The World Crisis

by Winston S. Churchill

  His power of work surpassed his physical strength. Accustomed to mountain air from long service in Tirol, he felt stifled in his room at the Ministry of War. In the frosts of winter he worked with his windows open, and his visitors caught cold. He was stern with himself, that he might be more stern with others. He courted toil and privation, and inflicted them readily upon his troops. Indeed at the manœuvres a year before the war he pressed the army so hard that the Archduke was forced to remonstrate. ‘It is not necessary,’ said Franz Ferdinand, ‘to teach the soldiers to die in time of peace.’ This dark, small, frail, thin officer with piercing and expressive eyes, set in the face of an ascetic, austere in his way of living, fearless of men and events, devoted to his profession and to the Emperor, consumed with anxiety for his country, dwelt year after year at the very centre of Europe’s powder magazine in special charge of the detonators.

  The Alliance which Bismarck had formed in 1879 between Germany and Austria had broadened into the Triple Alliance by including Italy in 1883; but the Reinsurance Treaty of 1887 between Germany and Russia freed this formidable grouping from any offensive character. It was not until Bismarck had gone that the growth of Pan-Slav feeling in Russia and the unwisdom of German policy produced the rift between Russia and Germany which led eventually to the abyss. From 1892 when the Russo-French Alliance was declared, Europe was divided in a new sense between a Triple and a Dual combination. The Anglo-French agreement of 1904 not only ended the quarrels between Great Britain and France, but drew us in consequence closer to Russia. The gradual association of Great Britain with these two countries weakened the ties which joined Italy to the Triple Alliance. In neither case was there any overt or formal change. British Ministers still proclaimed the detachment of the British Empire from European combinations, and Italian statesmen reaffirmed their loyalty to the Triple Alliance. Nevertheless there had been a double simultaneous alteration in the European balance. The dawn of the sinister twentieth century revealed a distinct confrontation of Germany and Austria by France and Russia. Between these two pairs there were deep-seated antagonisms. Henceforward the clash of Russian and Austrian interests in the Balkans flowed along the same channel as the ancient unending quarrel between Germany and France. The sun still shone brightly and the weather was fair; but there was a sharp chill in the breeze.

  The war between Russia and Japan cut across the rival groupings. At first the failure of the Russians and the British association with Japan seemed to weaken the Dual Alliance to an almost fatal extent; but the ever-rising power and assertiveness of Germany and the disputes about Morocco drew the nations back to their main alignments. France and Germany had during the last quarter of the nineteenth century acquired impressive colonial possessions. England had conquered and annexed the Boer republics. All these three Powers were actively establishing themselves along the north African shore from Egypt to Morocco. The French had waived their rights and interests in Egypt in consideration of British support in Morocco. But Germany, not consulted in the Anglo-French convention, resisted fiercely the satisfaction of French claims in Morocco. The apparition of England at the Algeciras Conference and her skilful intervention had left Germany isolated with Austria as her sole ally and supporter.

  Efforts for peace and international agreement were not lacking. But neither the Hague Conference of 1907, nor its predecessor of 1899, were really Peace Conferences at all. Their contribution to the maintenance of peace—apart, perhaps, from the establishment of the Hague Court—was almost negligible. They occupied themselves mainly with the rules of war, and even here they were not successful in devising codes that could stand the test of reality. This engrossing concentration on particular aspects of war set every General Staff thinking, and fomented much suspicion. No small part of our own preparations at the Committee of Imperial Defence had their origin in the ambiguities of the Hague Conventions, which compelled us to decide what our own policy should be and opened up vistas of fields still unexplored in the work of war preparation.

  These remorseless developments, which nothing in the organization of the old world could control, added to the burden which Germany already bore through her own expansion and ambitions, all the insoluble problems and obscure stresses of the decaying Austro-Hungarian Empire. From this time onwards the two central Empires made common cause, and each became perforce the undiscriminating champion of the other’s aims. They had been allied; they were now combined. They were now shackled. Austria vaunting her fidelity looked to the might of Germany as her means of life; and Germany with the best and strongest army in the world knew that Austria was her only friend. This vicious, fatal degeneration made the peace and civilization of mankind dependent upon the processes of disintegration and spasms of recovery which alternately racked the Hapsburg Monarchy. The quarrel about Alsace-Lorraine was reopened in Bosnia and Herzegovina. The naval antagonism between Great Britain and Germany was fomented by the passions of races who had never seen the sea. The glory and safety of Europe hung, henceforth, upon its weakest link.

  CHAPTER II

  THE ANNEXATION OF BOSNIA

  When the Emperor Francis Joseph looked back over his long life he grieved that the Hapsburg monarchy should have lost the fair Italian provinces during his reign. The wish for some compensating gain lay deep in his heart. This was not unknown to Aerenthal who became his Foreign Minister in 1906. Aerenthal, like Conrad, brooded over the growing dangers which beset the Empire. He hoped by dexterous diplomacy to revive its strength and gratify his master. After the Russo-Turkish war of 1878 the provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina1 liberated from the Turks had been placed in the care of Austria by the Congress in Berlin. For thirty years they had been ruled from Vienna under a mandate of the signatory powers which amounted to sovereignty in all but name. Formally, however, they were still part of the Sultan’s dominions. The arrangement had worked fairly well. The Sultan had ceased to mourn his loss, and Europe had come to regard the provinces as part of the Austro-Hungarian empire.

  This tranquillity was disturbed by the Young Turk revolution. A government appeared in Turkey, modernist, nationalist and aggressive. The whole of the Balkans and all countries intimately concerned with Turkey were forced to review their position. If the Young Turks succeeded in reviving their decadent empire and Turkey became a strong power, might she not reclaim her rights in more than one direction? Hitherto Bosnia had enjoyed paternal rule; but if Turkey established even only in appearance a Parliamentary constitution, would it not be argued that her former provinces in Austrian charge would certainly require institutions upon at least the same level? Bulgaria, though in fact independent, was also like Egypt, a tributary province of the Turkish empire. Prince Ferdinand had long cherished the hope of becoming a king and of proclaiming the independence of Bulgaria. He too saw in the change in the character of Turkey both the need and the occasion for self-assertion. All these issues came to a head in the autumn of 1908.

  The misfortunes of Russia in her war with Japan had re-awakened the Russian feelings about the Dardanelles. If the Russian Black Sea fleet had not been prevented by Article 29 of the Treaty of Berlin from passing out through the Straits, they could have joined Admiral Rozhestvenski in his tragic voyage to the Sea of Japan. And the Russian argument, erroneous but sincere, was that the battle of Tsushima might then have had a different ending. When therefore Aerenthal began to sound Russia upon the revision of Article 25 which dealt with Bosnia, it seemed that both empires might derive satisfaction from modifications of the famous Treaty. In neither case was the issue of much practical importance. Austria already had the provinces, and both the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles had been heavily fortified by Turkey. There was, however, open to both Powers the prospect of a sentimental gain. Austria had rendered a service to Germany at Algeciras. She had been, in the Kaiser’s dangerous words, ‘the faithful second on the duelling ground.’ Might not she expect in her turn assistance in the gratifying of her own desires?

  During the summer of 190
8 Aerenthal addressed himself to the Russian Foreign Minister, Isvolski, and more than one secret conversation took place between them. Isvolski, a tall fine-looking Russian, was not a particularly wary negotiator. In principle he was well disposed to Aerenthal’s ambitions and ready to discuss a plan whereby Russia would not obstruct the Austrian annexation of Bosnia, provided that Austria in return supported Russia in obtaining the right of passage for her Black Sea warships through the Straits.

  The Austrian Ambassador in St. Petersburg, Count Berchtold, was naturally in the centre of these affairs. He arranged a meeting between Aerenthal and Isvolski at his château at Buchlau in September 1908. It was an important occasion both for the guests and their host. A friendly talk! A great chance for Aerenthal! Here was the Foreign Minister of the one Power of all others likely to be offended by what he wanted to do. Here he was in good will and in good faith ready to talk it all over like one man of the world to another. One may blame Isvolski for treating upon these grave matters with a lack of caution in a general and easygoing manner. When men speak for mighty nations they cannot always make the conversation smooth and agreeable. But far more must we blame Aerenthal. He conceded nothing to the fair play of the world. He took every advantage; he exploited every admission and even every courtesy. He left Isvolski under the impression that they were both working together, and the next day sold him up before the whole world. There is one set of rules for people who meet as declared opponents to argue, to bargain, or if needs be to strike; there is another set for gentlemen talking in a friendly way about matters in which they seek to collaborate. Here lay the offence of Aerenthal. It was a grave offence; it has definitely restricted the intercourse of nations. Every diplomat should study this story in its minute detail; but the moral that will be drawn is one which reduces the facilities of understanding between men and states.

  The conversations ended; the Buchlau visit was over. Isvolski went upon his holidays; and Aerenthal returned to Vienna. He returned to Vienna with the feeling that he had involved the Russian sufficiently to compromise his obstructive power, and that Russia anyhow would not make serious trouble about the annexation. He prepared his dossier carefully; he loaded up his press; he told the Emperor that Russia had consented, and flung the annexation of Bosnia out upon the world.

  It was a bombshell. Every Chancellory in Europe recognized it as an aggressive act done in an ill-conditioned manner. Germany, who had been told nothing, was astonished, but did not withhold her support from her ally. France was cynical; Italy surprised; Russia was indignant; Turkey offended, Serbia in a frenzy and England deeply shocked. To his very vitals Sir Edward Grey was outraged. All his cherished principles were challenged. The Whig statesman, the monitor of the public law of Europe, the English gentleman and public-school boy—all these elements in his powerful character were equally affronted. A treaty had been broken. International instruments signed by many states had been set aside by one or possibly by two. The position of the other signatories was affected. They had a right to be consulted and to express their view. A little oblivious perhaps of some newly-turned pages in our own history, he took with confidence and even relish the highest line.

  The Kaiser’s official comment upon the event leaves nothing to be said by others. It is a striking example of how little justice or merits counted in German pre-war politics.

  ‘Aerenthal’s performance comes to look more and more like a subaltern’s rag. He told us nothing about it, gave Isvolski and Tittoni such veiled hints that they regard themselves as entirely bamboozled, showed the Sultan, who is principally concerned, no consideration at all. He has thrust the appearance of connivance with Ferdinand, the breaker of treaties and of peace, on his Master: brought the Serbs to boiling-point; irritated Montenegro to the utmost; instigated the Cretans to revolt; thrown our Turkish policy, the outcome of twenty years’ hard work, on the scrap-heap; exasperated the English and promoted them to our place in Stambul; infuriated the Greeks by his friendliness towards the Bulgarians; smashed the Treaty of Berlin into smithereens and thrown the concert of the Powers into the most unholy state of discord; annoyed the Hungarians because Bosnia was to have been incorporated with them; made the Croats furious because they had designs on the incorporation of Bosnia with themselves. That performance, viewed as a whole, is a European record such as no other diplomatist has ever put to his credit. He certainly is not a far-seeing statesman.’1

  This did not prevent the whole force of Germany being exerted in Aerenthal’s support. The new doctrine had become ‘My ally, right or wrong!’

  Europe now entered upon the second of the three grave crises which were the prelude to Armageddon. England, supported by France and Russia, proposed a Conference of all the signatory Powers to review the Treaty of Berlin, and at first Austria and Germany agreed. The dispute was then transferred to the subjects to be raised. Austria declared that the annexation itself was settled beyond recall, and could not be discussed. Many objections were found to the Russian desire to open the Dardanelles to her warships. Turkey claimed effective compensation. Months passed and the tension grew. The Turks organized a most injurious boycott of Austrian goods. The ‘war of pigs’ began between Austria and Serbia and the price of bacon throughout the Dual Monarchy was nearly doubled. Grey’s righteous censures bitterly offended Vienna. The sharpest conversations occurred between the British Ambassador and Aerenthal. ‘You are responsible,’ exclaimed Aerenthal, ‘for all this trouble.’ ‘Surely it was not we,’ replied the Ambassador, ‘who annexed Bosnia in violation of the Treaty of Berlin?’ This retort incensed Aerenthal so much that he fell back upon abuse of the British conduct towards the Boers, which our representative could only remark was irrelevant to the point at issue.

  The Czar showed himself profoundly discouraged and depressed. Marchenko has given a vivid account of his audience at St. Petersburg. ‘I have there,’ said the Czar, pointing to his writing-table, ‘quite a lot of letters from the old man (the Emperor); but all are nothing but falsehood and deceit.’ Isvolski, become Aerenthal’s mortal enemy, hurried to Paris and London to express his wrongs. Serbian fury mounted steadily. Their future, they declared, had been blighted by a violent and unlawful breach of an international instrument, which if it were ever to be changed should reunite them and their kith and kin in Bosnia. Popular demonstrations, challenging speeches and considerable military activity continued in Belgrade. The Austrian preparations were upon a formidable scale. The three army corps opposite the Serbian frontier were raised to almost their war strength. Night after night large numbers of troops passed stealthily through Vienna on their way to the south. A strong development of Austrian forces became apparent opposite Russia in Galicia. Meanwhile diplomacy argued about the agenda of the Conference, and the newspapers, particularly in London and Vienna, carried on a wordy strife. So the winter passed.

  In March the relations between Austria and Serbia were at the breaking-point and a frontier incident of any kind would have caused war. This grave word now crept into the dispatches from all the capitals. If Austria invaded Serbia, Europe would be set on fire, and where would the conflagration stop? Could the Czar, however peacefully inclined himself, however unready his army, hold back the popular surge in Russia which the chastisement of Serbia at Austria’s law-breaking hands would certainly evoke? If Russia marched or was marched upon, what would Germany do? And France? The relations of the various alliances were limited on paper by important conditions. Germany was not bound to support Austria in an aggressive war, nor was France pledged to Russia in a quarrel which did not involve Germany. But the ties between Austria and Germany had grown stronger since the Algeciras Conference, and since the friendship of the Kaiser and the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. No one could feel any assurance that Germany would be anxious to find a technical excuse for not standing by her faithful ally. An alarming incident which had occurred between the French and Germans at Casablanca might serve as a ready pretext for widening the area of the struggle in harmony w
ith what were believed to be the German military plans for a war on two fronts. Clemenceau ruled in France, and his conduct in these anxious weeks showed an iron composure; but it was certain that no direct challenge would be lightly offered to France while he sat there.

  Sir Edward Grey had from the outset made it clear that Great Britain would not go beyond diplomatic action upon the dispute in the Near East. He declined absolutely to discuss what action Great Britain would take if the general European catastrophe occurred. In fact he made the same sort of moves as he was afterwards to repeat in July, 1914. This was the strongest policy open to him; for neither the Cabinet nor Parliament would have tolerated any decided declaration. For this reason, as we re-read the correspondence of this period, it may perhaps be argued that Great Britain sought to play rather too prominent a part upon a stage which had become so deadly. If we were not prepared to run the same risks as the other actors, ought we not to have stood more aloof? But all his action was loyal and skilful, and aimed only at peace and parley and the patient assertion of treaties.

  In those days the two armed groups into which Europe was divided had not yet become camps. Neither the Triple Alliance nor ‘the Triple Entente,’ as the term ran, were knit together as they afterwards became, nor were they united upon the questions at stake. Great Britain, though resolute to support Russia diplomatically, was not enthusiastic about opening the Straits. Italy thought more of her antagonisms against Austria than of her membership of the Triple Alliance. France maintained an attitude of impenetrable reserve; but we may be sure that the most fateful contingencies were not those which were least present in the minds of her political and military chiefs. When we study this long-drawn crisis with after knowledge, we see how near Europe was to the abyss into which she was to plunge six years later. In March Aerenthal demanded of Serbia that she should cease her warlike preparations and forthwith publicly recognize the annexation of Bosnia. Serbia, encouraged by Russian sympathy, and to some extent by the countenance which Great Britain had given to her complaints, was by no means willing to submit. Nothing, it was said in Belgrade, could annihilate the Serbian race. Invasion, conquest, were lesser evils than the repudiation of its destiny. It was at this moment that Germany struck.