what Viviani and Poincaré wanted to prove: the ambassador clearly issued a very serious warning, without sugarcoating. Viviani himself confirmed as much when, later that evening, he told the British ambassador that the “the German Embassy is packing up.”

  * The telegram was wired from Petersburg at 10:43 AM Friday, meaning that it took twelve hours to reach Paris (after being dispatched eighteen hours after the tsar had ordered general mobilization!). Paléologue later concocted an elaborate story explaining why he had taken thirty hours to report the world-historical news to Paris: he only saw the placards on the streets Friday morning; his messenger got lost on the way to the telegraph office; finally, the telegram went via Scandinavia instead of Berlin. Rarely has the imperative of “plausible deniability” been put so nakedly on display.

  * Paléologue’s wire contained only one line of thirteen words. It cannot have taken more than five minutes to decode. Considering its importance, it beggars belief that Viviani was not apprised of its contents immediately—which would help explain the urgency with which the cabinet approved his strange covering message to Paléologue.

  ** Villain apparently aimed to murder Caillaux next. He had inscribed two pistols, one marked “J,” for Jaurès and one “C,” for Caillaux.

  22

  “Now You Can Do What You Want”

  SATURDAY, 1 AUGUST

  AT EIGHT AM, Joffre handed Messimy a note outlining “the imperative necessity of ordering our mobilization.” Citing reports of German mobilization (actually premobilization) measures—the call-up of reservists, requisitions, and purchases of horses—France’s chief of staff insisted that, in order not to give Moltke a head start, “the last possible time limit for publishing the order would expire at four PM.” To drive the point home, Joffre threatened to resign if France did not mobilize on Saturday. If the government delayed any further, he told Messimy, “I cannot possibly continue to bear the crushing responsibility of the high office which has been entrusted to me.” Messimy, sympathetic but unable to promise anything, suggested that Joffre come to the Elysée Palace himself to make his case. Joffre agreed.

  At nine AM, the French cabinet convened. Joffre made his case for immediate mobilization. According to Messimy’s recollection, “there was no protest, no comment.”1 There was also no great urgency, as the German ultimatum to Russia had several hours left to run, and, as Joffre himself conceded, the government had until four PM to decide. Meanwhile, important news came in from Rome. Camille Barrère, France’s ambassador, reported that Italy’s foreign minister, Antonio San Giuliano, had told him, “in the most complete secrecy,” that “the Italian Government was inclined to regard the Austrian attack on Serbia as an act of aggression of a nature to absolve it from action in favor of Austria.” Moreover, the articles of the Triple Alliance “were such as to enable Italy . . . to abstain from participation in any conflict”—that is, on behalf of Germany as well. The only condition San Giuliano attached to this pledge of neutrality was that France and Russia show “restraint.”2 Without delay, Joffre was authorized to send the army “additional instructions . . . prescribing that in case of mobilization the covering troops designated for the south-eastern frontier should remain in their mobilization centers, ready to entrain for the northeast.” So confident was the cabinet of San Giuliano’s neutrality pledge that France would leave her Italian border undefended.3

  At the same time, the British cabinet was meeting in London. In a sense, the fact that it was convening on a Saturday morning was historic. For well-born Britons, weekends were when one went to the country. Prime Minister Asquith liked to golf, Grey to fish, Churchill to play with his children. Others, such as Conservative MPs Arthur Balfour and Andrew Bonar Law, preferred lawn tennis. What no one liked to do was stay in town. But this Saturday was different. The burgeoning rift in the cabinet, growing for days, was threatening to burst it apart.

  Overnight, more disquieting news had come in from Paris and Berlin that made nonsense of Grey’s stated position of “watchful waiting.” The French communiqué had actually been composed at twelve thirty PM Friday, although it was only delivered to Downing Street at midnight. In it, Viviani reported that “German patrols had twice penetrated our territory,” and asserted (again falsely) that “our advance units have retreated
10 kilom. behind our frontier.” “The populations thus left exposed to enemy attack protest,” he continued, “but the [French] Government is determined to show English public opinion and the [British] Government that the aggressor will in no case be France.”4 This message was alarming enough that Sir Arthur Nicolson was awakened to receive it. He, in turn, awakened Asquith—although oddly, not Sir Edward Grey.5

  The news from Germany, which came in only minutes later, was still more disturbing. After recounting the events of the past few days, including the Willy-Nicky telegrams and the kaiser’s efforts to mediate in Vienna, Bethmann reported that, in view of Russia’s general mobilization that began on Friday, “we were compelled, unless we wanted to abandon the safety of the Fatherland, to answer this action, which could only be regarded as hostile, with serious counter-measures. We therefore told Russia that if she did not stop her warlike measures against Germany and Austria-Hungary within twelve hours we should mobilise, and that would mean war. We asked France whether in a Russo-German war she would remain neutral.”6

  Regardless of whether Viviani’s claim that Germany had already invaded France was true (it was not), the Germans’ own message suggested that a Russo-German war would begin Saturday. It would be hard to avoid a cabinet meltdown over this.

  Nevertheless, Nicolson and Asquith did their best. With Grey asleep, they called in his private secretary, Sir William Tyrrell, in his stead. They decided to deal with the German question first, as it seemed more urgent. Showing that they gave credence to Bethmann’s message about Russian general mobilization (even if it was a little late to be noticing now—a day and a half after it had been ordered), Tyrrell, Nicolson, and Asquith penned an appeal from King George V to Tsar Nicholas II, passing on Bethmann’s note about Russian mobilization and asking vaguely that the tsar “remove the misapprehension which I feel must have occurred.”7 At one AM, they took a taxi to Buckingham Palace and awakened the king. Asquith, having never done anything like this before, was rather embarrassed to see his sovereign “in a brown dressing gown over his night shirt & with copious signs of having been aroused from his first ‘beauty sleep.’”8 Still, the king did as he was told and signed the telegram. At two AM, after everyone had gone home, Asquith’s secretary rang the German embassy to inform Lichnowsky that a direct appeal asking Russia to “stop the mobilization” had been sent to the tsar (although in fact the telegram was not dispatched until three thirty AM; it was sent not directly to Tsarskoe Selo but to Buchanan at the Petersburg embassy; and, more significantly, it said absolutely nothing about stopping Russian mobilization).9

  Saturday morning, at seven AM, Nicolson at last called on Grey, who was staying with Lord Haldane, the former secretary of state for war (now lord chancellor). He was accompanied by General Sir Henry Wilson, director of military operations, in charge of liaising with the French army (it was Wilson who had drawn up plans for the dispatch of the British Expeditionary Force to France in case of war). Nicolson’s idea was that Wilson, a keen interventionist for obvious reasons, might put some steel into Grey. But Grey, sluggish as usual, was still in bed. Nicolson declined to wake him.10 Instead, he returned to the Foreign Office and wrote out another sovereign appeal for the king to sign, this time to France. This one was no less evasive, promising President Poincaré only that “you may rest assured that my Government will continue to discuss frankly and freely with M. Cambon all points touching the interests of both peoples.”11

  When Grey finally awoke, his first priority before the cabinet meeting, scheduled for 11 AM, was to sound out the German ambassador. Still not quite stirring himself to action, he sent his secretary, Sir Tyrrell, to the embassy. Grey’s idea for limiting (if not staving off) the war, judging from “a remark of Sir W. Tyrrell’s,” Lichnowsky reported to Berlin at 11:14 AM, was “that in the event of our not attacking France, England, too, would remain neutral and would guarantee France’s passivity.” More details, Tyrrell told the ambassador, would come after the cabinet meeting. Even while Lichnowsky was thinking through this stunning proposal, Grey phoned and asked him, as Lichnowsky reported to Germany’s State Secretary Jagow, “whether I thought I could give an assurance that in the event of France remaining neutral in a war between Russia and Germany we should not attack the French.” Lichnowsky, guessing how euphorically Grey’s amazing offer would be received in Berlin, assured Grey that he “could take responsibility for such a guarantee,” and that that the foreign secretary could use this German guarantee in the cabinet. Tyrrell then “urgently begged” Lichnowsky to use his “influence to prevent [German] troops from violating the French frontier. Everything depended on that.”12

  Having thus sent messages urging moderation to Petersburg, Paris, and Berlin, Grey and Asquith had covered their flank with the Little Englanders before the start of the cabinet meeting. But they still had to satisfy the interventionists, foremost among them Churchill. Over the past few days, the bellicose first lord had made overtures to Conservative and Unionist opposition leaders,* in case the Liberal cabinet split over the war. Churchill had once been a Conservative and still had good contacts in the party. Among them was F. E. Smith (the future Lord Birkenhead), who assured him on Friday night that he “was unreservedly for standing by France and Belgium.” After consulting with Andrew Bonar Law, leader of the Conservative opposition, Smith had given Churchill a written assurance that, “on the assumption (which we understand to be certain) that Germany contemplates a violation of Belgian neutrality—the Government can rely on the support of the Unionist Party in whatever manner that support can be most effectively given.”13 Churchill had then showed this note to Asquith.

  During the cabinet meeting, Churchill quietly passed notes to David Lloyd George, the chancellor of the Exchequer, who had served him as a mentor in the Liberal Party. Although leaning against intervention, Lloyd George had not yet made up his mind. Churchill “implored” him to “come and bring your mighty aid to the discharge of our duty.” The question of war or peace, he told Lloyd George, “is our whole future—comrades—or opponents.” Having thus staked out his position and won over (so he hoped) the prime minister and the chancellor of the Exchequer, Churchill summoned all his “daemonic energy” and demanded “the immediate calling out of the Fleet Reserves and the completion of our naval preparations.” The cabinet said no. Churchill issued forth a “torrent of rhetoric,” which Asquith judged to have lasted over an hour. The cabinet still said no.14

  To give succor to Churchill and the interventionists, Grey warned everyone that he would resign if, as Lord Morley and the Little Englander faction he led desired, “an out-and-out and uncompromising policy of non-intervention at all costs is adopted.” The implications were clear: because Asquith and Churchill would almost certainly follow, Grey’s resignation would bring down the government. Not even Morley wanted to risk this yet. Still, the cabinet remained deadlocked. There was no support for Churchill’s belligerent stance, but none to force a vote on unconditional neutrality either.15

  The deciding issue, it seemed, would be Belgian neutrality. While a hard core of Liberal MPs in Parliament were pushing a motion that afternoon that England should stay out of war “whatever happened in Belgium,” the noninterventionists in the cabinet were not so sure. Morley did not like the idea of intervening on behalf of Belgium, but he admitted that the matter was tricky. “There was,” he recalled of this historic cabinet session, “a general, but vague, assent to our liabilities under the Treaty of 1839, but there was no assent to the employment of a land force.” At some point in the discussion of the Belgian issue, Grey saw his opportunity. He asked permission to address a warning to Lichnowsky that if Germany was unable to give the same guarantee on Belgium that France had, “it would be very hard to restrain public feeling in this country.”16 It was an odd sort of warning: threatening Germany with the wrath of English public opinion. But it offered Grey a possible way out of the cabinet impasse. He seized it.

  Back in Paris, the cabinet meeting ha
d been interrupted at eleven AM, when Ambassador Schoen arrived at the Quai d’Orsay to demand an answer as to French neutrality in a Russo-German war. Viviani was dispatched to give the reply that was prearranged by the cabinet on Friday evening: “France will act in accordance with her interests.” Schoen could not have been in much doubt as to what this meant, but still, he had to ask. “I confess,” he said, “that my question is rather naive. But, after all, do you not have a treaty of alliance [with Russia]?” Viviani replied, again ambiguously: “So it would appear” (Évidemment). Seeking some kind of answer that could be interpreted unambiguously in Berlin, Schoen pressed again, but all that Viviani would tell him was that “he regards situation as changed since yesterday.” As to what had changed, he informed Schoen that “Sir Ed. Grey’s proposal that all sides cease military preparations has been accepted by Russia in principle and that Austria-Hungary has announced that she will not infringe Serbian integrity and sover-eignty.”17 The latter statement was true; the former “revelation”—that Russia had agreed to cease military preparations—was utterly false, although Schoen did not know this.