100 Years Ago Today

Everything else
101

I’d be curious about the author of that book–not that I suspect he doesn’t know his stuff! I imagine he absolutely does. I’d also imagine him to be English, and educated at Oxford or Cambridge, or studied at one of Britain’s war colleges. The naval arms race and the role of the two alliances are the twin cornerstones of how WWI is taught by British military historians, and it dominated thought on how this all came to be for 60 years or more. All of the major histories of WWI right up through Massie’s Dreadnought and Keegan’s one-volume history espouse and further this view. It’s a very British-centric view of things. It certainly isn’t inaccurate at all, and I don’t want to give that impression. It just is a version I find a little less interesting than some more recent views.

It’s really only been in the last 25 years or so that sources from France, Germany, Austria, Russia, and Serbia have been translated and absorbed for their value in the narrative. As you can tell, I’m very much telling this from the new school perspective. I find it far a little more interesting and perhaps more…human, I guess. That being said, the newer views on WWI don’t invalidate the British view; instead, they sort of weave it in as contributing factors. To me, that makes sense. As involved as Britain and Germany were from 1880 to 1910, in the years leading up to 1914 both countries found more pressing things to worry about, I think. At any rate, this new school view that I sort of espouse is more about dying, outmoded means of government and social thinking along with putting the spotlight right on Central Europe.

All that said, it sure as heck doesn’t make this gospel by any means! I’d say that it’s pretty valuable that you are reading the naval buildup/Entente version of events, as it likely provides color and insight that I’m going to skip over or skim.

102

Maurice Paleologue, the French Ambassador to Russia, wasn’t the only fellow embroiled in intrigues in St. Petersburg. The other half of the twosome I call the Excitable Boys was the Russian Foreign Minister, Sergey Sazonov. Sazanov was a twitchy, jittery, active fellow, prone to flights of both great excitement and melancholy. He was a grudging but avowed admirer of what Bismarck had done for Germany 45 years earlier, to the point where he sort of assumed that every diplomat in Germany was just as sharp and skilled as old Otto was. He was prone to believe that anything Germany did, they did to get at Russia.

He was kind of paranoid, in other words.

He, like many Russians, was smarting too. The 20th Century had gone about as badly for Russia as it had for Austria-Hungary. They’d picked a fight with Japan in 1905, and then to the surprise of the entire world, managed to lose the ensuing war to a country most learned folks in the Western world had barely heard of and had to consult a globe in order to find. The war also resulted in a violent revolution that the Tsar and his army had to put down with sharp military force. It left the government and military seriously weakened. They were in trouble. In fact, in their frail state, they’d been unable to come to the aid of Serbia. Twice between the end of the Russo-Japanese war and July 1914, Serbia had found herself needing the protection from her Great Power big brother, Russia. Both times, Serbia had gotten herself involved in a war in the Balkans, and both times seized territory, only to have the Germans, Austrians, and English tell them to give that territory back. Both times, Serbia called on Russia to stick up for them. Both times, Russia had sent their regrets and Serbia was forced to do give-backs.

Sazonov had decided that this couldn’t happen again. If Serbia’s Slavs needed the help of Russia’s Slavs, they wouldn’t let the opportunity pass again. To do so would be too horrible to imagine for Sazonov. The Tsar might look ineffectual at home! Serbia might look elsewhere for support! That Sazonov actually believed that latter bit tells you just how paranoid he was. I mean…who’s Serbia going to turn to? If you’re a Slavic population of Eastern Orthodoxers looking for a Great Power to be your best pal, Russia’s still the only listing in that section of the Yellow Pages in 1914.

And thus and so, Sazonov was determined that the next time Russia had the opportunity to step up with its armies, this time they would do so boldly and decisively.

That almost reckless determination made him and Paleologue a dangerous couple of diplomats to have in St. Petersburg in late July of 1914.

103

But hey! It’s July 22nd, 1914!

It’s Ultimatum Eve!

Actually, Istvan Tisza, the Hungarian Prime Minister had convinced Austrian foreign minister Berchtold to not call it an ultimatum. Berchtold agreed, and dubbed his creation a “Note With Time Limit”, which sounds like a badly-dubbed Japanese videogame title. It was still an ultimatum, though.

No one outside of Vienna really knew what was in the ultimatum. As mentioned previously, the Austrians had gone into full bunker mode. Mostly. A few days prior to this, the Austrian ambassadors to Germany and Russia respectively had told Berchtold that things were getting pretty hot in Berlin and St. Petersburg. Both countries had been told that Austria was going to respond with a “diplomatic note” at some point, and both countries kind of wanted to know what was going to be in it. Berchtold–ever playing stupid games–decided to let those ambassadors give a bit of a preview. The only thing was…they were going to give a preview that had absolutely nothing to do with the ultimatum that would be delivered. Berchtold elected to deliberately deceive Germany and Russia.

And so Austria’s ambassadors in Berlin and St. Petersburg informed Chancellor Bethmann-Hollweg and Minister Sazonov this: It was Austria’s desire to avoid any sort of military fracas with Serbia. They had no desire for any territory, or anything rash. There would be nothing anyone needed to get worked up about.

The thing of it is, Austria didn’t need to play coy, stupid games like this. By July 20th, we now know that the Austrians had concrete proof of Serbian government involvement in the assassination. A smarter politician and diplomat than Berchtold would’ve been shopping that information to every diplomat and capital in Europe, would’ve had it splashed across the front pages of every newspaper. That hypothetical smarter politician would’ve garnered much sympathy throughout Europe for Austrian retribution against the Serb government. Rather that release this information, though, what Berchtold really wanted was to do his buddy, Field Marshal Conrad, a solid. Franz Conrad really, really wanted to go to war with Serbia, and dammit, Berchtold was going to do everything he could do to give his pal that war. Spilling out other information beforehand might jeopardize that.

And so we’re all caught up now. As stated, it’s Ultimatum Eve. Germany has finally managed to get a copy cabled to them in Berlin. Problem: it’s incomplete, out of order, barely coherent as a written document. Bethmann-Hollweg’s assistants try to decipher it and give up.

In Belgrade, Serbian prime minister Pasic hears that a diplomatic note for his eyes only is going to be delivered. He responds to this in much the same way that Buster Bluth responds when Lucille Austero knocks on the door.

He hides in abject fear.

Or rather, he decides to abruptly cancel his schedule in Belgrade and take a trip to some of Serbia’s outlying provinces to do some electioneering for the upcoming elections in the fall. He tells his foreign minister, Slavko Gruic, that there might be a fellow with a bushy mustache and monocle who speaks German stopping by while he’s away. “Take a message and tell him I’ll get back to him.”

Within 24 hours, Europe will be set on a path to a terrible war.

104

If there isn’t a Thread of the Year award, there should be. With a prize. Hell, I’d pay to have this cleaned up a bit and put into an ebook or something.

A few people have mentioned taking up reading some WWI material, thanks to your thread, and you mentioned using “recent views” as sources (German, French, Austrian, Serbian, etc). Would you mind listing a few of you a favorites. My personal knowledge on the matter extends to the brief snippets you get in European history books, and stuff like “The Guns of August”.

105

I am copying and pasting each of Triggercut’s posts into a word document for easier reference, pictures and all. It is currently at 45 pages…

106

45 pages? Good lord.

cannedwombat, thanks for the kind words! I’d say that Barbara Tuchman’s Guns Of August is a nice blend of the Oxford point of view while starting to come around on a more central European focus as well. Start with her and George Meyers and his World Undone and you’ll be in clover.

107

Thursday, July 23rd dawns hot and muggy in south central Europe. Austria’s envoy to Serbia has been in Vienna for the past few days, but on the evening of the 22nd, he and an interpreter hop aboard a train for Budapest to make their convoluted way to the Serbian capital, Belgrade.

It’s early morning on the 23rd when he arrives just on the Austrian side of the border. Serbia has rather conveniently located its capital city right across the way, not more than a 45 minute train ride. The envoy, blessed with the amazing name of Giesl Von Gieslingen, has with him an attache case. In it, sealed in an envelope, is a missive from Count Leopold Berchtold, the Austrian Foreign Minister, signed off on by various Austrian political dignitaries. It is a long missive. Not quite long like 45 pages long…but long as these things go.

You’d think the delivery of such a momentous ultimatum would be something of a solemn and august occasion. You’d think that, anyway. Instead, the delivery turned out to be like something out of a Bob & Ray comedy sketch.

Sometime in the afternoon–perhaps around 3 or 4 pm local time–Von Gieslingen and his interpreter hopped a train into Belgrade. Perhaps they killed some time having a coffee or stopped in at a bar for a drink. The Austrian emissary was under strict orders to deliver the note at precisely 6pm local time. The Austrians had learned that President Poincare would be boarding a ship headed back to France just hours before. Give Berchtold credit. He’d at least thought out some of this.

And so just before 6pm, Von Gieslingen presented himself to see Prime Minister Pasic, whom he knew wasn’t there. Told that Pasic was out in the country somewhere, Von Gieslingen and his interpreter were brought in to the offices of Serbian Foreign Secretary Slavko Gruic. The presence of the interpreter was some sly Austrian nodding to the Serbs, to let them know that their wires were being intercepted (well, some of them, anyway.) Pasic spoke French (the language of diplomats at the time) and German well enough. Gruic did not. Having brought an interpreter signaled to the Serbs that the Austrians knew they’d be talking to this lieutenant.

Gruic welcomed them into his office and bade them take a seat. Von Gieslingen, without much preamble, took out the rather hefty and stuffed envelope, opened the seal and began to read.

The note itself is rather artless and painful to read, even as these things go. The intro rambles on and on about grievances past and present, real and imagined, that Austria-Hungary had against Serbia. After some slogging–and extensive pauses for the interpreter (in reality, Gruic could understand German fairly well)–Von Gieslingen finally got to the demands in the note, the real meat of the thing.

As the Austrian ambassador droned on and the interpreter jumped in to try to keep up, Gruic, his face mottled with dismay kept interjecting time and again. “I cannot accept this letter, it’s not in my authority to do so!” More reading and interpreting.

“I don’t think you’re hearing me fellas,” he said in Serbian. “I’m a foreign minister, but this stuff is way over my pay grade.”

More reading and interpreting.

“I’m not sure what you’re not getting here, guys. This is the kind of thing a Prime Minister needs to be hearing. Not me.”

Gieslingen finally got to the end of the note. Gruic shook his head and shrugged. “What do you want me to do with this? You’ve got to give this to Mr. Pasic. He’s going to be back here in a few hours.”

The Austrian emissary and his interpreter rose. “You give it to him, then.” As of this moment, Serbia has 48 hours to provide a response. Only an unconditional acceptance would satisfy Austria. Von Gieslingen would be by to accept their response on Saturday.

With that, the Austrians left.

Gruic recovered from his state of panic fairly quickly and had the contents of the letter–minus the florid introduction–wired to St. Petersburg immediately. Pasic conveniently also showed up just about the time the Austrians were leaving, and he and his ministers set about examining the notice.

In St. Petersburg, Foreign Minister Sazonov read the note late that Thursday and had a conniption. In between breaking furniture in his office, he angrily demaanded the presence of the Austrian ambassador.

With Sazonov seething with rage, that meeting must’ve been a doozy. Sazonov railed at the Austrian. Nothing to be concerned about? No territorial ambitions? No military response? Really? He couldn’t believe the Austrian had lied to him. The Austrian ambassador likely couldn’t believe his bosses in Vienna had hung him out on a line like that.

Nothing the Austrian could say could mollify Sazonov’s tantrum. He left the meeting abashed and wondering just what the hell his boss Berchtold had done.

Sazonov, meanwhile, stewed in his office. For Austria to have acted so boldly and lied to him so shamelessly, it had to be a plot. The Austrians weren’t clever enough for such plotting, Sazonov decided. This was clearly all the doing of the Germans. They were behind this, he was convinced.

108

I have something important to add: Istvan Tisza sounds like a Warhammer 40K battle, and thus is one of the better names ever.

109

Before we proceed further here, I thought I’d put up some caveats. A lot of stuff happens over the next week that takes us up to WWI.

For starters, my tone is likely to continue to be very…irreverent. Perhaps darkly humorous. I want to make the point though that it’s a sort of “If you didn’t laugh, you’d cry” kind of gallows humor. The men who are going to stumble over themselves so badly coming up didn’t mean to screw things up the way they were about to. They figured they were doing their best, based on limited information. They didn’t use telephones to communicate, they used telegraph wires. It wasn’t a good system. If even pan-European party-line telephone systems existed in 1914, it’s likely World War I never would have happened.

At any rate, I don’t want anyone to think I’m having light sport on decisions made that would lead to millions of deaths without some context at least.

Also, I want to point out that there are a lot of histories of these events. Many older histories are a little…I’ll call them inaccurate, to be kind. A good number were written in the 1950s and 1960s when adjutants and assistants to some of these principals were still alive.

And thus, there’s a lot of ass-covering going on in those histories. Those histories–especially one written by a German historian named Fritz Fischer (which is like the most German name ever)–paint Germany as a bullying, bellicose villain who brought down most of WWI on its own shoulders. (Fischer’s history of WWI from the “German perspective” had long been thought of as the gold standard, and for some reason the German happily went along with English historians in painting Germany as being the most heavily to blame for the Great War. Modern examinations show that Mr. Fischer got dates wrong and puts people in places they never could have been doing things they never could have done and saying things that simply contradict multiple once-classified German, French, Russian, and English sources.) It was with some dismay that a few weeks ago I read the Wiki article on the “July crisis”, and found it sourced to some fairly (I’ll be charitable) “old” information. As an example, it has English Foreign Secretary Edward Grey reacting to the Austrian ultimatum on July 23rd. That’s poppycock. Mr. Grey was in London at the time. The ultimatum was finally finished being delivered some time around 7pm on the 23rd, Belgrade time. It took Slavko Gruic and his staff a few hours to get the main points of the text of the ultimatum wired to St. Petersburg that evening. The rest of Europe wouldn’t get the text until July 24. In reality, we now know that Grey didn’t issue his statement and offer on the ultimatum until July 25th. There were no faxes in 1914.

I bring all this up, because for fair reasoning, I wanted to point out that I’m going to be finding just as much–if not more–fault with Russia, Austria, and France for World War I as I will with Germany. Modern readings of the events of the week coming up I think show that Germany can at least say that she kept a cooler head and waited longer than those other folks to start doing profoundly stupid things, lying about them, and panicking into disastrous decisions…and that’s something, I guess.

I also bring it up because timelines are important here. Things are going to happen that rely on times and whatnot. There are going to be things that strain credulity that happen that would get rejected for a Three’s Company script. Older histories tend to blur those timetables a bit and combine them. I’m not going to call them wrong, I’m just going to say that they’re another version of events that are still not completely undisputed 100 years later.

110

I just want to join in the chorus of people thanking and congratulating you for this thread. It’s as informative as it is entertaining.

111

Part of this was likely the deep internalization of war guilt from the recent Nazi era, and the need to show contrition and find repulsive all possible notions of German warmaking.

112

It’s July 24th, 1914. Things are beginning to rip and pop and come unglued.

Vienna starts the morning off by releasing the ultimatum to all heads of state of the Great Powers of Europe (Go play a game of Diplomacy if you’re not sure who they are.) Although histories written before 1970 or so will tell you that the Germans have known the text of Austria’s ultimatum for two weeks, we now know they absolutely did not. (As an aside, if your history of WWI says this, you may assume that it is going to be a pretty one-sided and dreadfully inaccurate accounting of events to come.) In fact, the morning of July 24th was the first time that the German chancellor (Bethmann Hollweg) and Foreign Minister (Gottleb Von Jagow) had seen it in full and saw that Austria was promising grave consequences if Serbia didn’t unconditionally accept it. For his part, Kaiser Wilhelm was on a sailing vacation. He wouldn’t see news of the ultimatum until he read about it in a Norwegian newspaper that evening. He began planning to return to Berlin immediately.

Berchtold seemed satisfied with himself and his ultimatum. He’d actually made a strong calculus (in his mind) regarding it. He figured the Russians would be furious. He expected that. But…he also expected the French and British to understand that if Russia got involved, it would likely lead to a World War. Berchtold expected that the Brits and French would step in and tell the Russians that they weren’t ready for such a thing at all. The Russians would then tell the Serbs to either accept the note or face the consequences of an Austrian invasion on their own and lonesome.

This is why Leopold Berchtold is such an idiot. In expecting France to do something of that sort, it kind of requires France’s president and prime minister to be front and center on things. As you’ll recall however, he’d waited until both of those guys had boarded a ship. They were incommunicado for another couple of days. Just like Berchtold had also planned. In England, the government was so divided at this point that they weren’t telling anyone anything on the continent, and most heads of state in Europe understood that.

So yeah. Wile E Coyote looks like Einstein compared to Berchtold here. For his part, on this fine Friday Berchtold has bellicosely told the press that should Serbia not accept even one demand, Austria would consider the ultimatum refused. If Serbia had not answered all of the note by Saturday, they would consider the note refused.

In Belgrade, preparations were being made to GTFO. The Serbian capital was just across the border–maybe 20 miles, tops–from Austria so a good portion of the government was preparing to move to a provisional capital. Pasic and his ministers were simultaneously discussing ways to answer the Austrian note. The Prince Regent of Serbia, who was largely a figurehead, called upon the Russians for aid. He was officially told “Can’t help you, sorry” from St. Petersburg. However, through back channels the Russians told the Serbs “We got your back.”

And then there’s the goings on in St. Petersburg. Sensing that tensions were a bit high in Europe, when President Poincare left his summit in the Russian capital he gave very pointed instructions to his ambassador there, Maurice Paleologue. If something was to happen while the French heads of state were in transit, Paleologue was to do everything within his power to calm things down, to throw cold water on rising tempers.

And so when Paleologue heard the news of the Austrian ultimatum that Friday the 24th, he immediately went to see the Serbian ambassador. In a long meeting, he assured him that France would unconditionally support Serbia, and that the ambassador could wire that back to Belgrade (which he did). He also told the ambassador to tell Belgrade to feel free to be defiant. France was ready to fight an Austrian and German coalition. This, also was dutifully sent back to Belgrade.

Having thus completely defied his directive from the President once, Paleologue went to see Sazonov to really throw some gasoline on the fire. It’s impossible to imagine two more high strung, mood-swinging persons in any government post in Europe…and here they were together. Paleologue assured Sazonov that France was ready for war and in fact would even welcome it. Germany was behind all this he said, thus reinforcing Sazonov’s own paranoid views. Paleologue continued to play Grima Wormtongue over the next few hours–and again and again in the coming days, all but pleading with Sazonov to make aggressive and provocative decisions that would surely lead to war. Sazonov–who didn’t need much of a push to this state of things–was happy to go along with his French compatriot.

Had Paleologue actually done as he’d been asked, Sazonov likely would have slowed his roll a bit, and Serbia likely would have felt a bit less warlike in their preparations going forward, and then Poincare would’ve arrived in France and likely, grudgingly, would have helped worked towards some negotiated settlement. As it was, however, when the French leaders returned home they found that the trial of Madame Caillaux was nearing its conclusion and much of his government was preparing for war as an inevitability.

And so, on the evening of July 24th the Kaiser was making hasty plans to get home to Berlin, even though his chancellor and foreign minister begged him to stay away. In London, Foreign Secretary Edward Grey was realizing that this ultimatum was going to be a big deal and realized he’d need to schedule a meeting with the German Ambassador, Prince Karl Lichnowsky. In Belgrade, Prime Minister Pasic was dictating a very careful response to the Austrian letter. In Paris, people were rapt with attention as it appeared that the trial of the century could resolve in a few days.

In St. Petersburg, Sergey Sazonov went to see the Russian chief of the general staff, General Nikolai Yanushkevich. Sazonov had decided on his first move on the chessboard. Perhaps a show of force would tell the Austrians to back down, he reasoned. Thus, he informed the general that he should start making plans for what it would entail to mobilize the massive Russian army.

With that brief meeting, as the kids like to say, s**t just got real.

113

Before we get to the 25th, it likely is a good time to talk about the two ton gorilla in the room, a term used at the time of WWI: mobilization. In practical terms, the word meant then what you’d think it means–getting your military troops in place so they’re positioned and ready for war.

After the Franco-Prussian war in 1870, folks in Europe would give the Germans a bit of their due. Yes, the Prussian army/German coalition were well-trained and well-led. Yes, they had modern weapons. Yes, yes, yes. Those things aside, though, what every general staff in Europe truly believed in their heart of hearts was that the Prussians rolled over France mostly because they’d gotten a huge army into the field of operations with lightning quickness. There’s certainly a great deal of truth to that view, too.

Thus, in the 44 years between the end of that war and the beginning of WWI, army staffs became obsessed with speedy mobilization of forces. They delighted in their new toy, the train. They spent countless thousands of man hours building rail lines, designing intricate timetables, and generally working out bringing their armies to readiness in minute detail. It was a fairly complicated thing, for most countries had not only huge armies standing active, but also hundreds of thousands–if not millions–standing ready in the reserve. In a general mobilization, even those reserve forces at home and scattered about, even officers living in far flung areas…they all had to be spirited to their appointed positions in the order of battle.

Thus, mobilization–more than anything else–was taken very seriously. It was expensive and disruptive as all hell. It locked up civilian life and transport like nobody’s business. It essentially brought a country to a commercial standstill to mobilize. As such, if a country mobilized AGAINST you, you could figure they weren’t doing it for sport and giggles. If a country went to the trouble of mobilizing, it was considered an almost surety that this was a procedural thing usually followed by a declaration of a state of war.

Every major player in World War I had their own mobilization plans. Russia had the biggest problem. Huge country, crappy rail service, reserves that numbered in the millions to be called up. In Russia, they figured it would take two weeks to mobilize fully. Their plan of general mobilization called for splitting their massive armed forces, filling up military districts adjacent to the Austrian province of Galicia (sort of where the Western Ukraine is today), while the other half mobilized in districts adjacent to Germany. The size of the force was massive. Even just the half arrayed against Galicia was bigger than the entire Austro-Hungarian army.

Austria also had primitive rail systems that created a huge logjam for them to mobilize. Their plan took them even longer than the Russians–a full 16 days to mobilize an offensive force in the south for the Balkans, and a defensive force in Galicia. 16 days. Remember that, it’s important.

France’s mobilization would take place on a much faster timetable. So too would Britain’s, if it came to it, and that even involved possibly sending troops across the channel to help France if they decided to get that involved in things.

Then there was Germany. At the turn of the 20th Century, they’d come up with their own mobilization (often mistaken for an actual offensive strategy, which it wasn’t, really) called the Schlieffen Plan. Germany’s mobilization was incredibly complex. It involved sending a skeleton force to the east to hold off the Russians. It involved throwing a major force to the west against France, defeating them quickly as they’d done in 1870, and then dealing with the Tsarist forces to the east.

Germany’s mobilization was faster than anyone else’s. It was also unique, because it required them to violate the neutrality of two other countries to execute: Luxembourg and Belgium. The plan was artful if you take national boundaries out. Germany would have a large “holding” force occupying the western mutual border with France, but then send an even bigger force on a rapid movement way to the north and west to come down atop France from that northern direction. The problem, of course, is that Schlieffen–and then in turn other important German generals like War Minister Erich Von Falkenhayn and German chief of the General Staff Von Moltke–expected that Belgium and Luxembourg would either allow their massive force to move through with impunity…or would be so easily overwhelmed and defeated if they resisted that it wouldn’t matter much.

It was a grandiose, tactically brilliant mobilization plan that was strategically stupid and tone-deaf to the diplomatic damage it would cause. Additionally, it was a problem that lacked any sort of imagination. There was no plan in existence for what would happen if France and Russia didn’t declare war together. There was no plan to mobilize on the east front only or the west front only. There was only the Schlieffen Plan. That was it.

For all their storied tactical brilliance, the German generals lacked imagination, and it would contribute to the onset of WWI.

114

Jeff Key for Austria, Rod Walker for England. Brenton ver Ploeg is France, John Leeder is Russia, John Boardman is Germany, Edi Birsan for Turkey, and oh no! Conrad von Metzke is Italy! Run for the hills, Jeff!

(I’ll be impressed if even a single person got that joke)

115

If the joke is that they are famous Dip players, then I suppose I got it.

116

I won a diplomacy tournament put on by John Boardman when I was a kid. Don’t recognize the others except maybe (?) Rod Walker, as I wasn’t really part of the community.

117

Birsan is famous for inventing the Lepanto Opening, and Key for the Key opening (he called it Di Achiva or something like that - everyone else called it the Key), Rod Walker for the Gamer’s Guide to Diplomacy, and ver Ploeg for bloodily winning his first seven games of postal Diplomacy. But none of that is the joke. Von Metzke, besides attempting to launch the first postal Diplomacy game (which Boardman did successfully later on), was infamous for single-handedly destroying the early ratings of Italy by constantly stabbing Austria in the back (and the Key opening required great trust by the Austrian player as an Italian army moved through Trieste into the Balkans).

Zines. Hmmm, Edi Birsan ran Arena, Conrad Costaguana, Walker Erewon, Boardman Graustark, Leeder Runestone. Damn, that takes me back. Anyway, back to The Origin of WWI…

118

Some time around 3pm Belgrade time on Saturday July 25, a top secret order went out to the military, giving formal–if secret–orders to mobilize. Serbia thus became (even before responding to Austria-Hungary) the first country in Europe to mobilize its forces for WWI.

At nearly 6pm and almost exactly 48 hours after the buffoonery of Austria’s delivery of the ultimatum (or “note with time limit”, if you like), Serbia’s Prime Minister Pasic delivered the response in a meeting with Giesl Von Gieslingen.

The response was complex. The Serbs said they’d be happy to accept half of the ten major items listed for them. They had questions, not refusals, just clarifying questions, about 4 more demands. There was just one item they wouldn’t accept.

That was good enough for Gieslingen, who’d been getting nervous, afraid that the Serbs might accept the whole thing as written. He had no script for that. Given, finally, the refusal of one item, he haughtily announced a breaking off of diplomatic relations and left the meeting. Austria Hungary announced she was going to a full mobilization an hour later, and Serbia publicized the mobilization of her own armies.

With that, there seemed to be an inevitability of armed conflict. The question now was whether it could be isolated, or whether this would turn into a European thing.

Serbia’s response to the note cut it both ways. It was extremely conciliatory in language, with lots of “We understands” and such. There was one item that was outright refused: the Serbs wouldn’t allow the government of Austria-Hungary to take over the investigation of the assassination. Even in this refusal, however, was room for compromise. Serbia refused it simply because there was no lawful way to allow such interference with her sovereignty written into her constitution.

When Edward Grey, the English Foreign Secretary read the letter, he wrote in his diary that it seemed to offer a real chance at a peaceful solution.

In Russia, a peaceful solution was what was wanted. Sergey Sazonov, the foreign minister there had finally calmed down. Tsar Nicholas, sensing the crisis, had come down from his summer palace to help manage things personally. He and Sazonov conferred, and both came to a realization that a war–especially one that might involve Germany–would weaken Russia fatally. The Motherland was 30 months from a complete retool of its armies that would add millions of men in strength all armed with more modern rifles. Then perhaps they would be negotiating from strength with the Germans. Then might be time for war.

For now though? For now, the Tsar was clear: “Keep us out of war.”

Imagine his surprise when, just before the clock struck midnight in St. Petersburg, Sazonov declared a “Period preperatory for War.” No one had heard that one before–it was sort of like Double Secret Probation or something. What it meant in practicality was that reservists were told to get ready to move out. It meant locking down trains and traffic routes, and getting officers home from vacations. Logistics generals in every western district–including the 3 bordering on Germany–were told to make all preparations.

What happened? Probably Maurice Paleologue happened. He met with Sazonov one more time after Sazonov and the Tsar talked, and likely put Sazonov back into a lather. Both the French and Russians understood the German doctrine of pre-emptive war, and Paleologue soon convinced Sazonov that that’s what this was. The excitable Russian stopped short of asking the general staff for mobilization, but he was getting there. If that order didn’t need to clear them and be approved by Nicholas, he may have anyway.

Paleologue’s whisperings were also all over the Serbian response to the Austrian ultimatum, by the by. The French Ambassador continued to tell the Serbs to not give an inch to the Austrians. It’s likely that the Serbs could have unconditionally accepted 9 of the 10 demands and asked “questions” about the tenth if they’d been more interested in buying time and negotiating. As Prime Minister Pasic prepared to move south to the new provincial capital, though, he was happy to have this come to a war if the Russians and French would support him–and his ambassador in St. Petersburg had wired that they would (mostly because that fellow had been told this by Paleologue.)

In London, Lord Grey went over his notes for his meeting the next day with Prince Lichnowsky, the German ambassador…and so into the story would enter one of the few brilliantly competent personages in the entire saga. In Berlin, they read the Serbian response and sent a cable to Vienna telling them that they should look at opportunities to get satisfaction from non-military means. The Kaiser would be back in his offices by Monday the 27th, and who knew what crazy stuff he might stir up?

France–its leadership still literally at sea and with one diplomatic functionary in St. Petersburg repeatedly kicking the hornet’s nest–was abuzz about the coming verdict in the Caillaux trial, perhaps on Monday.

One man in Paris, however, was determined to see that peace was kept.

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Two updates today, since I missed yesterday!

We’re a week away from Europe tearing itself apart, now. Things are moving both in front of and behind the public view.

On July 26, 1914, two men who might prevent war step into the spotlight. There are many foolish, deceitful, idiotic men who led to WWI happening that come to the fore in the last week of July, 1914. These two men do not fit that description. These are the good guys.

The first, we already met waaay back on page one of this thread. Long before many heads of state in Europe believed there was a real danger of war that might result from the assassination of the Archduke, Jean Jaures fretted about it. Jaures was a big bear of a man who was dedicated to peace, democratic government reforms in Europe, and above all socialism. He was an incredibly charismatic fellow, a big bear of a man with a bushy beard, an all-present smile, and twinkle in his eyes. He was considered far and away the best public speaker in Europe, able to hold audiences made of friends and foes both rapt. His newspaper was perhaps second only to Le Figaro for readership, but Jaures published his editorials in pamphlets and distributed them throughout Germany and even England as well.

Jaures’ popularity–which stood at millions of working class and lower males across France and Germany–led both the French and German governments to come to rare agreement on something: they both despised Jaures, considering him a dangerous, disruptive figure. The millions who followed his teachings and heeded his calls for peace were exactly the same folks that France and Germany would need wearing uniforms and marching to war soon, after all.

For his part, Jaures despised the idea of France and Germany at odds. He saw the conflict that had existed between the two as petty and stupid. France was a republican government. Germany was not…but Jaures believed it would be within the decade, all things being equal. He considered both superior to the repressive, Tsarist regime in Russia, or the dying imperial nonsense of the Austrians.

Jaures sense the danger of war and his paper featured almost daily editorials begging for calm. Jaures himself had begun to exhaust himself traveling through France, Belgium, and even western Germany holding meetings and rallies, exhorting his followers to not be drawn into war fever. Even so, Jaures thought he might be fighting a losing battle for peace. He had an American ace–or at least thought so–in his pocket he was thinking about playing.

One other aspect of Jaures’ political philosophy: he despised the way the government of Great Britain was behaving, especially when it came to their coy “Maybe we’re in an alliance, maybe not” stance in Europe. Jaures found the British to be meddlesome and detestable and a danger that might spark a war by their own inaction.

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Britain’s position in July of 1914 regarding the Crisis is difficult to grasp. H. H. Asquith was the Prime Minister at the head of a liberal coalition that was starting to show serious cracks in the foundation. The “problems” in Ireland were largely the cause, with his own party split bitterly on home rule for the Irish and whether and how to partition Ireland if it came to that, regarding protestant and Catholic populations there. To Asquith’s mind, all it would take would be the resignation of a few cabinet members and his entire government would lose confidence, crash down, and the conservatives would sweep into power. His primary goal in July of 1914 was holding that dividing and tumultuous cabinet together.

That left his foreign secretary, Edward Grey, in a bit of a pickle on how to respond to the elevating heat in Europe over the crisis going on there. Respond one way with strong support of their loose, maybe-alliance with the French and Russians and there would be resignations and the liberals swept from power. Respond with a guarantee of neutrality and the same thing would result. Grey–a waspy, bookish fellow–was walking a tightrope here. The intentions of the British would be almost impossible for anyone to discern.

Anyone, that is, but Prince Karl Max Lichnowsky. The German ambassador to the court of St. James is another one of the scarce good guys in all this mess. Educated in Britain and Germany both, he was a member of the royal Hohernzollern family and a friend since boyhood with the Kaiser. He’d been named the ambassador to England, and it’s easy to see how that might’ve been a disaster. It was a pure bit of cronyism and nepotism that got him that gig, far less than any qualifications might’ve. Lichnowsky was also detested by his own foreign service; his boss, foreign minister von Jagow, thought him to be an irrepressible layabout anglophile enjoying a working vacation in a country that the ambassador seemed to have too many affections for.

In reality, Lichnowsky was a home run hire for the job. Even if his qualifications might be suspect, he was a bright guy and insightful. It was true–he did truly enjoy Britain. Most of that though was an almost anthropological curiosity and interest in how British society worked, and how that fed into the intricate and sometimes inscrutable ways that the British government acted. Germany couldn’t have had a better representative for their interests in London.

On July 26, 1914, Lichnowsky and foreign secretary Grey have a long meeting. Lichnowsky (whose English was perfect–he spoke it with a clear, crisp lilt that suggested a native upbringing…as opposed to the Kaiser who also was fluent, but tended to keep his hilariously Germanic, Schwarzeneggerian accent) knew what questions to ask, and how to ask them. He knew that to get to the responses he wanted, he’d have to ask oblique, open-ended questions and then interpret Grey’s answers. He knew the delicate balancing act that the foreign secretary was having to walk. After a while, Lichnowsky had what he wanted from the Englishman, and prepared a cable for Berlin.

In that cable, he was very clear: If there was war coming, he was absolutely sure that England would not stay neutral, and would come into fight alongside the French and Russians. HOWEVER, Lichnowsky added, Lord Grey had suggested that a council of Britain, Germany, France, and Italy mediate the “Austrian problem” posthaste, before it could get worse. Lichnowsky strongly and in no uncertain terms recommended that Berlin pursue that course of action.

Unknown to Lichnowsky but sadly important to his communique, that same day (July 26), Prince Heinrich of Prussia was having a sporting day in England himself. Heinrich was the younger brother of the Kaiser, and on the 26th he was taking in a yacht race and having a catered lunch alongside and as the special guest of his first cousin, King George V of England. Afterwards, Heinrich sent a wire to Berlin. In it, he stated that “Georgie” had told him that it was likely England would stay neutral if there was war on the continent. What Heinrich likely failed to grasp was that King George had as much influence on British neutrality in Europe as Ronald McDonald has on the menu offerings at a certain fast food establishment.

In Berlin on the evening of the 26th, then, those competing German cables from England arrived. Sadly, Lichnowsky’s sober, clear-eyed and insightful take was committed to the circular file. Prince Heinrich’s rosey report was seen as the more likely of the two by Jagow and Chancellor Bethmann-Hollweg…mostly because it was good news for them, whether or not it had any basis in reality.

The 27th was coming fast. The Kaiser would be back in Berlin that day, and he was about to do something astonishing. Austria, meanwhile, was going to prove to the world that they hadn’t nearly screwed up yet as badly as they were capable of doing.