Always said that even the most inept democracies are better than any given dictatorial empire or kingdom, this is a great read, but damn those amateurish buffoons caused pain. I remember there was a movie about this subject, where the American visitor coolly told the nobility he was anxious to see the end of amateurish diplomacy…can’t remember which movie though, but it was a great scene.
Let’s catch up!
July 27th was a Monday in 1914. It was two days after Serbia had failed to unconditionally accept the Austrian ultimatum. In London, foreign secretary Edward Grey had finally gotten a chance to look over the Serbian response to the ultimatum. He was kind of shocked by what he saw. He expected the Serbs to essentially flip the bird at Austria…but the response was nothing of the sort. It was almost (dare Grey hoped) conciliatory in nature.
In fact, to Grey it seemed not so much a refusal, but rather a splendid place to begin peace talks.
He called another meeting with the German ambassador, Karl Lichnowsky. The German agreed wholeheartedly with Grey’s take, and once again the two came up with the idea of a mediated settlement handled by the Germans, English, French, and Italians. Lichnowsky once again cabled this offer to Berlin, and once again said “Guys, we really really really need to do this or we’re going to get sucked into a disastrous war.” (I’m paraphrasing, but he did tell Chacellor Bethmann Hollweg and foreign minister Von Jagow that a refusal to negotiate this mess would result in a war that would go badly for the Germans.)
(Germany’s own Cassandra, Ambassador Lichnowsky)
On July 27th, in mid-afternoon, the Kaiser finally returned to Berlin as well. He was eager to get cracking on this whole July mess with Austria, and felt sure he could get things sorted out. This likely gave his chancellor and foreign minister great headaches. The Kaiser was that sort of boss I think everyone has had at some point in their life. He’s the guy who screws stuff up. Wilhelm was given to great and vicious mood swings. His volume knob was always set at 11. He was either joyously happy, fiercely angry, or desperately melancholy…with very little time in the middle of those. If he were alive today, he’d likely have been diagnosed (and probably properly) as suffering from an acute bipolar disorder. Early in 1914 he was in such a deep depression that he gave serious consideration to abdicating, for example.
He was also almost comedically inept at running a country. Everything he touched he seemed to screw up and required someone to follow along and fix.
Still, on July 27th of 1914, the Kaiser was exuberant. He too was first reading the text of the Serbian reply. He–like Grey–found it conciliatory in the extreme. He exclaimed loudly that even as things stood right then and there, this was a massive diplomatic victory for Austria! The only item the Serbs had refused was a clear violation of their sovereignty. Other than that, though, they seemed to be playing ball. It seemed to the Kaiser that this was a good jumping off point for negotiations that Germany should be happy to host and mediate.
(Kaiser Wilhelm in 1912. Like most photos of him, it went to great pains to hide his withered, nearly useless left arm, which was a birth defect.)
For Bethmann-Hollweg, this likely meant praying that the Kaiser didn’t accept Lichnowsky’s reported offer of a jointly-mediated settlement of the situation. While the chancellor certainly preferred a negotiation to war, a similar multi-national group had negotiated territorial claims in the end of a Balkan conflict in 1912, and the Germans and Austrians thought the Hapsburgs got screwed out of territory there. Hollweg also knew that the Italians–while officially a member of an Austrian/German alliance–were getting to be pretty unreliable. They were eyeing the Italian-speaking Adriatic port cities of Trieste and Fiume (both vitally important cities within Austria) with covetous eyes.
Thankfully–as far as the German cabinet was concerned, Wilhelm felt the same as them about multinational mediation if it involved the Italians and French.
Austria had other ideas besides negotiation anyway. On July 27th, the Austrian cabinet ministers held a secret meeting in Vienna. In that meeting, they voted to declare war on Serbia.
That sentence was not a misprint.
Yes, I did already mention that Austria’s mobilization would take them 16 days. Yes, that did mean that it would be 16 days until Austria could perform any sort of military maneuver.
And so historians the world over have debated almost since the day it happened exactly what in hell the Austrians were thinking by preparing a declaration of war two weeks before such a thing was needed. There were blunders and missteps that led to World War I. This was perhaps the biggest of all. The enemy of negotiation is time and deadlines, and on that afternoon of July 27th, the Austrian cabinet threw a chokehold on the timeframe to get to a peaceful settlement of the July crisis. No longer would it be possible for this to be something that would play out over the course of the next month or two. This set the clock ticking–and ticking rapidly–to a war.
The declaration wouldn’t be delivered to Serbia until July 28th, the next afternoon. The evening of the 27th, Count Berchtold took the document to Emperor Franz Joseph to get him to sign off on it. The Emperor’s hands shook so badly when reading it that the paper rattled. He dropped his spectacles into his lap, unable at first to place them on his nose, so grave did he recognize the consequences of the order presented for his signature. Wasn’t there some other way? Was this truly necessary? Now?
Berchtold, accompanied by the chief of the general staff, Conrad, assured him that it was necessary. They lied to the Emperor openly, telling him that Serbian soldiers had already fired upon Austrians across the border from Belgrade. They invented from whole cloth atrocities being committed in these border towns by Serbs against Austria. Austria must act now to preserve their honor and dignity. Conrad–who knew all that was a load of malarkey–managed to work himself into a rage anyway. He’d take the Austrian army into Serbia, he promised the Emperor. He’d teach those upstarts a lesson about messing with the Hapsburgs.
The normally steady Emperor, hand shaking so badly he could scarcely hold a pen, signed the declaration. Berchtold sent a confidential memo to the Germans in code, alerting Hollweg to this. It was nearly midnight in Berlin when the German chancellor and foreign minister Von Jagow learned that there would be a declaration of war the next day. Both men should’ve been alarmed. Neither was, particularly. They and the Kaiser had begged Austria to take action against the Serbs. Their allies were doing that, weren’t they? They assumed the Kaiser would be pleased.
Not only would the 28th see the delivery of that stupid and blunderous declaration of war, it would also see Kaiser Wilhelm do something so astonishing and crazy that it left his own chancellor agog.
Remains of the Day. Christopher Reeve’s professional diplomat lays the smack down on British aristocratic dilettantes.
The rest of the Internet is finally catching up to Triggercut with a bunch of stuff on WWI today. Though none of it is nearly as well written, of course. The Smithsonian has gathered up a whole bunch of articles, including this one about Gavrilo Princip’s non-existent, but apparently very popular, sandwich.
On July 28th, the Kaiser did something extraordinarily crazy, something so absurd and out of left field that he seemed to catch his own cabinet (who likely thought they’d seen everything from their mercurial and moody leader before) off guard.
That morning, the Kaiser strode into his office and took his seat on his saddle chair (yes, that’s exactly what it sounds like–instead of a chair behind his desk, he straddled a large saddle instead). He’d re-read the Serbian response overnight again. He’d seen Lichnowsky’s wires from Europe, and thus knew that Lord Grey was open to negotiation.
And thus and so Kaiser Wilhelm II did something so bizarre and utterly nuts that no one quite knew what to do.
What the Kaiser did was this: he had a sensationally good idea.
What he proposed was that a message be sent at once to Vienna. In that message, it would be offered that German and England would help negotiate a settlement of the Serbian question. He congratulated the Austrians on their great diplomatic success so far, and promised that he’d help see to it that they came away from the bargaining table this time with some satisfaction. In fact, the Kaiser suggested a plan adopted by a low-level functionary in Von Jagow’s foreign department. He suggested that the Austrians actually move south across the border to undefended Belgrade (the Serbs had already moved their provincial capital south and weren’t going to defend it). The Austo-Hungarian army would then stop and hold Belgrade as a bargaining chip, and then allow the Germans and British to mediate things. It was a similar thing to what Germany did in the Franco-Prussian war, and that had turned out well for them.
This was the so-called “Stop-in-Belgrade” plan. It was actually a very smart bit of diplomacy. Grey had recognized it and either simultaneously had it occur to him or fully embraced it when the Kaiser informed him. Either way, England was on board with this. Everyone wins, right? Peace in our time?
Not so much. There were some problems.
The first was the Kaiser’s own cabinet. Bethmann-Hollweg and Von Jagow had spent years dealing with the moody, bi-polar monarch. They’d learned that it was always best to hold onto any directive from the Kaiser for 12 hours, so prone was he to immediately change his mind. They determined to do that this time, in what can only be seen as a terrible decision in hindsight.
Mostly terrible, because they also knew that Emperor Franz Joseph had signed a declaration of war, and that this would be delivered that afternoon. Thus, the declaration of war happened, and then the Kaiser’s proposal, now looking horribly outdated. Conrad, who really wanted to kill Serbians, saw the proposal and spluttered that he could hardly stop his army in Belgrade. It would mess up his mobilization timetables, after all. This, also, was a blindingly stupid thing to say/do/believe.
Oh, were we talking about blindingly stupid Austrians sending Europe pell-mell to a path of war? Yes, we were, and it seems only fair that Count Berchtold, the Austrian foreign minister, get his chance to try to trump all the stupid that happened on July 28th. He may win the trophy for the day, too.
The Russian ambassador to Austria had been desperately trying to get an audience with Berchtold, but had been put off since the 25th. Finally, after the declaration of war went out, Berchtold agreed to see him.
The two had an animated, accusatory, angry meeting. There was finger-wagging, shouting, and great imprecations from both. Eventually both men vented themselves out. They began to behave like grownups.
Somehow though, both fellows seemed to get lost. Berchtold made the point that Austria Hungary would in no uncertain terms negotiate with the Serbs…but they would negotiate with the Russians to find a peaceful settlement, war declaration and all.
Berchtold misspoke when he said it, however, and the Russian ambassador left the meeting with the impression that Berchtold would negotiate with no one, including the Russians, regarding Serbia.
That’s a big ol’ oops, and one that wouldn’t be discovered for a few days, and then it would be too late.
Had the two men not stumbled all over one another’s words, it’s likely that this two might’ve been a fruitful path towards a peaceful resolution. Instead, it was more mistrust and angry promises of war.
July 29…
You may have read that on this day, World War I started. Many media outlets were pushing this.
World War I did not start on July 28th or 29th of 1914. What everyone in Europe hoped would be a minor Balkan conflict started. There was still much hope to defuse the situation.
Russia, France, Germany and England will let everyone know when World War I starts.
At any rate, in France Madame Caillaux was acquitted of murdering Monsieur Calmette, the editor of Le Figaro. (Her lawyer’s defense of “If it’s too tight a corset, you must acquit” won the day, apparently.) France, held rapt by the trial woke up on Wednesday the 29th and realized that holy crap, they were on the verge of war! A wave of war fever began to sweep the upper middle class of France, who were happy to have wild rallies in the street. In more rural areas and with the working class, Jean Jaures was working his magic to try to keep everyone in check by letting them know that even a victorious war would be a disaster for France.
Meanwhile, on the 29th President Poincare and Prime Minister Viviani had their ship dock at Dunkerque. The Germans had foolishly kept Poincare in the dark the entire time he was at sea by jamming the primitive ship to shore communication tech. It wasn’t until they were in the North Sea that the French leadership heard how close war was becoming. They hurried to Paris, furious with the Russians for (in their minds) having ignored Ambassador Paleologue’s entreaties for calm. (They’d find out later how badly their own diplomat had taken things into his own hands.) There was still hope for a mediated solution, but Poincare found his general staff worried about the Germans.
In St. Petersburg, the Russian general staff had a meeting with Sazonov, the foreign minister. They assured him that Austria’s ultimatum and declaration of war were the work of Germany. They insisted he get the Tsar to approve immediate mobilization. This would be a provocative act, one that would essentially be almost impossible to walk back. Still, if Sazonov needed convincing, a quick meeting with Paleologue convinced him. The French ambassador assured him that Poincare was ready to mobilize the French forces and was eager to cut Germany to size.
And so Sazonov went to the Tsar. Nicholas was sure a war would be a disaster for his country and especially for the royal family. He refused to sign an order for mobilization. Sazonov tried again. “This isn’t an order for mobilization…it’s, um, an order to PRE-authorize mobilization. And only in the districts near Galicia in Austria-Hungary, not against Germany. Yeah…that’s the ticket!” Finally the Tsar relented and agreed to a pre-authorization (or so he thought), but at least was smart enough to specify in writing that he was only approving partial mobilization, against the Austrians.
What followed next was one of the more poignant aspects of the run up to war. Nicholas sat down and dictated a telegram for personal delivery to Kaiser Wilhelm. He and the Kaiser were friends and first cousins. In the telegram, the Tsar expressed concern over Austria and begged Germany to bring Austria around to a position of being willing to have a peaceful negotiation. He signed it, “Your friend, Nicky”. Coincidentally at the same time, the Kaiser was sending a wire to the Tsar at his summer palace. In it, he begged the Tsar to keep a cool head and not mobilize. He was working with the Austrians, he promised. He signed it “Your old friend, Willy.” The two would exchange dozens of wires over the next few days, each a bit more pleading and poignant than the next. Sadly, events were starting to run away from both men.
In fact there’s a tipping point for each country in World War I where things go pear-shaped. For as blundering and stupid as the diplomats were, they essentially meant well and had peace in mind. When things go bad and get out of hand, however, is when the military men show up and exert their influence. That is typically the end of things for each country, whether it’s Conrad in Austria, Moltke in Germany, or Joffre in France. And in Russia, the General staff were beginning to assert their will. In the evening of the 29th, having returned from his quick trip to the summer palace to see the Tsar, Sazonov took meetings with both the British and German ambassadors. He assured both that Russia had no immediate plans to mobilize. He was lying, of course, which is stupid for a diplomat to do. Even as he was lying to these men, the Russians were putting initial steps of concrete mobilization into play, sending armies into the districts opposite Austria-Hungary.
In London, things couldn’t have been messier. Prime Minister Asquith polled his cabinet and found overwhelming support for neutrality, even if France and Russia declared war. The German ambassador heard this, but Lichnowsky was no fool. He knew the support for neutrality was shallow and soft. Many cabinet ministers held that position only as a negotiating ploy, and would happily reverse in a second if given the chance. The sharp Lichnowsky, aware of this, cabled Berlin again and again with peace proposals and entreaties to negotiate.
Unfortunately, on July 30th, more doors would slam shut on that possibility.
The fog of diplomacy precedes the fog of war. Amazing how key individuals could fuck things up so badly while simultaneously a lot of people working for a different outcome get overrun by events. Maybe I should dig out my draft card and ceremoniously burn it in support of all those poor souls lost in a horribly dumb war (I believe it says 1h - not currently subject to processing, otherwise known as my number was too high).
My grandfather was just old enough to make it into WWI (nothing like convoy duty just hoping you don’t get torpedoed), and then just young enough for WWII (LAPD? Shore patrol for you! Hey, at least you can’t get torpedoed conducting troops by rails in California).
July 30:
It’s a busy and momentous day. Let’s go country by country a bit.
In St. Petersburg, Sazonov is told by the Russian general staff that while there exists a plan to execute the partial mobilization authorized by the Tsar…it doesn’t work. They are almost certainly lying when they tell Sazonov this: Russians had wargamed it just a year previously, albeit on a much more limited scale. The Russian generals are unequivocal: they must mobilize their entire army against both Austria and Germany. No other choices exist. Sazonov isn’t so sure, so the general staff arrange to conveniently have their intel inform the excitable foreign minister that they have detected that Germany is secretly in full mobilization.
That was obviously a fabrication. The notion that Germany could do anything militarily in secret is laughable. Again: when Germany makes war in the first half of the 20th century, Europe will know when that happens. They’re not a subtle military.
And so Sazonov headed out by train again to the summer palace. He finally got an audience with the Tsar. Sazonov cajoled, wheedled and begged, but the Tsar refused to authorize a full mobilization. At first. After hours and hours of his minister’s imprecations, pleadings, and whinings about things, Nicholas finally relented and signed the authorization. Russia’s generals would have their way.
Here we see how the generals from one country bring the generals into the game from another one. By mobilizing against Germany, the “wait and see” attitude of the German military does that whole record scratch thing. It switches from a calm “Let the diplomats handle this mess” to a panicked “Sit down, shut up, we’re in charge.” Chancellor Bethmann Hollweg continued to send cables to his Serbian ambassador, imploring him to bring the Austrians around to negotiation and to call off the gunboat monitors sailing up and down the Danube, shelling targets of opportunity in Serbia. (The fire was mostly of a nuisance nature, but enough to cause some to call the war as underway. In reality, Austria would be the last of the major combatants to get things going; their invasion of Serbia doesn’t happen until August 12th.) The Chancellor continued to urge the Serbs to consider the merits of the Stop-In-Belgrade idea that Germany and Britain were enamored of. All hope for that was dashed when a nervous German chief of the general staff, Moltke, cabled his counterpart in Austria, Conrad. Moltke begged the Austrian General to hold firm and not accept any peace proposals, including Stop-In-Belgrade. Conrad, bemused and angered by this sort of nonsense, proclaimed “What a joke!” He and Berchtold determined to not respond to further entreaties from any government going forward.
In France, Poincare is beside himself. His generals are also feeding him false reports of German ultra-secret mobilization that are false. He allows France to begin tentative but concrete mobilization preparations. He then cables Lord Grey in London. If Britain would only firmly come out and say that they supported France, he knows it would likely deter Germany and end talk of war. He also cables Paleologue in Russia: “Tell the Russians to proceed carefully. We will support them, but we do not want a war.” Paleologue–when asked by Sazonov–ignores this mandate for caution and says “We got your backs. Mobilize away, dudes.”
In London, Grey finally tells Lichnowsky, the German ambassador, that England is unlikely to remain neutral if a war occurs. Lichnowsky knows this, but now he’s got confirmation from the horse’s mouth. He cables this to Berlin. Berlin continues to ignore the good advice from their ambassador. Had Asquith allowed Grey to come forward even a day earlier and firmly and forcefully state that England was going to join Russia and France, it’s extremely unlikely–heck, it’s a sure thing–that Germany tells Austria they’re on their own. Now even that kind of thing likely makes it too late.
The Russians are mobilizing 5 million men. 2 million will be aimed at Germany. To Berlin, nothing else matters.
Still…hope still flickers. Jean Jaures is in Belgium speaking to a packed house that includes prominent journalists. He’s one again advocating peace and calm. He has a card up his sleeve, too. He’s preparing a cable to Woodrow Wilson in the United States, asking him to mediate the situation as best he might. Failing that, his newspaper is about to go with banner headlines begging his millions of socialist followers in France and Germany to resist joining the war effort.
July 31:
On the 31st, Germany managed to really screw the proverbial pooch. They sent a proposal to England trying to talk them back into neutrality. “What if,” asked the proposal from Von Jagow (who was an idiot) “Germany agreed to return to its pre-war status and borders the countries of France and Belgium? Would that keep you guys on our good side?”
The response in London:
“Well, we would prefer…WAIT. WHAT??? BELGIUM??? What the hell are you jackholes doing? Belgium??” If Germany was trying to make nice, they did it terribly. Belgium was a non-starter for England. The idea that her neutrality might be violated caught England completely unaware. Imagine an entire island doing a spit-take if you like.
Lord Grey then angrily sent out a cable to both Paris and Berlin. “If you morons are going to have a fight, do you promise to ensure you won’t violate the territory of any neutral countries whose borders we guarantee?”
France: “Duh. Yes. Of course.”
Germany: /crickets
England was making it clear in no uncertain terms that they were going to throw in with their sort-of alliance buddies, Russia and France.
In St. Petersburg things were a snowball rolling downhill. Russia was mobilizing, full out.
In Vienna, things were similarly on a runaway trajectory. They were bunkered in. They weren’t answering their calls.
In Berlin, the Generals finally informed the Kaiser that he could wait no longer. He had to approve mobilization. Wilhelm–as reluctant to do so as Nicholas, Franz Joseph, or Poincare hesitated. He finally agreed to declare a point of preparation to mobilization. This allowed his military to begin to lock down rail stations, communication, and roads as they needed them. Thus, Germany–often blamed for instigating the war by clueless sots like Hew Strachan–became the final continental European power in the conflict to begin military preparation. Even so, there would be an 11th hour chance to turn things all around.
One of those chances to save lives was Jean Jaures. On the 31st, he returned from Belgium. He knew it was likely too late for his influence to avert a war…but his influence might end it prematurely. Especially if the war from the very start was as horrific and stalemate-like as he expected it to be.
In the meantime, he wanted to blast the war fever he was still seeing by doing so in the pages of his newspaper, L’Humanite. He and his editors decided to have a working dinner at Jaures’ favorite restaurant, the improbably named La Croissant. He and his editors and writers ate heartily and discussed what the Saturday edition would look like. A former schoolmate and chum of one of the editors was eating a few tables over. He came over to say hello, and brought out a picture of his young daughter to show.
“May I see?” asked Jaures. Beaming as he looked at the picture, his bushy beard filled with crumbs, he looked up at the man. His eyes glittered with happiness. “How old is she? Is she in good health? Does she do well in school?”
Just then, two shots rang out. A deranged paranoid named Raoul Villain (seriously, you can’t MAKE these names up) had bought a gun and decided to go to Berlin to shoot the Kaiser. On his way, he saw Jaures and his crew enter the restaurant and decided that would be less work and save him a train ticket. Jaures had sat with his back to an open window that warm Parisian night. Villain fired two shots into the back of the peace advocate’s head, killing him instantly.
And so that was that for a peace uprising from the people. There was one last, final saving throw for Europe to come.
My grandfather was too young for WW1 and was to old for WW2. My father did end up in the Pacific during WW2 though.
August 1st.
Here we are, and things are bad. Austria is mobilizing. Serbia is mobilizing. Russia is mobilizing. France is mobilizing. Germany’s generals are pressing the Kaiser hard to do the same. England is telling Germany’s ambassador that they’ll have no choice but to fight alongside France if Germany really does intend to violate Belgian neutrality. Ambassador Lichnowsky relays that news. The Kaiser is told by his chief general, Moltke, that Germany has one mobilization plan, and that involves invading Belgium, pretty much.
Helmuth Von Moltke is the nephew and namesake of the Prussian general who became a hero leading the coalition of Germanic nations to victory in Austria and France that led to German unification. Known by history as “Moltke the Younger”, an argument can also be made for “Moltke the Lesser”, too. Not incompetent, but certainly out of his depth, Motlke inherited the Schlieffen plan from his predecessor in 1906. When Moltke took over as the head of the German general staff then, the Schlieffen plan was one of a couple of mobilization plans. Moltke became transfixed by it.
Which is a shame for Germany, really. Moltke’s own uncle, the war hero, had suggested long and hard that Germany’s best defense against a two-front war would be to dig in on the east and west and let France and Russian destroy their armies on the German bulwark. Even as the elder Moltke became an octogenarian, he studied well how modern artillery, machine guns, and fast-loading weaponry was changing the face of war. He’d seen some of it himself. Had Germany adhered to that sort of plan, it’s likely they’d have won World War I and we’d be reconsidering history.
Instead, though, Moltke the Younger was obsessed with the notion of taking out France first. He ignored all diplomatic obvious arguments against such a plan, arguments that range from “Belgium isn’t going to just let the Germans march through” to “And violating Belgian territory against its will is going to bring England in” and “Russia’s fragile government can’t survive a war of attrition”. No, not our Moltke. He’s convinced that Germany can knock out France in 60 days…but he also warns others that failure to do so will be pretty rough on Germany. At least he was a little clear-eyed.
A key element of Germany’s war plan is moving quickly, and they’re already behind the old eight ball here. France has full armies getting into place on their frontier border with Germany (with strict orders to their commanders to not come anywhere closer than 6 miles from the border so as not to provoke a war and risk angering England). As an aside, how bracingly stupid were the French in August of 1914? As we saw yesterday, the Germans all but told the world they were going to invade Belgium and then swing south to attack the French from the north. Somehow France persisted in believing right up until it was nearly too late to be encircled that the major German attack was going to be a frontal assault right on their shared border with Germany.
But hey, it’s August 1st. Let’s get back on track! Late the previous evening on the 31st, under pressure to mobilize (which would be an act of war for violating Belgian and Luxembourg-ian sovereign territory), Germany tries one last ditch effort at peace. They send 12 hour ultimatums to both Paris and St. Petersburg, begging either or both to please stand down or Germany will have to consider themselves at war.
By morning, neither nation has responded favorably. By mid-afternoon, France had made its mobilization official by calling up reserves and rapidly gaining numbers along its front lines.
The Kaiser, reluctantly approved mobilization at 5pm local time. After signing the order, he and his general staff hung out, waiting for word that their notes to Russia and France proclaiming a state of war existing had been delivered. An argument broke out. Moltke and his second in command, Erich Falkenhayn, were arguing vociferously that they needed to get the party started right away–that is, take provocative war action. The Kaiser was hesitant. Let the final answer come from France and Russia first. The German generals scoffed at this. “We gotta go. NOW.” Both men left the room to issue the official mobilization order.
Just then, old Gottlieb Von Jagow, the German foreign minister, burst into the room. “WAIT!” he cried. (Or, more likely “Achtung!” or something.)
A cable was arriving from Lichnowsky in London. It looked important. Someone dashed down the hallway to intercept Motlke and Falkenhayn and bring them back.
The note from Lichnowsky was almost too good to be true. “What if,” he began, “Germany could assure England that they would take no actions against France or any other countries on Germany’s western border, if the UK could assure Germany that France would also stand down, would that be OK?”
The Kaiser was exultant, and you can see why. Essentially England was promising Germany that Berlin could face all her armies eastward against Russia and that it would stay all quiet on the western front. Germany could take Russia out of Europe for the considerable future. It could restore Austria to a position of pre-eminence in Central Europe and the Balkans. It was like a gift from heaven, this offer.
Moltke was unimpressed. “We have to mobilize. Naow.”
The Kaiser was stunned. “Don’t you see what this means?” The unimaginitive Moltke did not. He had exactly one war plan, and that involved attacking France. Yes, we’re in Doctor Strangelove territory here. The Kaiser was getting angry. “Just turn everyone around and march straight EAST, you idiot.” Moltke said there were no plans to do that, that the armies would become confused and disorganized, and the German advantage of fast mobilization would be scuttled.
The Kaiser, eyes aflame, had heard pretty much all he wanted to out of his chief of staff. “Your uncle would have given me a different answer.”
Yikes! Sick burn, dude! Seriously, the Kaiser has him a poison tongue, no?
Wilhelm puts mobilization on hold completely. He’s jubilant. His diplomats are jubilant. This is everything they ever could have wanted. They cable back Lichnowsky for details, telling him that such a plan is completely acceptable to them.
Just after 6pm, meanwhile, in St. Petersburg the German Ambassador gives Sergey Sazonov one last chance to stand things down. Sazonov says that he can’t do that. Both men, weeping openly, pass official diplomatic notes to one another from across a desk declaring a state of war between their two countries.
Berlin gets that news, but they don’t care so much. They expected it. This Lichnowsky offer, it makes it all moot.
Around 8pm, a new cable arrives from London. It’s Lichnowsky. The Germans assume it’s to notify them of acceptance of this “Fight Russia” plan.
Lichnowsky is apologetic. Back in London he was also jubilant, and went back to talk to Lord Grey about how such an English guarantee of a quiet Western Front would happen. Grey is stunned. Apparently in a lengthy 3-hour meeting he’d thrown out such a scenario as a wildly improbable hypothetical, and Lichnowsky, grasping at anything, had run with it. “My dear Prince,” said Grey, “We can’t make any such assurance. France is her own nation. They’ll do as they like. I’m afraid that our position remains the same. War with them likely means we will get involved on their side.”
And so that 8pm cable to Berlin is Lichnowsky’s crestfallen news. He’d only preserved peace for a few more hours, that’s all. There was no concrete offer, just Grey brainstorming ideas. Everything was status quo.
The Kaiser must’ve been devastated by this news. He sadly gave Moltke and Falkenhayn permission to proceed with mobilization. Lichnowsky would begin making travel arrangements to get back home once England was forced to declare war on his homeland. A few days later upon his departure after was was declared, the ambassador would be given a full troop salute by British soldiers, so respected was he for his efforts to avert war.
August 2:
In the late evening of August 1st, Germany informs France that a state of war exists between their two countries. Shortly after midnight, German troops zip headlong down roads in Luxembourg, securing them and any railway junctions.
World War I is underway.
Thanks for reading!
Clap, clap, clap.
Brilliant triggercut. Just brilliant.
I actually had that version of Diplomacy - very rare in the US.
A great series, triggercut. I enjoyed every installment.
Bravo. Thanks for writing.
Bravo indeed! All we need now is an epilogue wherein we learn, say, that Monsieur Paleologue fell down a ravine and was eaten by bears.
What we need is the fate of all the named players involved.
Really have enjoyed this - there’s telling the tale in a professional historian manner, and then there’s telling it in a personal fashion. I rather liked the shameless editorializing.
Yeah, over the weekend I’ll do the Animal House style credits rolling “And here’s what happened…”
This is beyond awesome. Fantastic works triggercut.