The War That Ended Peace: The Road to 1914 (96 page)

When the French party landed in Russia on 20 July the tsar himself was there to greet them and they were housed at his great palace of Peterhof just to the west of St Petersburg. (In the city itself, the workers had called a general strike and there was fighting in the streets; Poincaré scandalised his hosts by inquiring about the causes.
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) The next few days were packed with banquets, receptions, and military reviews. Viviani, who was longing to be back in Paris where the Caillaux trial had reached its climax and where his wayward mistress was enjoying herself, complained incessantly of being bored and tired. He had trouble with his liver and a local French doctor had to be hastily summoned. Poincaré found it impossible to feel much sympathy for his travelling companion: ‘He is violent, timid and vulgar, wrapped in a gloomy silence.’
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The important part of the trip occurred behind the scenes, in the private conversations between the French and the Russians but unfortunately we know very little about what was said. The records are sketchy at best and it may well be that some were destroyed. The two sides talked, it is known, about the tensions between Russia and Britain over
Persia and the French urged the Russians to pursue a naval agreement with the British.
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According to the British ambassador, he was reliably informed afterwards by Sazonov and the French ambassador that the conversations had dealt as well with Austria-Hungary and Serbia and that France and Russia intended to make a joint approach to Vienna to warn it against threatening Serbia’s independence.
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Certainly, the situation in the Balkans was much on the minds of both the Russian and the French leaders. At a reception for the diplomatic corps in St Petersburg on the evening of 21 June Poincaré told the ambassador from Austria-Hungary that no country could be held responsible for plots made on their territory. Serbia had ‘friends’ including Russia which would be ‘astonished’ if Austria-Hungary took any strong measures. The ambassador sent a warning to Berchtold in Vienna, who chose to ignore it.
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While there is no evidence that the French and Russians plotted to provoke a war with Germany, they were talking openly of the possibility of a conflict by 22 July, something, according to a French attaché in St Petersburg, ‘which no one had even dreamt of a few days earlier’.
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The Russians, who had become increasingly concerned by the rumours that were coming out of Vienna, were sending out their own warnings even before the French arrived. On 8 July Sazonov told the Austrian-Hungarian chargé d’affaires that any attempt by Vienna to interfere in Serbia’s internal affairs would be a dangerous step which would make ‘a very bad impression’ in Russia.
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A week later, at a summer party, a high-ranking official from the Russian Foreign Ministry asked the Italian ambassador to convey a message to Austria-Hungary that Russia would not stand for any threat to the independence of Serbia. Two days afterwards Sazonov made a point of talking to Baron Friedrich Szápáry, Austria-Hungary’s ambassador, about Russia’s concerns. Szápáry was most reassuring – ‘gentle as a lamb’, said Sazonov – saying that his government had a deep love of peace and did not want to make its relations with Serbia any more difficult than they were.
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So for the time being the Russian government waited to see what would happen.

It was Russia’s misfortune, and the world’s, that its leadership was so inadequate as it was about to head into a major international storm. Sazonov himself as well as the tsar were inclined towards peace but both men were weak and easily swayed; both too had a strong sense of
Russia’s honour and dignity and remembered with resentment how it had been forced to back down in earlier crises in the Balkans. Gore-mykin, the Prime Minister, was a nonentity and the dominant figures in the Council of Ministers were Alexander Krivoshein, the Minister of Agriculture, who was a hardliner when it came to Russia’s prestige abroad, and Sukhomlinov, who was reckless and whose pride made him insist that Russia’s armed forces were ready for any eventuality.
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General Nicholas Yanushkevich, the chief of staff, had been in office for only five months and had few obvious qualifications for the post beyond having the tsar’s favour. The British military attaché said the appointment ‘excited general surprise. He gave the impression rather of a courtier than of a soldier.’
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Among the other top military leaders, Grand Duke Nicholas Nikolaevich had both experience and common sense but he was to be an advocate of early mobilisation even at the risk of war as the crisis intensified. His wife, one of the many children of the king of Montenegro who had married well, was a passionate and uncritical supporter of Serbia. ‘There’s going to be war,’ she exclaimed to Paléologue on 21 July during Poincaré’s visit. ‘There’ll be nothing left of Austria … Our armies will meet in Berlin, Germany will be destroyed.’
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Another influential voice for war was the French ambassador in St Petersburg. Paléologue hated Germany and had long been convinced that a major conflict with it was inevitable. Clever, devious, emotional and vain, he had climbed steadily upwards in the French foreign service by attaching himself to powerful men, among them Delcassé and Poincaré, whom he had met when they were both students. With aspirations to be a writer as well as a statesman, Paléologue claimed to be descended from an ancient and noble Byzantine family, but his many enemies claimed that his parents – a Greek exile from Rumania and a Belgian musician mother – came from humble, even dubious backgrounds. When he was appointed to St Petersburg in January 1914 to replace Delcassé, the French Prime Minister, then Gaston Doumergue, told him that war could break out at any time and that France’s safety depended on how quickly its allies came into the fight. Paléologue, who saw himself as an independent actor rather than a servant of his government, made it his duty to foster the Triple Entente and, when war came, bring Russia in on the side of France.
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On 24 July, as news of the
Austrian ultimatum to Serbia became known and when Poincaré and Viviani had already sailed homewards, he had the British ambassador Sir George Buchanan and Sazonov to lunch. The Russian Foreign Minister was angry about Austria-Hungary’s move, which he described as ‘immoral and provocative’. He hoped, Buchanan reported to London, that Britain would immediately proclaim its solidarity with France and Russia. Paléologue was even more vehement: ‘From French Ambassador’s language it almost looked as if France and Russia were determined to make a strong stand even if we declined to join them. Language of Minister for Foreign Affairs, however, was not so decided on this subject.’
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In the next days Paléologue repeated the assurances of France’s support for Russia, to Sazonov himself but also to the Italian ambassador who may well have passed news of this French position to Austria-Hungary and Germany.
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Paléologue may have exceeded his instructions but he was close to Poincaré who himself had assured the Russians of French support in the crisis. In his parting meeting with the tsar, Poincaré told him that their two countries must work closely together if Austria-Hungary and Germany attacked Serbia. ‘The more difficult the situation gets, the more united and close we will have to be’. The two men apparently also talked at length about how Russia and France might co-operate militarily.
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This was not, of course, the first time such discussions had taken place; for over a decade the Russian and the French military had made plans together for a war against Germany and their links, including direct wireless communication, had become tighter with time.
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In July 1914, given their anger with Austria-Hungary, the Russians would have made up their own minds about going to war but the French did not want to deter them. Indeed, like their German counterparts, many French leaders thought that, if war were to come, the present was the best time. In June 1914, a general staff report noted that Rumania was now a potential enemy for Austria-Hungary and Russia was more of a threat to Germany.
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Sazonov’s first reaction on the morning of 24 July when he learned of the ultimatum was ‘This means a European war’. The tsar, who was attending summer army manoeuvres at the village of Krasnoye Selo, south of St Petersburg, said merely ‘This is disturbing’. Initially he at least believed Wilhelm’s assurances that Germany did not know
anything about the ultimatum and took comfort in the Kaiser’s reminder that Germany and Russia had always managed to come to an agreement in previous crises. The Council of Ministers met in emergency meeting at Krasnoye Selo that afternoon. While Sazonov still hoped war might be avoided, he took the position that Russia could not allow Austria-Hungary to destroy its influence in the Balkans by crushing Serbia. Privately, as he commented later, surprisingly to the ambassador of Austria-Hungary, he resented the demands that Serbia made on Russia and the way in which it dragged its larger ally into conflicts but he saw no alternative now but to offer support. Russia’s prestige and Russian public opinion would demand no less.
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Krivoshein, in a speech that was significant in swaying the others, said Russia had to take a firm stand even at the risk of war. His colleague Peter Bark, who was usually a voice of caution, agreed: ‘When it comes to honour and dignity of Russia and its whole existence as a great power the Finance Minister should join the majority of the Cabinet.’ The Council decided to work with the other powers including Germany to try to persuade Austria-Hungary to allow time for a diplomatic solution by extending the deadline for Serbia’s reply to the ultimatum. To add pressure, however, the Council also authorised the mobilising of the Baltic and Black Sea Fleets and a partial mobilisation of Russia’s army in four military districts. While this mobilisation posed more of a threat to Austria-Hungary than Germany, it was still a highly risky move for it challenged the Dual Alliance to respond. As it turned out, it was also militarily impractical for the army had no developed plans for a mobilisation against Austria-Hungary alone. As Goremykin summed up Russia’s policy at the end of the meeting, ‘We do not want a war, but do not fear it.’ That evening Sazonov told the visibly upset German ambassador of Russia’s extreme displeasure with the ultimatum.
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The following day, as the deadline for Serbia’s reply to the Austrian ultimatum was approaching, the Russian attitude was hardening. ‘Russia’, Sazonov told Buchanan, who duly cabled to London, ‘cannot allow Austria to crush Serbia and become predominant Power in the Balkans, and, secure of support of France, she will face all the risks of war.’ Paléologue, who was also present when the two men met, declared that France was ready to fight at Russia’s side and demanded to know whether Britain would stand by its friends. The British would have to
choose, Sazonov added, between giving Russia active support or losing its friendship.
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The Russian Council of Ministers, which had met again that morning, had already approved further warlike measures. All fortresses were to be placed on a war footing, frontier posts fully manned, and the preliminary measures for mobilisation in the remaining military districts undertaken. Russia’s most senior generals apparently saw this at the time as a step towards general mobilisation and war.
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Although the Russians continued to deny for several days that they were doing anything out of the ordinary – Sukhomlinov gave the German military attaché his word of honour on 26 July – observers crossing Russia’s western border saw signs of increased military activity everywhere.
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That night a retired Russian diplomat was having dinner with a friend at his villa on the road between Peterhof and Krasnoye Selo when they heard a regiment marching past towards St Petersburg: ‘We all rushed out to the garden gate and stood there looking at the giant forms of the guardsmen tramping silently on the dusty road in the summer twilight. I shall never forget the sinister impression of impending doom this sight produced on me.’
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Whether or not that doom came depended ultimately on one man, just as it did in Germany and Austria-Hungary. Despite the new constitution of 1906 the tsar still controlled foreign policy and the military. As Jules Cambon, the French ambassador in Berlin, told a colleague just after Austria-Hungary’s ultimatum to Serbia, ‘Today the fate of France and the conservation of the peace of Europe depend upon a foreign will, that of the Tsar. What will he decide and on what advice?’
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While the Russian government was stepping towards war, Poincaré and Viviani, as the government of Austria-Hungary had intended, were at sea, from 24 July onwards able to communicate only intermittently with Paris and French embassies abroad. When news of the ultimatum reached the
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as it sailed towards Stockholm, Viviani hastily sent a cable, probably written by Poincaré, to St Petersburg with a request that it then be forwarded on to Paris and London. It recommended that Serbia accept all the conditions in the ultimatum compatible with its honour and independence. The cable also suggested that the Triple Entente internationalise the issue by asking for an international inquiry into Serbia’s complicity rather than allowing Austria-Hungary to
conduct one on its own.
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The hope that somehow the moribund Concert of Europe might come to life again and settle yet another European crisis was one that the French, the Italians, and in particular the British were to grasp at in the next few days.