Europe: A History (180 page)

On the 31st, when Germany and Russia were both mobilizing, Grey had still made no positive commitments to anyone, though he had rejected a German proposal for a non-aggression treaty (see below). On Saturday, 1 August, since he had cancelled his trip to Hampshire, he dined at Brooks’s Club, where he was seen playing billiards. On the 2nd he attended a Sunday Cabinet meeting, an unheard-of event, where ministers came to no definite conclusion about the consequences of a German invasion of Belgium. Several ministers, including Morley, the Lord President, and John Burns, President of the Board of Trade, gave notice of resigning if Britain did not stay neutral.

Sir Edward’s timetable on 3 August started with another morning Cabinet. At 2 p.m., after lunch, he went to the Foreign Office to meet the German
Ambassador, Prince Lichnowsky, who informed him that the invasion of Belgium was imminent, and asked in return for the drift of Sir Edward’s speech due within the hour. Grey declined to divulge this, then he crossed the street to the Palace of Westminster and at 3 p.m. rose to speak:

Last week, I stated that we were working… to preserve the peace of Europe. Today… it is clear that the peace of Europe cannot be preserved. Russia and Germany at any rate have declared war.

Sir Edward explained that Britain still possessed the freedom to decide its policy. Britain was not a party to the Franco-Russian Alliance, and ‘did not even know [its] terms’. However, in outlining the factors which would determine British action, he started by expressing sympathy for the predicament of the French. ‘No country or Government has less desire to be involved in war over a dispute between Austria and Serbia than France. They are involved in it through an obligation of honour… under a definite alliance with Russia.’ In listing Britain’s interests, he made special mention of the English Channel and the Anglo-Belgian Treaty of 1839. From this he concluded that Britain’s ‘unconditional neutrality’ would not be an acceptable stance. Thanks to the Navy, Britain did not stand to suffer much more by entering the war than by standing aside. But British prestige would be severely damaged if the ‘obligations of honour and interest’ were disregarded. He was confident that Britain would not flinch from its duty:

If, as seems not improbable, we are forced to take our stand on these issues, then I believe … that we shall be supported by the determination, the resolution, the courage and the endurance of the whole country.
⁹²

Though the language was vague, Sir Edward had finally told the world that Britain’s continuing neutrality was conditional on Germany withdrawing the threat to Belgium and the Channel ports.

After his speech Sir Edward was approached by Winston Churchill, who said, ‘What next?’ ‘Now we shall send them an ultimatum to stop the invasion of Belgium within 24 hours.’
⁹³
In the Prime Minister’s office in the Commons, Asquith was visited by his wife. ‘So it’s all up?’ she said. ‘Yes, it’s all up.’ ‘Henry sat at his writing table, leaning back, pen in hand … I got up and leant my head against his. We could not speak for tears.’
⁹⁴

In 1914 Britain’s defences depended almost entirely on the Fleet. Neither the First Lord of the Admiralty nor the First Sea Lord, Prince Louis Battenberg, had favoured war. But Prince Louis had stopped the Fleet’s dispersal after the summer’s manoeuvres, and on 2 August he had recommended full naval mobilization.
⁹⁵
Churchill concurred. In the early hours of the 3rd, at his Admiralty desk, Churchill received a letter from his wife, who wrote that ‘it would be a wicked war’. He replied:

Cat-dear, It is all up. Germany has quenched the last hopes of peace by declaring war on Russia, and the declaration against France is momentarily expected.

I profoundly understand your view. But the world has gone mad, and we must look after ourselves and our friends… Sweet-Cat, my tender love, Your devoted W. Kiss the kittens.
⁹⁶

After talking to Grey, Churchill sent a note to the Prime Minister: ‘Unless forbidden to do so, I shall put Anglo-French naval disposition into force to defend the Channel.’
⁹⁷

Tuesday 4 August was a day of waiting in London. News arrived in the morning that German troops had crossed the Belgian frontier in force. Britain’s ultimatum to Berlin was dispatched at 2 p.m., demanding a reply within the day. Asquith wrote to his intimate confidante, Venetia Stanley: ‘Winston, who has put on all his warpaint, is spoiling for a sea fight…’
⁹⁸
Two German ships, the
Goeben
and the
Breslau
, were steaming through the Mediterranean bound for Turkey. The British were confident of catching them.

The ultimatum expired, unanswered, at 11 p.m.—midnight in Berlin. Fifteen minutes later the Cabinet convened at 10 Downing Street. The scene was later described by David Lloyd George in a private letter to Mrs Asquith:

Winston dashed into the room radiant, his face bright, his manner keen, one word pouring out on another how he was going to send telegrams to the Med., to the North Sea, and God knows where. You could see he was a really happy man.
⁹⁹

At which point the Admiralty sent the signal to all ships of the Fleet: ‘Commence hostilities at once with Germany.’ Contrary to the inclination of its leading politicians, Britain had abandoned peaceful neutrality. The decision transformed a Continental war into a world-wide conflict.

Britain’s declaration of war put the final seal on the biggest diplomatic disaster of modern times. It completed the most dire of the scenarios which the diplomats had been contemplating over the previous month. It Was. the fourth such declaration in line—the first by Austria, the second and third by Germany. Britain was the only
Entente
Power to take the initiative in going to war.

Four weeks earlier, when Vienna had demanded satisfaction from Belgrade over the assassination at Sarajevo, analysts could have foreseen that the European crisis could be resolved in one of four different ways. It might conceivably have been settled without war, as had happened in 1908 after the Bosnian affair. On the other hand, it might have produced a local war limited to Austria and Serbia. Thirdly, if the Great Powers did not show restraint, it might have sparked the Continental war for which both the current diplomatic alliances and the plans of the General Staffs had been designed. In this case Germany and Austria would have been pitted against Russia and France, and Britain would have remained neutral. Lastly, God forbid, it was just possible that Britain would become directly involved and that the controlled Continental war would be expanded into a totally uncontrolled global conflict. For this reason the diplomatic relations between London and Berlin were of greater import than those between Europe’s other capitals. Vienna was the key to a local war, Berlin to the Continental war, London to global conflict.

Any competent student could have listed the reasons why Britain’s involvement raised very special complications. From the strategic point of view, Britain’s assets were spread right round the globe, and their fate would not just affect the interests of the European states. From the political point of view, the British Empire in 1914 was still judged the world’s greatest power, and war against Britain would be seen as a bid for world supremacy. From the economic point of view, Britain was still the capital of world finance. Though her technical and industrial strength was no longer the equivalent of Germany’s, she could mobilize colossal resources. From the diplomatic point of view, the lofty ‘lords of Albion’ had never known defeat. They were noted for their ineffable self-confidence, for their obstinate sense of righteousness, and for their perfidy.

Most importantly, from the purely military point of view, Britain represented a wild card, a spoiler, a participant whose impact was completely unpredictable. Thanks to naval supremacy, the British Isles could not be eliminated even by the most decisive of Continental campaigns. At the same time, Britain only possessed what the Kaiser was to call ‘a contemptibly small army’,
^*
which could not play a major role on the Continent until gradually expanded by conscription. The British Government enjoyed the exceptional luxury of a position where sudden defeat did not come into the reckoning, and where a protracted war would see British military capacity steadily rising over a period of two or three years.

These facts had clear consequences. If the Continental campaigns went well for France and Russia in the early stages, Britain’s participation might well tip the balance in favour of a decisive victory. If things went well for the Central Powers, however, Berlin and Vienna could not count on any such favourable outcome. Even if the French and Russian armies were defeated in the first shock, the Central Powers, like Napoleonic France, would still be left facing a defiant and impregnable Britain, which would use all its wiles to mount new coalitions against them. If the initial fighting were inconclusive, Britain would be better placed than anyone to build up its relative strength in later phases. Unlike Germany, Britain had no chance of winning a Continental campaign; but she could not be easily defeated. In short, whatever happened, Britain had the capacity for ruining the prospects for the quick ‘limited war’ of which all German generals dreamed.

There was much talk at the time of militarism. Colonel House, the American, who visited Berlin in 1914, was shocked by the bombastic displays. Yet all the Powers cultivated a degree of military pomp and swagger; the differences were at best those of style. In all countries in 1914, unlike 1939, the military ethos was closely bound by a code of honour. A German observer remarked bitterly, ‘Militarism in the United Kingdom is regarded [by the British] as of God, and militarism in Germany as of the devil.’
¹⁰⁰
Military technicalities were in play as well. One concerned the control of the English Channel. The British and French naval staffs had agreed in advance that the French fleet should be concentrated in

the Mediterranean, whilst the Channel should be patrolled by the Royal Navy. This meant that British neutrality during a Franco-German campaign in Belgium would automatically give German warships a free run of the French and British coasts. Another important detail concerned mobilization procedures. German provisions envisaged a preparatory stage called ‘a state of imminent war’, to be followed by a second stage in which full mobilization could be completed almost immediately. In effect, a German declaration of
Kriegsbereitschaft
was equivalent to other countries’ declarations of general mobilization.

These were the matters to which Germany’s diplomats, led by their Chancellor, Bethmann Hollweg, were required to turn their minds before forcing a showdown.

Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg (1856–1920) was an archetypal Prussian civil servant. Learned, polite, and earnest, he had spent his entire life in the upper echelons of the state bureaucracy. He was descended from a banking family from Frankfurt, which had moved to Berlin and been ennobled two generations back. They came to prominence through Theobald’s grandfather, Moritz August, a law professor who had distinguished himself in the liberal opposition to Bismarck’s regime. Theobald himself was just too young to have served in the Franco-Prussian War, which his grandfather had abhorred. He was sent with his brother, Max, to board at the Fürstenschule Pforta, before proceeding via legal studies at Strasburg and Leipzig to success in the formidable civil service examinations. As a
primus omnium
at school, and with a Ph.D. in jurisprudence in his late twenties, he was perfectly prepared for a lightning ascent of the bureaucratic career ladder—
Oberpräsidialrat
at Potsdam,
Regierungspräsident
at Bromberg (Bydgoszcz),
Oberpräsident
or ‘Provincial Governor’ of Mark Brandenburg, Minister of the Interior in 1905, Vice-Chancellor in 1907, Imperial Chancellor and Prime Minister of Prussia from 1909. From then until July 1917 he was responsible for all civilian policies, domestic and foreign, of Europe’s most powerful state.
¹⁰¹

Bethmann Hollweg was not the typical Junker. He inherited a fine landed estate at Hohenfinow east of Berlin, but the
Rittergutwas
bought by his grandfather, not rooted in family tradition. He had served in the local regiment, the 15th Uhlans, but only for one year after leaving school. He came to be deeply attached to Hohenfinow—a three-storey red-brick pile set at the end of a long linden avenue amid 7,500 acres on a bluff overlooking the Oder. He adopted the motto
Ego et domus mea serviemus domino
(My house and I shall serve the Lord). But as a young man he had lived through years of restless, romantic wanderlust, reading poetry and rambling round the Eifel and the Siebengebirge with bohemian friends. He was embarrassed by his brother, who fled to sell real estate in Texas rather than face the state exams. He once stood for election to the Reichstag in the local constituency; but the narrow vote in his favour was overruled by the electoral commission on a technicality; and he never ventured into popular politics again. He married a somewhat unconventional girl, Martha Pfuel-Wilkendorf, who remarked, when he was offered the highest office in the Reich, ‘Theo, dear, you can’t do that!’
¹⁰²

Bethmann’s personality was anything but simple. He was a creature of routine, taking a hard morning’s horse ride at 7 a.m. even in Berlin. But his orderly habits did not make for efficiency or decisiveness. He was extremely articulate and well informed; but he had a fatal tendency for procrastination, and repeatedly committed gaffes which a smarter politician would have avoided. He was particularly ill at ease in the military establishment which surrounded the Kaiser; yet he was also terrified of the Social Democrats, who held great sway in the subservient democratic sector of German politics. Much of the inside information about his chancellorship derives from the diary of his personal assistant, Kurt Riezler, who worked alongside him admiringly throughout the crisis of 1914. Riezler noted: ‘His cunning is as great as his bungling.’
¹⁰³
His biographer talks of his ‘aggressively defensive self-consciousness’.
¹⁰⁴