A scrap of paper

But between a plan and its execution there is always a space, and sometimes an abyss. In this case the chief difficulty consisted in the ways and means, the choice lying between pacific and warlike expedients. Germany and Austria-Hungary had tried to rearrange the Balkan balance of power by diplomatic measures, but failed. Shortly before and during the Bucharest Conference I had authoritatively announced their intention to have whatever agreement the Balkan States might come to laid before them for reference and revision. Congruously with this announcement, after the Conference they endeavoured to have the Treaty submitted to them. But the other Powers negatived the demand emphatically. And Servia naturally would refuse to disgorge. Diplomacy thus proving ineffectual, other methods were contemplated, and the most promising seemed a direct conflict with Servia. For the Central European Powers could not use Turkey as their tool, owing to her financial dependence on France, the disorganized condition of her army, her naval inferiority to Greece, and the firm resolve of Roumania to uphold the Treaty, if needs were by force. The sole remaining issue, then, was to clip the wings of the little Slav State which had so suddenly waxed great and would fain soar to dizzier heights at the cost of the Austrian Eagle. How and when to achieve this feat was the problem which had for months exercised the ingenuity of the statesmen of Austria-Hungary and Germany. The wearisome series of negociations on commercial and railway questions had to be tackled by Vienna and Belgrade, and it was expected that they would offer the requisite opportunity. But it turned out on trial that for a serious conflict they offered no suitable handle. The two military Powers then tackled Bulgaria, Turkey, and Roumania, who were to form a Balkan League, with the point turned against Russia. Austria’s wish was to reach this consummation without risking an open breach with Russia, which, whatever the upshot, would have subjected her to a painful ordeal.

Here, however, Germany’s statesmen were confronted with no misgivings as to Russia’s attitude. Austria was fitfully apprehensive. She was ready to punish Servia and to force her to acquiesce in the partition of her recently acquired territory, but she was in dread of drawing in Russia. Germany, whose maxim was to cope with the Entente Powers, if possible one by one, not with the whole group, would also have preferred this solution, and believed it most probable, without, of course, acting on the belief. Her estimate of Russia’s military plight was, as we saw, very low. Russia’s army was considered to be still suffering grievously from the effects of the Japanese campaign. Her military experts were said to be opposed to war. The Tsar himself was believed to have a horror of a fresh campaign on political and dynastic grounds.

But there was one little speck of apprehension on this otherwise cloudless horizon. In November, 1912, when a European war seemed imminent to many, Russia was in the compromising mood which tallied with Germany’s expectations. But not all Russia. There was one exception, but a noteworthy one, which might possibly upset all calculations. The Tsar having felt his way by eliciting the opinions of the most experienced men around him, who were almost unanimously in favour of a compromise, heard one dissentient voice uplifted. He was advised by the Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolayevitch, the present Commander-in-Chief of the active army, not to shrink from a spirited policy solely because war might appear to loom large at the end of it. Russia could, the Grand Duke held, embark in a military conflict without any of the risks apprehended by non-military men. Her army was eager and ready. Its leaders were men of experience and tested worth, and their strategical ability nowise inferior to that of their prospective German and Austrian enemies. In a word, it behoved Russia to pursue that policy which best harmonizes with her interests, irrespective of the deterrent which war constitutes for so many.

That was the judgment of a Grand Duke who has many friends and some enemies in his own country, but whom friends and enemies alike regard as an ideal military leader, full of dash, dauntless, and devoted to his profession with single-mindedness. Now, this man’s view, the Germans argued, which was set aside just then, might prevail in a second crisis. In any case, before opening the campaign against Servia, it would be well to ascertain which way the wind was blowing. For this purpose a ballon d’essai might with profit be set flying. Such was the happy thought which was conceived last spring and promptly carried out.

Teuton methods are instructive, if not edifying. Almost always they are crooked, clumsy, and as recognizable as the goods marked “made in Germany” once were. The device adopted on this occasion formed no exception to the type. A long and carefully worded letter was sent to the Cologne Gazette by its correspondent in the Russian capital, a plodding journalist named Ulrich. In this missive he dwelt on the Russian army, its present defects and future possibilities, on the exertions which the Tsar’s Government was making to reorganize it, on the rôle it was destined to play when it became effective, and on other cognate topics. The conclusion to which it pointed was: Russia is very disorganized and weak to-day. Soon she will become redoubtable. Now is the moment for a preventive war. There will never be a better opportunity. This letter was known to have been inspired in St. Petersburg by a high official of a foreign Embassy, who himself had received instructions either from Vienna or Berlin, or both capitals. At first suspicion fell upon the German Ambassador, Count Pourtalès, but he had no difficulty in clearing himself of the charge. The message had been written and published without his knowledge. Then an ex-German adjutant of the Tsar was believed to be the inspirer of the missive. But again the public was on a false scent. I know the author—the real author—of the letter, and whence his instructions came. But even now that war is being waged by the Empires involved, I do not feel at liberty to disclose his name. Nor is it of any consequence.

What happened was what had been prearranged. All the German newspapers of importance, taking the essay in the Cologne Gazette as their text, inaugurated a venomous press campaign against Russia as the marplot of Europe and the enemy of the German people.

Why, it was asked, should she seek to reorganize her army if she harboured no aggressive designs against Germany and Austria? Who menaces her? Torrents of vituperation flowed through the canal of the German and Austrian press, and for a few days it looked as if diplomacy itself would be sucked into the vortex. For nearly a fortnight this concerted attack on Russia was steadily pursued.

One day, before there were any signs of its abating, a telling article appeared in an evening paper of St. Petersburg, the Birshevya Vedomosti. And like the production of the Cologne Gazette it, too, was inspired, but inspired by the Tsar’s gifted War Minister, Sukhomlinoff. And in this article were enumerated the army reforms which had been put through by the War Office since the Manchurian campaign. The peace effective, it was said, had been increased considerably, the standard of training had been raised, the fortresses supplied with material of the newest type, the artillery possessed more effective guns than those of Austria or France, the air fleet disposed of numerous aerial dreadnoughts, and Russia’s army was in a position, and likewise in the mood, to assume the offensive instead of limiting itself to the rôle heretofore assigned to it by Berlin and Vienna of awaiting the enemy’s onslaught.

Such was the burden of M. Sukhomlinoff’s message. It was sharply criticized by the Austro-German press, in the light of the documents to which I have already alluded. Those vaunted reforms, it was urged, were all imaginary. They stood not for results achieved, but for defects to be remedied. No such results had been attained as yet, nor even striven for. They could not be attempted without the expenditure of large sums set apart for those specific purposes, and in Berlin and in Vienna we know, as well as in St. Petersburg, that no large credits were allotted to the army. “We also are aware,” it was added, “that the War Minister will shortly ask the Duma to vote a credit for these very reforms, and it is not to our interest to wait inactive until they are carried out. Within three years they are not realizable, and before the expiry of this term it behoves us to square accounts with the Tsardom.”

Soon afterwards the Russian War Minister did ask the Duma for an extraordinary credit for the defences of the Empire. And he received it without a dissentient voice among the recognized parliamentary parties.

Thus the statements of the Birshevya Vedomosti made little impression either in Berlin or Vienna, where the belief was still hugged that Russia would have to recoil from war and adjust her diplomacy to this recognized necessity.

This belief was destined to be further strengthened by the controversy which raged around Russian finances as soon as the patriotic Premier and Finance Minister had been relieved of his duties. M. Kokofftseff had accomplished much as Minister of Finances and also as Premier. But he was cordially disliked by the Germans, whose plots and intrigues he had seen through and baulked. He had never allowed himself to be cajoled by German flattery or hoodwinked by German wiles. The alliance with France and the good understanding with Great Britain lay at the foundations of his policy. And he made no secret of his convictions. On his fall, which was hailed as a triumph by the Germans, his home critics analysed his financial policy, and some of them charged him with niggardliness towards the army. To my knowledge, however, it was he who arranged for the extraordinary credit to be allotted to the Russian War Office, which M. Sukhomlinoff received last March.

But the gravest count in the wide indictment against M. Kokofftseff turned upon his financial operations and their alleged effect upon Russia’s foreign policy, and her ability to uphold that policy by force of arms. It was asserted, as I have already said, that the free reserve of gold which was fondly supposed to be safe in the Imperial Bank, ready for any national emergency, had been dissipated for the time being and was immobilized. This enormous sum had, it was stated, been lent out by the Bank to private financial institutions throughout the Empire. One milliard and fifty million roubles! And these institutions in turn had distributed this money among private individuals, doubtless on good securities, but for unjustifiably long terms. Now, if a national crisis were to break out while these terms were still running, all that money would be locked up, the Tsar’s Government would have at its disposal at most a miserable pittance of sixteen millions sterling, and the Empire would be confronted with bankruptcy.

This pessimistic judgment, embroidered with figures and calculations, was, as we have seen, treasured up in Berlin, Vienna, and Budapest, where it produced an impression that may be truly termed decisive. It certainly contributed in a large measure to change the loose belief into a hard conviction that Russia was definitely debarred from appearing on the field of battle against Austria, and, of course, against Germany. This I know. And yet the allegations in question were partly unfounded, partly exaggerated, and so little remained when truth had been sifted from fiction that the weighty conclusions based upon them by Germany and Austria lacked solid support. Subsequent events have shown this conclusively. But it was not then realized by either of the two Governments, whose leading members had pored over the figures until they knew them by heart. It is my unalterable conviction that if Germany had been delivered from this naive illusion respecting Russia, and from certain others bearing upon Great Britain and Ireland, the war now waging would have been—postponed.

Another miscalculation which played a part in heartening the Central European Powers had to do with the internal condition of the Tsardom. And it was accounted incompatible with any strenuous military endeavour. Nowadays wars are waged not by dynasties, but by armed nations. The entire nation shoulders its rifle and goes forth to do battle with the foe. But unless it does so resolutely and unanimously, the outlook is dismal. Now, can Russia accomplish this? it was asked. And by way of answering the query the various elements of the population were passed in review, the non-Russians coming first.

Moving along this line of reasoning, the statesmen of Berlin and Vienna reached the comforting conclusion that they had nothing to fear from the Tsardom. And that was the crucial point that had needed elucidation. For if the Tsar’s Government remained inactive while Servia was being punished and Turkey and Bulgaria bribed, there would be no cause to apprehend a hitch. Certes, no European Power would risk hostilities to help Servia out of a tight place, or, indeed, to bring about any change in the map of the Balkans. The only interference possible must come from the Tsardom, and if that Empire were indeed paralysed, opposition from the group of three Powers would be eliminated. And it was clear that Russia was, for the moment at any rate, paralysed in almost every organ. The Tsar, the Duma, the army, the War Office, the Finance Ministry, the ethnic elements of the Empire, held each other in check.

That this was the theory held in Berlin, and with a trifle less tenacity and conviction in Vienna, I know. I can also aver that the principal grounds on which it was based were those which I have set forth. And although it is idle now to speculate on what might have been under conditions that were not realized, I think one may fairly hazard the conjecture that if it had been proved to the satisfaction of the statesmen of Austria that their inferences and the half-truths or undiluted errors from which they drew them were indeed erroneous, and that Russia’s forbearance would not stretch as far as the meditated aggression nor her resources prove as limited as her enemies’ theories assumed, the ultimatum to Servia would have been worded by Austria, acting alone and in accordance with international usage, and the demands it embodied would have been whittled down to the maximum of what could reasonably have been exacted.

But Germany was literally too well informed and too little qualified to determine the bearings of the overwhelming mass of materials for a judgment which were laid before her. While immersing herself in so-called facts, she left out of sight the soul of the nation, with whose holiest possessions she was about to tamper. Despite her undoubted gifts of observation and analysis, Prussianized Germany is entirely lacking in the psychological sense. She deals with the superficial, the obvious. As though a nation’s history were the resultant of a sequence of lifeless events, of outward changes! As though the inherited streams of racial impulse, of national volition, of patriotic, irrepressible energy went for nothing in the equation! As though the latent forces and tendencies of centuries would not be brought into far resonant action by the rousing of slumbering passion, by the fire-flames which the shock of war must kindle! In all her minute calculations, Prussia’s materialistic leaders lost sight of the spiritual, of the ideals that haunt a nation’s soul and infuse into it in moments of stress a superhuman strength capable of working miracles. The wild enthusiasm dormant in the Russian race, but ready to start into life and action for the support of a heroic cause, constitute an algebraical x for the Prussian calculator, who can measure only coarse energies and brutal forces.