July 1914: Countdown to War

by Sean McMeekin

  The only official in London who seems to have sensed the mounting danger was Churchill. Without consulting Grey, much less his even less belligerent Liberal colleagues in the cabinet (although he did inform Asquith, from whom he received “a sort of grunt” implying approval), at five PM on Tuesday Churchill ordered the First Fleet to proceed northwards to its war station at Scapa Flow, passing through the Straits of Dover under cover of darkness. Even this measure, however, was not taken until the early hours of Wednesday morning.20 It thus could have had no deterrent effect on Germany or Austria on Tuesday.

  In Paris, the general public remained just as oblivious to ongoing events in the Balkans—and Russia—as were the British. On Tuesday, everyone was far more preoccupied with the conclusion of the trial of Mme Caillaux. Caillaux’s lawyer laid his case on temporary insanity and lack of premeditation. In a curious closing argument, he admonished the courtroom to “save [y]our anger for the enemy outside. . . . War is at the gates. . . . Acquit Mme Caillaux.” The jury agreed: innocent! It was this stunning verdict, along with the “ferocious melee of shouts” on the streets that followed (“Vive Caillaux!” “Death to Caillaux!”)—not Austria’s declaration of war on Serbia, much less Russia’s accelerating mobilization measures, that would dominate French headlines on Wednesday morning.21

  In Potsdam, meanwhile, Bethmann was humbled once again by his sovereign, who was livid when he learned of Austria’s declaration of war. Summoning his chancellor to the palace after hearing the news on Tuesday afternoon, Kaiser Wilhelm issued another stinging rebuke: “You have got me into a fine mess.” Seeking to undo the damage wrought by Austrian recklessness, he ordered Bethmann to lean on Vienna to negotiate with Russia, even if it was necessary that the Austrian army occupy Belgrade to satisfy her honor.22

  Bethmann was in a foul mood when he returned to Berlin on Tuesday evening. Lichnowsky’s latest depressing dispatch from London was on his desk. While this one, at least, contained no new, biased, British mediation initiatives, the news was still not good. Even while Lichnowsky, carrying out standing instructions from Berlin, was reassuring Grey that Austria had no territorial designs on Serbia, Austria’s ambassador to Britain, Count Mensdorff, was telling Lichnowsky that Austria was resolved on war so that Serbia could be “flattened” (the German word Mensdorff used was the colorful niedergebegelt) and then “carved up” by the Balkan jackal states (if, that is, Austria did not take her share). As Bethmann knew, by the time he read this that Austria had gone ahead and declared war, this revelation crystallized his frustrations with Vienna. “The ambiguity on the part of Austria,” he scribbled on Lichnowsky’s report, “is intolerable. To us they refuse information about their program and expressly say that Count Hoyos’s remarks about a partitioning of Serbia were purely personal; in St. Petersburg they are lambs without evil intentions and in London their embassy talks of giving away Serbian territory to Bulgaria and Albania.”23

  It is easy to sympathize with the chancellor’s exasperation. When he (following the kaiser’s lead) had signed the blank check, he could not have imagined the unpredictable, self-defeating twists and turns that Austrian policy would take. As Bethmann wrote at ten fifteen on Tuesday night to Ambassador Tschirschky in Vienna, Pašić’s conciliatory reply to the ultimatum “met the Austrian demands in so considerable a measure that a completely intransigent attitude on the part of the Austro-Hungarian government would bring about a gradual revulsion of public opinion all over Europe.” Berchtold, by declaring war unilaterally, had taken just such an “intransigent attitude.” And for what purpose? Conrad himself, Bethmann reminded Tschirschky, had informed Berlin that “active military measures against Serbia will not be possible before 12 August.” Germany had thus been “placed in the extraordinarily difficult position of finding itself exposed to proposals for mediation and conferences from the other cabinets, and if it persists in its previous reserve toward such proposals, the odium of having caused a world war will fall on [Germany] even in the eyes of the German people.” It was thus imperative, Bethmann told Tschirschky, that Austria begin negotiating with Russia and assure Sazonov as unequivocally as possible that “territorial gains in Serbia are remote from its thoughts and that its military measures are aimed purely at a temporary occupation of Belgrade and other definite points on Serbian territory in order to force the Serbian government into full compliance (völliger Erfüllung) with Austrian demands. . . . As soon as Austrian demands are met, evacuation will follow.”24 If Russia did not go along with this, then she, and not Germany, would be perceived as the power disturbing the peace—or so Bethmann hoped.

  There was an element of desperation about this “Halt in Belgrade” proposal, as the German initiative soon came to be known. While Bethmann and the kaiser both bore heavy responsibility for having encouraged Austrian recklessness, there is no reason to doubt the sincerity of their dismay at learning that Austria had declared war on Serbia two weeks before she was ready to fight her. In signing the blank check, both men had known that they were risking war if Russia intervened on Serbia’s behalf, and yet neither man had wished, or intended, for this intervention actually to come to pass. They had unquestioningly trusted in their ally’s diplomatic competence, only to watch Berchtold make one wrong move after another. It was getting late, but perhaps it was not too late to rein Austria in.

  There was a crucial difference, however, between the way the kaiser and his chancellor wanted to go about doing this. In his letter to Jagow written at ten AM Tuesday morning, Wilhelm had made clear that he thought “the few reservations made by Serbia on single points” in Pašić’s reply to the ultimatum “can in my opinion well be cleared up by negotiation.” This would be asking a great deal of the Austrians, of course: although Conrad and the army might still satisfy honor with a “temporary” occupation of Belgrade, Berchtold would be forced to swallow his pride and back down on a major point of principle. By contrast, Bethmann’s instructions to Tschirschky stipulated that the Austrian occupation “force the Serbian government into full compliance with Austrian demands,” implying that it was Pašić, not Berchtold, who would have to back down. Whether or not Bethmann understood this, the distinction was fundamental. Any small chance that the Russians would acquiesce in a “temporary” occupation of Belgrade would surely vanish once Sazonov learned that there would be no real negotiation over the terms of Serbia’s compliance with the Austrian ultimatum.

  Russian acquiescence was rendered more improbable still by Bethmann’s strange decision not to issue any warnings to Russia on Tuesday about her ongoing mobilization measures, as Berchtold had requested him to do on Monday, hoping that the threat of German countermeasures would put the fear of God in Sazonov. Perhaps wishing to spite the Austrians for putting Germany in such an impossible position, Bethmann informed Vienna that “a categorical declaration at St. Petersburg would seem today to be premature” and made no effort to follow up on the disquieting reports of Pourtalès and Eggeling from Petersburg.25 The chancellor did let the Russians, French, and British know—via a telegram to his ambassadors sent off at nine PM—that he now favored direct talks between Austria and Russia, hoping that this assurance, coupled with his muffling of German protests against Russia’s mobilization measures, would convince Sazonov to parley. Why Sazonov would want to do so after Austria had already declared war—and on the basis of a subsequent Austrian occupation of Belgrade, without any hint of Austrian concessions on the terms of Serbia’s reply to the ultimatum—was left unclear.

  In fact Bethmann did not even spell out the terms of his “Halt in Belgrade” plan in his nine PM telegram circular; rather he spoke only in the vaguest sense of Austrian-Russian talks and claimed speciously that Vienna’s declaration of war “changes matters not at all” (ändert hieran nichts).26 This was hardly the way to impress Grey—much less Sazonov or the French—that Bethmann was serious about mediating at Vienna. Thus Bethmann in Berlin, not unlike Berchtold in Vienna, settled on the most incompetent policy possib
le: demanding concessions from Russia rather than offering them himself, while undermining his own leverage by refusing to warn Petersburg that Germany would respond to Russia’s secret mobilization. He had gotten his carrots and sticks backwards.

  Unaware of his chancellor’s latest policy blunders, Kaiser Wilhelm II sat down in the Neues Palais on Tuesday evening to edit an urgent telegram to Tsar Nicholas II. Although addressed from “Willy” to “Nicky,” in the familiar style in which the sovereigns addressed one another, the message was actually drafted first by Wilhelm von Stumm, the political director at the Wilhelmstrasse, under Bethmann’s supervision. Mildly suspicious as to what his chancellor was up to, the kaiser did insist on several changes that softened the tone. He rewrote the key line personally: “I am exerting my utmost influence,” Willy promised Nicky, “to induce the Austrians to deal straightly to arrive at a satisfactory understanding with you.” He signed off, “your very sincere and devoted friend and cousin Willy.”27

  Unbeknownst to the kaiser, Nicky was writing his own sovereign-to-sovereign telegram almost simultaneously. The tsar had been having second thoughts ever since inaugurating the Period Preparatory to War on Saturday. On Monday, he had come up with his own mediation idea, proposing to Sazonov that the Austrian-Serbian dispute be submitted to arbitration by the Hague Tribunal. Sazonov had simply ignored the tsar’s suggestion, hoping that his simple-minded sovereign would forget about it. Nevertheless, Sazonov was unable to prevent the tsar from intervening in his own way, appealing directly to Willy to pull back the Austrians. “An ignoble war,” Nicholas wrote, “has been declared to a weak country. The indignation in Russia shared by me is enormous. I foresee that very soon I shall be overwhelmed by the pressure brought upon me and be forced to take extreme measures which will lead to war. To try to avoid such a calamity as a European war, I beg you in the name of our old friendship to do what you can to stop your allies [e.g., Austria-Hungary] from going too far.”28

  Just at the moment when Russia’s tsar was demanding that the kaiser do what he could to stop his Austrian ally from “going too far,” Willy was promising Nicky that he was “exerting his utmost influence” to do just that. Although neither sovereign was a man of strong will or keen intelligence, each did possess moral imagination. Both men clearly felt a grave responsibility about unleashing a war sure to kill thousands, if not millions, of their subjects. As that war loomed ever more closely on the horizon, Willy and Nicky were searching desperately for a way out. Were their sovereign authority as absolute in practice as it appeared on paper, they might even have succeeded.

  It was not. Bethmann, as we have seen, undermined his sovereign’s desire to mediate in Vienna by reconfiguring the kaiser’s “Halt in Belgrade” proposal into a form sure to be rejected by the Russians. In Petersburg, meanwhile, Sazonov and the military chiefs were proceeding over (or around) the tsar’s head with important decisions that would render his personal mediation efforts dead on arrival. In doing so they had strong French encouragement. Poincaré and Viviani were still at sea on Tuesday, but in their absence France’s ambassador, along with her army chief of staff, General Joffre, and her war minister, Adolphe Messimy, had begun to take matters into their own hands. On Tuesday, even as crowds were milling about Paris awaiting the Mme Caillaux verdict, Russia’s military attaché to France reported to Petersburg that Joffre and Messimy had assured him of France’s readiness to fulfill her alliance obligations. Joffre himself requested (via the Quai d’Orsay) that Ambassador Paléologue “endeavor through all possible means to make sure that, if hostilities broke out, the Government of St. Petersburg would immediately take the offensive in East Prussia, as had been agreed upon in our conventions.” Messimy wired similar instructions to Petersburg, “urg[ing] with all my might that, in spite of the slowness of Russia’s mobilization, the tsar’s armies should as soon as possible take the offensive in East Prussia.” Just as then-premier Gaston Doumergue had instructed Paléologue upon his appointment to Petersburg, “the safety of France will depend on the energy and promptness with which we shall know how to push them into the fight.” It was now up to Paléologue to start pushing.29

  Paléologue did not disappoint Joffre and Messimy. Shortly after Sazonov learned of Austria’s declaration of war at four PM Tuesday, Paléologue had returned to Chorister’s Bridge for another audience with the foreign minister. While Paléologue does not discuss this second meeting in his memoirs, the logbook of the Russian Foreign Ministry kept by Schilling confirms that it took place. We do not know everything that was said between the two men, but Schilling’s log gives a capsule summary. “On the instructions of his Government,” the entry reads, “the French Ambassador acquainted the Foreign Minister with the complete readiness of France to fulfill her obligations as an ally in the case of necessity.”30

  Schilling’s logbook leaves unstated on whose “instructions” this critical declaration was given—they may have been Joffre’s, Messimy’s, or even Poincaré’s, issued informally while he was still in Petersburg. Almost certainly they did not come from Viviani. The log entry also leaves unclear the context, as there is no mention of Austria’s declaration of war on Serbia or of Russia’s response.

  There is no doubting, however, the critical nature of Paléologue’s blanket declaration of support for Russia on 28 July. Its significance was confirmed in a telegram Sazonov sent the next morning to Izvolsky in Paris (copied to London, Vienna, Rome, and Berlin), in which Russia’s foreign minister asked his ambassador to pass on “our sincere gratitude for the declaration, which the French ambassador made to me in his government’s name, that we may count in full measure on the support of France under the alliance. In the present circumstances,” Sazonov continued, “this declaration is of especial value to us.”31

  Buoyed by Paléologue’s declaration of France’s unconditional support in the wake of Austria’s declaration of war on Serbia, Sazonov moved decisively to speed up Russia’s war preparations. His first stop was Peterhof Palace, where Nicholas II was waiting for him—in order, the tsar thought, to discuss his Hague arbitration idea. At about six PM Tuesday, Sazonov informed Russia’s sovereign that Austria had declared war on Serbia. He also requested the tsar’s permission to have Chief of Staff Yanushkevitch draw up two mobilization ukases for the Russian army, one for partial and the other for general.

  The tsar consented—or at least, so Sazonov claimed Russia’s sovereign had done when he ordered Yanushkevitch to draw up the orders. It may be that the tsar agreed to have the orders drawn up on the understanding that they would not take effect until he signed them. Whether or not the tsar fully understood what he had consented to, Yanushkevitch promptly drew up two mobilization ukases.32 Interestingly, the principal documents we have from Tuesday night both mention general, not partial, mobilization, which suggests that Sazonov and Yanushkevitch were already leaning that way. Paléologue, too, was likely in the loop, as the first such document is his own telegram sent off at 7:35 PM, in which he informed Paris—as if hypothetically—that “in case of general mobilization, two officers will be delegated to be sent to my embassy.” He then named his preferences (Messrs. de Ridder and de Sèze) and suggested that they proceed to Russia via Stockholm, rather than by the more direct route via Germany.33 That Russia’s impending general mobilization was more than hypothetical is suggested in a telegram dispatched later Tuesday night by Yanushkevitch to the commanders of all Russia’s military districts, informing them that “30 July will be proclaimed the first day of our general mobilization. The proclamation will follow by regulation telegram.”34

  Even as Willy and Nicky were exchanging their “peace” telegrams, Russia had begun the countdown to European war. The Austrian noose on German necks was now taut. Russia’s generals (although not yet her sovereign) had even determined the date of execution.

  19

  “I Will Not Be Responsible for a Monstrous Slaughter!”

  WEDNESDAY, 29 JULY

  JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT on
Wednesday, 29 July, Britain’s First Fleet left Portland harbor, heading south at first before proceeding along a “middle Channel course” to the Straits of Dover. The squadrons, First Lord of the Admiralty Churchill had instructed, were “to pass through the Straits without lights during the night and to pass outside the shoals on their way north.” As Churchill himself imagined the scene as the fleet steamed slowly out of harbor, “scores of gigantic castles of steel wending their way across the misty, shining sea, like giants bowed in anxious thought. We may picture them again as darkness fell, eighteen miles of warships running at high speed and in absolute blackness through the Narrow Straits, bearing with them into the waters of the North the safeguard of considerable affairs.”1

  On the other side of the English channel, at eight AM the battleship France sighted land after more than five days at sea, interrupted only briefly by stopovers at Stockholm and Christiana (Oslo). Prime Minister Viviani, who had been reluctant to go to Russia in the first place, was ecstatic. “At last!” he remarked, “a twinkling light beneath a roof, a house, dockyards, masts, a gradually emerging skyline—Dunkirk!”2