A scrap of paper

Germany’s programme, then, from the beginning of the crisis resolves itself into two parts: to restrict the war in the sense that Austria’s enemy was to have no allies, and to extend it by letting loose against Servia as many of the Balkan States as could be enlisted by enticing promises. Congruously with the first object, the seemingly humane movement in favour of “localization” was approved by the Chancellor, localization being construed to mean the neutrality of Russia. And for a time it was not merely hoped, but believed, that Russia would remain quiescent. Indeed, this belief was, as we have seen, the groundwork of the policy with which the German Ambassador in Vienna identified himself.

M. von Tschirschky is one of those convinced, acidulous Russophobes who are obsessed by racial hatred of an intensity which men of the English-speaking races are unable to realize. His diplomatic methods extend far beyond the limits within which the average Ambassador and diplomatist feels it his duty to keep his activity. In proselytizing he is an adept; but his limitations are those of countrymen and class. He had lived in St. Petersburg, where his diplomatic career was Sisyphus work, and ever since then the keyword of his policy has been delenda est Moscovia. Nor was he concerned to dissemble his passion. Every politician in Austria, native and foreign, was aware of it, and when diplomatists there heard that he had been enjoined by his Chief to plead the cause of moderation in Vienna, they shrugged their shoulders and grinned. He assured the Austrian Government that, from information in possession of the Wilhelmstrasse, Russia was powerless to strike a blow. “She is a negligible quantity,” he repeated. “If her armies were to take the field the dynasty would fall. And the Tsar, alive to the danger, is resolved to steer clear of it. Were he prevailed upon to run the risk, the whole political and financial structure would fall to pieces like a pack of cards.” And he was certain of what he advanced. He honestly deceived himself before misleading his friends. Parenthetically, it may be well to remind the reader that this contention about Russia’s military impotence, which was accepted in Vienna as well as Berlin, makes short work of the plea now advanced that it was Russia’s bellicose attitude that provoked Germany. The contrary proposition is true. Germany was aggressively insolent because Russia was believed to be militarily powerless. That is why Austria’s ultimatum to Servia was so indited that a refusal could be counted upon.

The history of that Note is curious. The assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was fastened upon as a fitting pretext for mutilating the Servian State. Servia’s Government and the entire class of intellectuals from which it was drawn were stigmatized as the real authors of the crime. The murder itself was declared to be but a typical act of an unprincipled political organization which had ramifications all over the land, including all political parties, the clergy, and the teaching bodies. Bomb-throwing, assassination, and a subversive propaganda in Bosnia and Herzegovina were alleged to be among its recognized methods. Austria-Hungary, it was contended, could not lead a normal life so long as this state of affairs was allowed to endure. It must, therefore, be transformed radically. But no transformation could be effected until Servia was brought to her knees by the Habsburgs and forced into the groove of chronic quiescence which had been destined for her by the murdered Archduke. In other words, she must become a satellite of her powerful neighbour, and subordinate her policy, military, commercial, and foreign, to that of the Ballplatz. This was the programme, most of which had been adopted some eighteen months before, during the factitious excitement about the imaginary murder of the Austrian Consul, Prochaska, by the Serbs. I announced it in the Daily Telegraph at the time. Since then it had been kept in abeyance, and now the crime at Sarajevo was held to have supplied a favourable conjuncture for reviving it.

That official way of stating the grounds of the quarrel had one great advantage. It identified Servia with monstrous crime and Austria with law and justice. Foreign Governments which set a high value on the reign of order and tranquillity would, it was hoped, be deterred from giving countenance to such a nation of criminals as Servia was alleged to be. By way of strengthening this deterrent, they were reminded of the stain on Servia’s honour contracted when King Alexander and his consort were brutally done to death. By that crime, it was alleged, the present King himself had been compromised, and was consequently now powerless to curb his unprincipled subjects, on whose goodwill his own tenure of office depended. From Servia’s goodwill, therefore, there was nothing to be hoped. But if regeneration could not come from within, it must proceed from outside. And as Austria’s political interests were also at stake, she would undertake the work of sternly punishing crime and efficaciously preventing its recurrence. To this rôle no civilized Power could reasonably demur without laying itself open to a charge of fomenting a vast criminal organization which it behoves monarchs and people alike to put down by every means in their power. This was the argument by which Russia was to be floored. It was also the bridge over which she would, it was assumed, recoil from Servia when Servia was at grips with Austria-Hungary.

Now in that chain of allegations there was at least one link of truth. Servian propaganda in Bosnia and Herzegovina had certainly been unceasing, resourceful, and dangerous. It had also inflicted enormous losses on the population of the Dual Monarchy. And the Vienna Cabinet had undoubtedly a strong case for putting forth energetic action and exacting substantial guarantees. Had it contented itself with thus redressing real grievances all Europe would have endorsed its claims and the war would have been postponed.

For Bosnia and Herzegovina, whose inhabitants are all Serbs by race and language, were honeycombed with disaffection. No outsider realized or even yet realizes the extent to which Austrian rule there was burrowed. During the exhaustive investigation into the origins of the crime of Sarajevo, the Central Governments learned with dismay that disaffection was rife everywhere. This sensational revelation was the only result of the inquiry, which was hidden from the public gaze, lest it should compromise the local authorities and discredit the administration in the eyes of the peoples.

But Austria had other interests besides her own to consider. Once more it had fallen to her lot to discharge the functions of “brilliant second” to her ally. And this was her undoing.

So much depended on the reception which her demands would meet in Servia and Europe generally that the utmost care was bestowed on the wording of it. The task of drawing it up was confided to the Hungarian Premier, Count Tisza, partly on intrinsic grounds—this statesman having displayed a keen interest in foreign politics generally and in Balkan affairs in particular—and partly for political reasons, Austria being desirous of bestowing upon Hungary an active rôle in what was a fateful enterprise for both halves of the Monarchy. Before the text of the document was fixed, the results of the inquiry into the assassination were committed to writing, in the form of a pièce justificative, intended to bring the outside world into dynamic contact with what Austria brandmarked as a realm of assassins and anarchists. Hardly any mystery was made of the object which the demands were meant to attain. It was expected and intended that M. Pasitch would find it impossible to assent to the terms laid down, some of which could only be complied with by his treating the Constitution as a worthless scrap of paper. It was felt that if he yielded an indignant people would sweep away his Government, return a negative answer, and possibly inaugurate a saturnalia of anarchy, to which the Emperor Franz Josef’s troops would put a speedy end.

Sir Maurice de Bunsen, the British Ambassador in Vienna, in one of his despatches, writes of this ultimatum: “Its integral acceptance by Servia was neither expected nor desired, and when, on the following afternoon, it was at first rumoured in Vienna that it had been unconditionally accepted, there was a moment of keen disappointment.” I was in Vienna at the time, and I know that that is a correct presentment of the facts.

A long period of anxious suspense had preceded the publication of the Note. In diplomatic circles curiosity became painfully intense. Every hint of what was coming was eagerly snatched up, commented, and transmitted to headquarters. Italian diplomacy, weighed down by a sense of heavy responsibility and intuitive apprehension of imminent danger, was treated to vague phrases about the heinous nature of the crime, the necessity of preventing its recurrence, and Austria’s resolve to have her relations with the Slav kingdom placed on a new and stable basis. But beyond these generalities nothing concrete was submitted either to the Duke of Avarna in Vienna or to the Marquis di San Giuliano in Rome.

The Russian Ambassador in the Austrian capital was led to infer that no sweeping stroke would be dealt against Servia, and that the demands contemplated would be compatible with her integrity, independence, and honour. And he accordingly took a fortnight’s leave of absence a few days before the Note was presented.

Very different was the attitude of the Austrian Government towards Germany, who was vigilantly watching for every new phase of the historic transaction in order to subordinate the whole to her own vaster design. Nothing was kept back from the politicians of the Wilhelmstrasse but the rough draft of the Note. The German Ambassador, von Tschirschky, however, was one of the few who were initiated into that mystery. This, it must be confessed, was natural. For without the resolute backing of Germany the position taken up by Austria-Hungary would have been untenable. Congruously with this privileged position, Germany’s representative, von Tschirschky, saw the proposed text of the ultimatum. Not that his advice on the subject was taken or solicited. His views were known in advance. But it was he who telegraphed the wording of the document to the Kaiser, who was then ostentatiously absent from Germany. I advance this statement with full knowledge of what actually took place. This communication was made not merely for the purpose of keeping the War Lord informed of what it behoved him to know, but also and mainly in order to secure his express assent to the set terms of an official paper which was intended to bring about hostilities between Austria and Servia, and might incidentally precipitate a European conflict.

Well, the rough draft as originally drawn up by Count Tisza did not obtain the Emperor’s unconditional approval. The versatile monarch suggested a certain amendment to the wording and fixed the time-limit, the alleged object of which was to leave no room for evasion, no loophole for escape. And as a matter of course the verbal modifications he proposed—I only know that their purpose was to sharpen (scharfmachen) the terms—were embodied in the ultimatum which, thus amended and sanctioned, was duly presented. I further had it on the same indisputable authority that the time-limit of forty-eight hours was the result of a proposal coming direct from Kaiser Wilhelm, who held that Servia must not be allowed to deliberate or to take counsel with Russia, but should be confronted with the necessity of giving a categorical answer at once. His own mode of action towards Russia and Belgium, to each of which States he allowed but twelve hours for deliberation, was conceived in the same spirit and prompted by a like calculation.