Dreadnought

by Robert K. Massie

  This conciliatory course was proposed by Franz Josef’s nephew and heir. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand, a ponderous, glowering man with brush-cut hair, had offended his uncle by marrying a Bohemian of insufficient rank, Countess Sophie Chotek. The old Emperor insisted that the Archduke renounce the throne for any children he might have from the marriage; Countess Sophie, wife of the future Emperor, although created a Duchess, was forced in public processions to walk behind the forty-four Hapsburg Archduchesses. Franz Ferdinand himself was restricted to ceremonial functions; he was allowed to inspect army barracks, attend maneuvers, and occasionally to visit provincial capitals. Time was on his side, but he worried that when, eventually, he came to the throne, the disintegration of the Empire would be irreparably advanced. His solution to the problem of nationalist agitation in the South Slav provinces was to reconcile those populations by a radical reconstruction of the structure of the Imperial government: transformation of the Dual Monarchy into a Triad, in which the South Slavs shared power with the Austrians and Magyars. For these views, the Archduke was warmly disliked, especially by the Magyars, who did not relish the thought of diluting their own powerful grip on the Imperial administration.44

  Meanwhile, another solution for Austria’s troubles was growing in popularity: eliminate the source of Slav agitation by crushing Serbia. To the conservative ruling class of the Empire, a preventive war seemed preferable to the kind of decomposition afflicting the Ottoman Empire and more bearable than the protracted negotiations and painful compromises that would be necessary to transform the dual structure into a triad. “Austria,” reported the French Ambassador in Vienna on December 13, 1913, “finds herself4 in an impasse without knowing how she is to escape.... People here are becoming accustomed to the idea of a general war as the only possible remedy.” The principal advocate of preventive war, General Count Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf, Chief of the General Staff of the Austrian Army, spoke of Serbia as “a dangerous little viper”;5 he longed to crush the “viper” in its nest. Twice, Austria had mobilized against Serbia, during the Bosnian annexation crisis of 1908–1909 and during the Balkan Wars of 1912–1913. Each time, Conrad had been held back; in 1908, because “at the last moment6 His Majesty was against it”; in 1912–1913, he complained that he had been “left in the lurch”7 by Germany.

  By 1914, as Conrad knew, the Hapsburg monarchy was too weak to undertake initiatives, military or diplomatic, without assurance of German support. But Conrad also knew that German support must be forthcoming.

  The continued existence of Austria-Hungary was vital to the German Empire. Austria was the Reich’s only reliable ally. If Austria disintegrated, Germany would face Russia, France, and possibly England alone. In the Wilhelmstrasse, therefore, the preservation of Austria as a Great Power became a cardinal point of German policy. Some German diplomatists worried about this virtually unqualified support for the Hapsburg monarchy. In May 1914, Baron von Tschirschky, the German Ambassador in Vienna, uttered a cry of near despair: “I constantly wonder8 whether it really pays to bind ourselves so tightly to this phantasm of a state which is cracking in every direction.” Tschirschky’s cry was ignored. “Our own vital interests9 demand the preservation of Austria,” declared Chancellor von Bethmann-Hollweg.

  The Austrian government understood and was prepared to exploit this German predicament. For months, the Kaiser and General von Moltke, Chief of the German General Staff, had given Austria explicit, hearty encouragement to take action against Serbia, even if it meant a German confrontation with Serbia’s ally, Russia. On October 26, 1913, the Kaiser had a conversation in Vienna with Count Berchtold, the Austrian Foreign Minister. William began with high-flown talk of the “world historic process,”10 declaring that a war was inevitable in which the Germanic peoples would have to stave off “a mighty impulse of Slavdom.” “The Slavs were born to serve11 and not to rule, and this must be brought home to them,” he continued. Specifically, in the case of Serbia, “If His Majesty Francis Joseph12 demands something, the Serbian Government must yield, and if she does not, then Belgrade will be bombarded and occupied until the will of His Majesty is fulfilled. You may rest assured that I stand behind you and am ready to draw the sword.” As he spoke, William moved his hand to the hilt of his sword. The interview concluded with another pledge. “His Majesty ostentatiously used13 the occasion to assure me that we could absolutely and completely count on him,” said Berchtold. “This was the red thread which ran through the utterances of the illustrious Sovereign and when I laid stress on this on taking my departure and thanked him as I left, His Majesty did me the honor to say that whatever came from the Vienna Foreign Office was a command for him.”

  Moltke had no doubt that war was imminent. He was ready. Like Conrad, he sensed that time was against the Triple Alliance, that the balance of power in Europe was shifting, that Serbia and Russia must be dealt with before the Russian Army was reequipped and the “Slav battering ram” could be driven home. On May 12, 1914, Conrad visited Karlsbad, where Moltke was taking a cure. “General von Moltke expressed the opinion that every delay meant a lessening of our chances,” Conrad14 recorded. The Austrian chief agreed, adding pointedly that “the attitude of Germany in past years has caused us to let many favorable opportunities go by.” He asked how long the coming “joint war against Russia and France would last; that is, how long before Germany would be able to turn against Russia with strong forces.” Moltke replied, “We hope in six weeks after the beginning of operations to have finished with France, or at least so far as to enable us to direct our principal forces against the East.”

  Two weeks after the generals met, the Kaiser visited the Archduke Franz Ferdinand at his castle, Konopischt, in Bohemia. The Archduke’s garden was famous for its roses and, officially, the German Emperor had come to admire the flowers in bloom. Over two days, William and Franz Ferdinand discussed the dangers posed to the Dual Monarchy and the Triple Alliance by Serbia. They agreed that something must be done. Russia was a factor, but it was the Archduke’s opinion that internal difficulties in the Tsar’s empire were too great to permit Russia to consider war.

  Franz Ferdinand had another appointment at the end of June. He was scheduled to attend army maneuvers in the Bosnian mountains and, as a gesture to the South Slav population, he decided to pay a ceremonial visit to the Bosnian capital, Sarajevo. As a show of goodwill, he asked that the troops normally lining the streets for security during an Imperial visit be dispensed with. Except for a scattering of local policemen, the crowds were to have free access to the Heir to the Throne. On the morning of June 28, Franz Ferdinand, dressed in the pale blue tunic and red-striped black trousers of a cavalry general, with green plumes waving from his cap, sat in the open back seat of the second car, next to his wife, Sophie. Around him on the streets, he saw smiling faces and waving arms. Flags and decorative bright-colored rugs hung from the balconies; his own portrait stared back at him from the windows of shops and houses.

  As the procession neared City Hall, the Archduke’s chauffeur spotted an object as it was hurled from the crowd. He pressed the accelerator, and a bomb which would have landed in Sophie’s lap exploded under the wheels of the car behind. Two officers were wounded and the young bomb-thrower was apprehended by the police. Franz Ferdinand arrived at City Hall shaken and furious. “One comes here for a visit,”15 he shouted, “and is welcomed by bombs.” There was an urgent conference. A member of the Archduke’s suite asked whether a military guard could be arranged. “Do you think Sarajevo is filled with assassins?” replied the provincial governor.

  It was decided to go back through the city by a different route from the one announced. On the way, the driver of the first car, forgetting the alteration, turned into one of the prearranged streets. The Archduke’s chauffeur, following behind, was momentarily misled. He started to turn. An official shouted, “That’s the wrong way!”16 At that moment, a slim nineteen-year-old boy stepped forward, aimed a pistol into the car, and fired twice. Sophie
sank forward onto her husband’s chest. Franz Ferdinand remained sitting upright and for a moment no one noticed that he had been hit. Then the governor, sitting in front, heard him murmur, “Sophie! Sophie! Don’t die!17 Stay alive for our children!” His body sagged and blood from the severed jugular vein in his neck spurted across his uniform. He died almost immediately. Sophie, the Duchess of Hohenberg, died soon after. Fifteen minutes later, both bodies were laid in a room next to the ballroom where waiters were chilling champagne for his reception.

  The assassin, Gavrilo Princip, was a native Bosnian, who, on trial, declared that he had acted to “kill an enemy of the South Slavs”18 and also because the Archduke was “an energetic man19 who as ruler would have carried through ideas and reforms which stood in our way.” Princip was part of a team of youthful assassins, all of whom were Bosnians and thus Austro-Hungarian subjects, belonging to a revolutionary movement whose object was to detach Bosnia and other Slav provinces from the Hapsburg monarchy and incorporate them into a Kingdom of Greater Serbia. They had been provided with six pistols and six bombs taken from the Serbian State Arsenal and smuggled with Serbian help across the frontier. The Serbian government was not involved, but the plot had been hatched in Belgrade. The organizers were members of a secret society of extreme Serbian nationalists known as the Black Hand.

  The assassination horrified Europe. Sympathy lay overwhelmingly with the House of Hapsburg. Scarcely anyone questioned Austria-Hungary’s right to impose some form of retribution. Sir Edward Grey, looking back, remembered, “No crime has ever aroused20 deeper or more general horror throughout Europe.... Sympathy for Austria was universal. Both governments and public opinion were ready to support her in any measures, however severe, which she might think it necessary to take for the punishment of the murderer and his accomplices.” Despite their shock, most Europeans refused to believe that the assassination would lead to war. War, revolution, and assassination were the normal ingredients of Balkan politics. “Nothing to cause anxiety,” announced Le Figaro in Paris. “Terrible shock21 for the dear old Emperor,” King George V noted in his diary.

  In Vienna, Franz Josef accepted his nephew’s demise with resignation, murmuring, “For me, it is a great worry less.”22 Conrad von Hötzendorf, discreetly ecstatic, hailed the arrival of the long-awaited pretext for preventive war. Now there would be no mere punishment of “the murderer and his accomplices” but the crushing of the “viper,” the demolition of the troublesome Serbian state. Count Berchtold, who hitherto had opposed preventive war, changed his mind and demanded that “the Monarchy with unflinching hand23... tear asunder the threads which its foes are endeavoring to weave into a net above its head.” Russia, patron of the Serbs, might object, but Russia could be confronted and forced to back away as she had been in 1909 by Austria’s German ally. The key lay in Berlin; an Austrian decision for war must be contingent on Germany’s guarantee against Russian intervention. The Emperor was cautious. Conrad came away from an interview with Franz Josef and recorded that the Emperor “does not feel certain of Germany24 and therefore hesitates to decide.” It was essential to learn the German view.

  On the morning of July 5, Count Szögyény, the Austrian Ambassador in Berlin, informed the Wilhelmstrasse that he had a personal, handwritten letter from the Emperor Franz Josef to deliver to the Kaiser. William immediately invited Szögyény to lunch with the Kaiserin and himself in Potsdam. The Ambassador arrived at the New Palace at noon, handed the letter to his host, and waited silently while William read it. In shaky script, the eighty-four-year-old Emperor spelled out his interpretation of Sarajevo: “The crime against my nephew25 is the direct consequence of the agitation carried on by Russian and Serbian Pan-Slavists whose sole aim is to weaken the Triple Alliance and shatter my Empire. The bloody deed was not the work of a single individual but a well-organized plot whose threads extend to Belgrade. Though it may be impossible to prove the complicity of the Serbian Government, there can be no doubt that its policy of uniting all Southern Slavs under the Serbian flag encourages such crimes and that the continuation of this situation is a chronic peril for my House and my territories. My efforts must be directed to isolating Serbia and reducing her size.” The letter ended with the question: What would German policy be if Austria decided to “punish... this center of criminal agitation in Belgrade?”

  William put the letter aside and spoke cautiously. He sympathized with the Emperor, but because of the “serious European complication,”26 he could not answer before discussing it with his Chancellor, he told Szögyény. The Kaiser took the Ambassador in to lunch. When the meal was finished, Szögyény again brought up Franz Josef’s letter, pleading the necessity of a reply. This time William’s attitude was different. Setting caution aside, he assured the Ambassador that Austria could “rely on Germany’s full support.”27 Although constitutionally he still had to consult the Imperial Chancellor, the Kaiser offered his own “opinion that this action28 must not be long delayed.” Indeed—a pleased Szögyény reported by telegram to Berchtold—William declared that “if we [Austria] had really recognized29 the necessity of warlike action against Serbia, he would regret if we did not make use of the present moment which is all in our favor.” As for the possible “serious European complication” which had troubled the Kaiser before lunch, it seemed less serious: “Russia’s attitude30 will no doubt be hostile, but”—the Ambassador reported the Kaiser as saying—“for this he had been prepared for years. Should a war between Austria-Hungary and Russia be unavoidable, we might be convinced that Germany, our old faithful ally, would stand at our side.” The risks, William thought, were low: “Russia is in no way prepared31 for war.”

  It was a historic moment. The Supreme War Lord of the German Empire, permitting the bellicose side of his nature to take command, had given his ally a blank check to strike down Serbia. If Russia interfered, he accepted the risk of a German war against Russia. And, based on the war plan of his own General Staff, Germany would also fight France.

  When the Chancellor was summoned to the New Palace that afternoon, he endorsed what had been said. “The views of the Kaiser32 corresponded with my own,” he noted in his memoirs. Arriving from Hohenfinow, he found General Erich von Falkenhayn (the Minister of War), two other generals, and a representative of the Navy in attendance on the Kaiser. William read Franz Josef’s letter and reported what he had said to Szögyény. No one present objected to this blank check. “The sooner the Austrians33 make their move against Serbia the better,” said General Plessen, a participant, and everyone nodded. All agreed with William’s assessment that there was little risk from the Entente Powers: the Tsar would not place himself on the side of “a savage, regicide state”; France would “scarcely let it come to war34 as it lacked heavy artillery.” It seemed so unlikely, so farfetched that Britain might be concerned that England was not even discussed. Nevertheless, Falkenhayn was asked whether, if these calculations proved wrong, the German Army “was ready for all eventualities.”35 The Prussian officer clicked his heels and assured the All Highest, “Certainly, Your Majesty.”36 William wondered aloud whether, in view of the crisis, he should postpone his annual cruise to the Norwegian fjords and whether the High Seas Fleet should sail for its summer exercises in the North Sea. Bethmann urged the Kaiser and the fleet to proceed as planned; sudden cancellations would create alarm in Europe. The following morning, July 6, William saw Admiral Eduard von Capelle, in Tirpitz’ absence Acting State Secretary for the Navy, and told him that “he did not believe37 there would be further military developments.” That afternoon the Kaiser left by special train for Kiel, where he boarded the Hohenzollern and sailed for Norway.

  The same afternoon, Bethmann summoned Count Szögyény and confirmed what the Austrian Ambassador had heard from the Kaiser the day before. “I ascertained38 that the Imperial Chancellor, like his Imperial Master, considers immediate action on our part as the best solution of our difficulties in the Balkans,” Szögyény telegraphed to Berchtold in Vien
na. Bethmann reinforced this message by instructing Count Tschirschky, the German Ambassador in Vienna, to inform the Austrian government that “the Emperor Franz Joseph may rest assured39 that His Majesty [the Kaiser] will faithfully stand by Austria-Hungary as is required by the obligations of his alliance and of ancient friendship.”

  The clarity and vigor of these German guarantees impressed Vienna. On July 7, after hearing the assurances from Berlin, the Council of Ministers of the Dual Monarchy met to discuss peace or war. Now that the German Kaiser and Chancellor had pledged support and urged quick action, no reason could be found not to settle accounts with Serbia. The Council decided on war, although the Hungarian Premier, Count István Tisza, insisted that diplomatic niceties be observed by preceding the assault with an ultimatum. Grudgingly, the Council agreed, with the proviso that niceties were not to be allowed to stand in the way of action. The Council minutes read: “All present except40 the Royal Hungarian Premier hold the belief that a purely diplomatic success, even if it ended with a glaring humiliation of Serbia, would be worthless and that therefore such a stringent demand must be addressed to Serbia that will make refusal almost certain, so that the road to a radical solution by means of military action should be opened.”