Chapter 3
In This Chapter
Watching Europeans go to war with each other – and quite enjoying it
Arranging alliances and planning for war
Arguing – fiercely – about just who started the war
The First World War was so destructive that after the war was over people began to ask exactly why it broke out in the first place. People have been asking that question ever since.
The outbreak of the First World War wasn’t inevitable: that the pre-1914 world had plenty of problems is certainly true, but it doesn’t follow that the only way to solve those problems was by a huge war. On the other hand, plenty of people, including some in the governments and military high commands of Europe’s Great Powers, thought that a short war might be just the thing to give their countries a bit of healthy exercise. That helps to explain why some statesmen were so ready to resort to warfare to solve problems that could easily have been resolved around a table.
This chapter explains why the Europeans ended up going to war with each other in 1914 – and why so many of them were so pleased about it.
The last time all of Europe had gone to war was during the Napoleonic Wars (1803–15), which had been fought to break Napoleon’s stranglehold on the continent and had lasted 12 years. Since then, wars had tended to be shorter and smaller, but the idea of fighting to stop one country dominating the continent persisted. In Napoleon’s day, France was the country to keep a nervous eye on. Next came Russia, which was spreading its influence across eastern and southern Europe and extending its frontiers south towards India. By 1900 if any country was likely to dominate and spread its influence across Europe, that country was Germany.
To understand why European countries went to war with each other again in 1914, but on a larger scale than ever before, it helps to know why nations in the 19th century had so often turned to war to solve their problems.
European states, especially new ones like Italy and Germany (which had only been united in 1860 and 1871), saw war as a test of their national manliness, a way of demonstrating that they were real nations, worthy of respect.
Statesmen and writers sometimes compared nations with individuals, with every citizen contributing to the health and fitness of the people as a whole. Just as individuals need to keep fit and healthy – and the late 19th century saw a veritable craze for sport and exercise – so nations needed to maintain their physical fitness. Many Europeans saw their overseas colonies as a testing ground for character and manliness. The best test of a nation’s manliness, however, was a war. Europeans still thought of war in terms of colourful uniforms and exciting cavalry charges. War was like a glorified sporting match: short, sharp and decisive. Or so they thought.
Most religions teach about spreading peace and harmony, but they also talk of a cosmic battle between Good and Evil. Religion wasn’t usually a direct cause of war in the 19th century, but combatants often genuinely believed that God was on their side. Likewise, both sides in the First World War claimed that God was supporting them against an evil enemy. The Germans went a step further and tried to stir up the Muslim world into a holy war to topple British rule in India.
Normally, countries declare war on each other only in the last resort, if diplomacy has failed. However, in 1832, a German military analyst called Carl von Clausewitz argued that war could be the first resort, a normal part of policy. If you wanted something from your neighbour, just launch a quick war, take it and move on. Simple! Of course, Clausewitz’s ideas made sense only if you could be certain that you’d win quickly, and that meant careful planning for war, making use of the latest technology.
The Germans were good at planning, and liked von Clausewitz’s way of thinking. And, as it happened, they did want a few things from their neighbours:
Nationalism was the big new idea of the 19th century. It defined the people who make up a nation in terms of their history, language and culture, and talked of a special bond between the people of a nation and its territory.
Nationalism was becoming an ever-bigger issue in the run-up to 1914; tensions between peoples were running high and certain areas were looking more and more like potential flashpoints. Different peoples across Europe were latching onto the idea of self-determination – that nations should have the right to throw off their foreign masters and determine their own destiny for themselves.
Figure 3-1: The European Great Powers and alliance networks in 1914.
War didn’t have to break out for an alliance to gear into action. The Franco–Russian alliance said that both countries should mobilise their armies if any of the Triple Alliance partners mobilised theirs. Mobilising an army is a massive undertaking, but it doesn’t have to result in war. It’s just that in 1914 it did.
The Dual Alliance was an alliance between Germany and Austria-Hungary, signed in 1879, but it became the Triple Alliance when the Italians joined in 1882. These apparently testosterone-filled bullies were, in fact, very aware of their own weaknesses and nervous – afraid, even – of their neighbours:
The other alliance network was designed to counter the Triple Alliance. However, it consisted of two countries that had little in common and could hardly have been farther apart if they’d tried: Russia in the east and France in the west:
Britain didn’t join either of the two alliance networks. That might come as a surprise, because Britain did fight in the war when it came, but Britain wasn’t allied to any of the European Great Powers and it was very important to the British that they shouldn’t be. The British were ambivalent about being part of Europe (they still are) and they didn’t like the idea of being tied into an alliance that could force them to fight someone else’s war for them. They had considered an alliance with Germany, but the idea fell through, and an alliance with Russia or France was impossible because both countries threatened Britain’s overseas colonies. So the British played a sort of fox-and-the-grapes game, saying they didn’t want one of those smelly old alliances anyway, so there: they would live in what they called splendid isolation, feeling very smug and superior but with no friends.
The British changed their mind after the Fashoda crisis in 1898 and when they found themselves without any European friends during the Boer War of 1899–1902 (you can read about both in Chapter 2). They still didn’t want a European alliance, though: instead they signed three separate agreements:
Japan was the Asian country that had been steadily turning itself into a modern western-style state (see Chapter 2 to find out why). In 1904 Japan and Russia went to war over control of Korea (which borders Russia and points towards Japan). To everyone’s surprise, the Japanese inflicted a humiliating defeat on the Russians. The Russians had even sent their Baltic Sea fleet all the way to the China Sea, where it was sunk by the Japanese at the Battle of Tsushima. The general consensus after the war was that although Russia was big, it wasn’t quite as powerful as it looked. (See also the earlier sidebar, ‘Worrying wars from the recent past’.) On the other hand, the Russians would also be keen to restore their international prestige – if the right war came along.
In the years between 1905 and 1914 the British and Germans tried desperately to outbuild each other in dreadnoughts (see Chapter 8). Their building programmes were horribly expensive, and the Germans had to give up and let the British win, because the army was demanding its fair share of Germany’s military budget and the naval spending had to stop. But by the time war broke out, each fleet was just itching to meet the other in battle.
It seemed such a good idea at the time. In 1908 the Kaiser gave an interview to the British newspaper The Daily Telegraph. He hadn’t cleared it with the German government beforehand, and when German ministers read it, their hair must have stood on end. The Kaiser told the English they were ‘mad, mad, mad as March hares’ to believe Germany was hostile to them. Then he said he had saved the British from disaster by refusing a Russian and French request for Germany to intervene in the Boer War (which caused spluttering over breakfast in St Petersburg and Paris when the Russian and French governments read it!). For good measure, he said the German navy was aimed against Japan, not Britain. The Kaiser’s interview caused outrage in Britain, Japan and around the world. German ministers tried (not entirely successfully) to keep the Kaiser out of foreign policy after that.
One of the centres of serious trouble before 1914 was north Africa. Most of north Africa belonged nominally to the Turkish Ottoman Empire, but the Turks had largely lost control of it by 1900 and the European Great Powers all had their eyes on the prize.
The real trouble in north Africa was in Morocco. And the people who caused it weren’t the French or the Italians (and certainly not the Moroccans) – they were the Germans.
No one quite knew whether the 1904 entente between Britain and France (see the earlier section ‘Love me, love my ally – the Great Power rivals’) was an alliance or just an agreement about land in Africa. So the Kaiser decided to find out. The terms of the entente suggested that if the French wanted to take Morocco (they already had Algeria and Tunisia), that was all right by London. So in 1905 the Kaiser went to Morocco – in person – rode through the streets, and declared that if the Sultan of Morocco needed a friend to warn off the French, well, here was the Kaiser’s card and contact details: just get in touch. The French were hopping mad about it, but Wilhelm was more interested in the reaction in London. It wasn’t long in coming.
The British strongly denounced this German interference in north Africa and demanded an international conference to sort the issue once and for all. It met in 1906 at the very pleasant Spanish resort of Algeciras, where the delegates spent a lot of time debating details like whether French or Spanish policemen should operate in this or that Moroccan town. The real issue at Algeciras, though, was the Kaiser’s cunning plan to isolate Britain. The Kaiser tried (without telling his own government, by the way) to tempt the French and the Turks into a huge anti-British alliance. Sneaky, eh? But the plan didn’t work. The French didn’t trust him, and neither did anyone else. France and Britain were now closer than ever. So much for that plan.
In 1911 a rebellion broke out in Morocco against the French, and Paris sent in reinforcements. Some hawkish members of the German government decided that this action was an intolerable threat to Germany’s (not-very-extensive) economic interests in Morocco, and they sent a German gunboat, the Panther, to the Moroccan port of Agadir. The French weren’t too worried by the Panther’s arrival, and they struck a deal with the Germans: the French would take over Morocco completely and in return the French would give the Germans some land in the Cameroons and Congo. But the British went ballistic. David Lloyd George, normally a pro-German voice in the British Cabinet, made a speech warning that Britain wouldn’t tolerate German expansion in Africa and the British fleet was put on standby for war.
In 1911 the Italians launched an invasion of Tripoli – modern-day Libya – essentially, to make up for failing to conquer Ethiopia (see Chapter 2). The Italians took Tripoli without much trouble, partly thanks to their use of aeroplanes, and the war seemed to confirm that the Turkish army wasn’t up to much – a point that Turkey’s enemies in the Balkans took note of. This might be their chance to get rid of Turkish rule once and for all. (This Italian attack on Tripoli did have consequences for British rule in India, though; see Chapter 9.) The Balkan states’ bid to push the Turks out of Europe started the train of events that led to the outbreak of war in 1914.
The war that broke out in 1914 started in the Balkans. This area comprises the countries of south-eastern Europe, including Greece, Bulgaria, Romania and Serbia. The different nationalist groups of the region, when they could take a break from fighting each other, had two main enemies in their sights: the Turks and the Austro-Hungarians. The Turks still ruled a large part of the Balkans, and in 1908 the Austro-Hungarians took over an important part of the Balkans: Bosnia-Herzegovina.
In 1900 Serbia, Bulgaria, Greece, Montenegro and Romania were just waiting for the chance to drive the Turks out of the Balkans. When the Italians defeated the Turks so easily in Tripoli in 1911–2 (see ‘Let’s take a trip to Tripoli’, earlier in the chapter), it seemed to these Balkan states that the time had come. So in 1912 all of them, except Romania (which had its own plan for expanding its frontiers), formed a ‘Balkan League’ and launched a devastating attack on the Turks.
This First Balkan War went very well for the Balkan League: they took all of Turkey’s lands in Europe, except for a small parcel of land around the Turkish capital, Constantinople. Even so, some states were left unsatisfied:
As a result of all this, Bulgaria and Turkey both felt hard done by (each state thought the others had ganged up on them and, of course, they were right!), while the Greeks, Macedonians and Serbs felt rather pleased with themselves. The Serbs still wanted that port, though, and they blamed Austria-Hungary for stopping them from getting it. This matters because the really dangerous rivalry that in the end provoked war was between Austria-Hungary and Serbia.
The provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina belonged to the Ottoman Empire but were run by Austria-Hungary (it’s a long story; you can find it in Chapter 2). That suited the Austrians and Hungarians but not the Serb nationalists, who wanted the whole region for themselves (see Chapter 2). The Austro-Hungarians reckoned they could ignore the Serbs, but they couldn’t ignore the Turks. In 1908 the nationalist Young Turks staged a palace revolution and seized power in Constantinople. Austria-Hungary worried that the Turks might take back the government of Bosnia-Herzegovina, and began to consider annexing the provinces outright. They knew that the Serbs wouldn’t like it and that they’d go to the Russians for help. So if Austria-Hungary wanted to avoid a war – and it did – it was going to have to sweeten the Russians.
Count Aerenthal, the Austro-Hungarian Foreign Minister, knew just how to do it. He met his Russian opposite number, Alexander Izvolsky, and the two men did a deal: the Russians would let Austria-Hungary take the provinces over, and in return Austria-Hungary would help the Russians send their warships through the Dardanelles and out into the Mediterranean. This was very much a secret, never-to-be-written-down deal, and here’s why:
What happened next would’ve been predicable to anyone brighter than Izvolsky. First, Aerenthal announced that Austria-Hungary was annexing Bosnia-Herzegovina. The Serbs protested and called on the Russians to back them up. But the Russians didn’t, because of Izvolsky’s deal (though he was now trying to wriggle out of trouble, claiming that no deal existed). Moreover, Aerenthal said nothing about the Russians sending their ships through the Dardanelles – after all, how could he when it was forbidden? Slowly, the penny dropped and Izvolsky realised he’d been tricked: Austria-Hungary had got the provinces and Russia had got nothing. And Izvolsky couldn’t say anything because it had all been done with his agreement.
Serbia was a small country with big ideas. Since winning their independence from the Turks back in 1835, Serb nationalists had dreamed of setting up a large Slav state under Serbian leadership – a sort of Greater Serbia. Doing that would mean taking over its neighbour, Bosnia-Herzegovina, which had the largest Serb population in Europe outside Serbia itself. But in 1908 Austria-Hungary took over Bosnia-Herzegovina. The Austro-Hungarian government thought there was nothing the Serbs could do about the annexation. Boy, were they wrong.
Until 1903 the King of Serbia was Alexander I. Alexander wanted good relations with Austria-Hungary, but that didn’t suit the Serb nationalists and it didn’t suit the Russians either, who had their own quarrels with the Austro-Hungarians (check out the earlier sections ‘Love me, love my ally’ and ‘Crisis in Bosnia-Herzegovina’). So in May 1903 a group of Serb nationalist army officers, led by one Colonel Dimitrijevic (codename: ‘Apis’) and with secret Russian backing, staged a violent coup d’état in the Serb capital, Belgrade. They seized the King and Queen, shot them and hacked their bodies to pieces. Then they put in place a new, aggressively nationalist and anti-Austro-Hungarian regime under King Peter I. But make no mistake (the Austro-Hungarians certainly didn’t): the real power in this new Serbia was Colonel Apis and his pals.
Colonel Apis’s aim was simple: take Bosnia-Herzegovina from Austria-Hungary. His problem was that the Bosnians, even the Bosnian Serbs, might not want to go. The Austro-Hungarians weren’t oppressing the Bosnians; they were giving them control over their own affairs and generally making them feel welcome. (The Austro-Hungarians weren’t just being nice. They wanted a strong ally who’d support them against the Hungarians, and they thought the Bosnians fitted the bill.) Leading this school of ‘be nice to Bosnians’ thinking was none other than the heir to the Habsburg throne, his Imperial and Royal Highness the Archduke Franz Ferdinand (see Figure 3-2). Which, from the point of view of Colonel Apis in Serbia, made Franz Ferdinand a serious nuisance. And Apis knew how to deal with serious nuisances: he killed them.
© Imperial War Museums (Q 81810)
Figure 3-2: Archduke Franz Ferdinand, his wife Sophie and their three children.
Colonel Apis was head of Serbian Military Intelligence, but he also ran an assassination and terrorist group called the Black Hand. In 1914 he recruited a group of assassins and supplied them with weapons from Serbian government stores. On 28 June Franz Ferdinand would be inspecting troops in the Bosnian capital, Sarajevo, with his wife, Sophie. That day was also the anniversary of the 1389 Battle of Kosovo – the Serbs’ national day. Apis’s men would mark the day by blowing the Archduke to smithereens.
The plan nearly failed. The bomb bounced off the car and exploded behind, wounding some of the escort. The bomber leapt into the river, found it came only up to his knees and was dragged out by the police. Fiasco! The Archduke was furious and insisted on visiting the wounded men in hospital. Unfortunately, no one remembered to tell the driver of the change of plan, so he turned a corner according to the original route. When he stopped to reverse, the car stalled outside a cafe where one of the plotters, Gavrilo Princip, was sitting wondering what to do next. With the Archduke and his wife sitting in a stationary open-top car just in front of him, Princip walked up to the car and fired at point-blank range. He claimed later he was trying to kill the Archduke and the governor of Bosnia, who was also in the car. If so, he was a poor shot: he killed the Archduke and his wife. Princip was immediately arrested. And no, war didn’t immediately break out.
Q: Did the assassination have to provoke a war? A: Probably, yes.
Q: Did the assassination have to provoke a world war? A: Probably not.
History has known plenty of assassinations of famous people, but they don’t usually spark off major wars. The Sarajevo assassination in 1914, however, was the spark that finally set off the First World War. Part of the reason was that the Archduke Franz Ferdinand was far from the first prominent figure to be assassinated. Recent victims included three American Presidents, a Tsar of Russia, a President of France, a Viceroy of India, the King of Portugal (and the Prince), a Japanese Prime Minister, a Russian Prime Minister, and from Greece, the Minister of the Interior, and the King as well as the Empress Elizabeth, wife of Emperor Franz Josef. Not surprisingly, any country that took a tough line with assassins, as Austria-Hungary did in 1914, was likely to gain a lot of international support. And yet, the Austrians quickly lost that support and ended up with a war that no one expected.
The Austro-Hungarian government was outraged by the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, especially because it reckoned it had been the work of the Serbian government. (The Serbian government did know what Apis was up to and even sent a guarded warning note to Vienna, but they didn’t try to stop the assassination.) General Conrad, in charge of the Austro-Hungarian army, wanted an immediate military strike against Serbia: he reckoned – and he may have been right – that no one, not even the Russians, would’ve stopped them. But the Austrians couldn’t act that quickly even if they wanted to; they had to persuade the Emperor and the Hungarians to agree. Franz Josef was weary of war, and the Hungarian Prime Minister, Count Tisza, thought this quarrel with Serbia was a cunning Austrian plan to bring more Serbs into the empire and weaken Hungary’s position. And, as he pointed out, they still had to face the nagging question: what would the Russians do?
The Germans were growing increasingly scared of Russia. Russia was modernising its railways and communications and getting its armed forces into shape; soon Germany would be caught between a strong Russia in the east and a vengeful France in the west. The Germans believed the Russians would be ready by about 1917 or so. If they had to fight the Russians, they reckoned that it would be better to do it now, in 1914, before the Russians had finished getting their military act together, rather than waiting until it was too late.
What’s striking about the outbreak of the war is how long the countries spent trying to avoid war. A month elapsed between the assassination and the outbreak of war.
And even then it didn’t have to be a European war.
As far as historians can tell, the Austro-Hungarian government genuinely believed it could have its war just against Serbia (which it reckoned – probably rightly – was about as big a war as it could take on with any reasonable hope of winning). The Russians would no doubt protest loudly, but they’d be too scared of the Germans to do anything. And by the time someone proposed the inevitable international conference to settle the dispute, the Austro-Hungarian army would be in the Serb capital, Belgrade, and the war would be over. That, at any rate, was the theory.
To understand how a full-scale European war arose out of this crisis (especially when no one wanted one) you need to get to grips with mobilisation. Mobilisation means calling up your army and navy, getting men back from leave, sobering them up, equipping them with uniforms, food and everything else they’ll need, and getting them into position for war – not just in barracks or port, but in position to attack a specific enemy. In other words, you mobilise against someone. Some countries, such as Austria-Hungary, could order a partial mobilisation, which meant mobilising against one country (in this case Serbia) but not against another (Russia). But most countries could only order a general mobilisation, which meant mobilising against all the countries they were expecting to fight.
Now it was the Germans’ turn to find they couldn’t change their mobilisation plans even if they wanted to (and, briefly, the Kaiser did). Implementing the Schlieffen Plan (see Chapter 4) meant amassing troops along the border with Belgium and France too, even though neither country had mobilised yet, and demanding the Belgians allow their friendly German neighbours to send a huge army through their country to attack Paris. The Belgians refused. On 2 August the Germans invaded Luxemburg and France, and the following day they got round to declaring war on France. Two days later, following Count von Schlieffen’s famous plan, German troops swept into Belgium. All eyes were now on London: what would Britain do?
The next day, the Germans moved into Belgium. The British sent an ultimatum to the Germans telling them to get out, and when they didn’t, Britain declared war. A week later, Britain and France declared war on Austria-Hungary (with whom they had absolutely no quarrel) almost as a way of tidying things up. And, because Britain, France and Germany all had overseas colonies in Africa and Asia, as soon as their ‘mother’ countries had declared war in Europe, these overseas colonies were at war too.
Within three weeks most of the world had gone to war, without anyone having ever intended it.
Some historians have blamed individuals. Was it the Kaiser’s fault? Or Sir Edward Grey’s for not being tough enough with the Germans? Or Tsar Nicholas’s for allowing the Russians to mobilise? Was it Colonel Apis’s or Gavrilo Princip’s? (Princip said that if he hadn’t shot the Archduke, the Germans would’ve found some other excuse for the war. Historians have tended to agree with him.) You can say that the assassination of Franz Ferdinand caused a crisis; it didn’t on its own cause the war.
We’ll probably never know exactly who wanted what in 1914, or what they all thought they were doing – they probably didn’t fully know themselves. But whether the Great Powers wanted a general European war in August 1914 or whether they just welcomed it when it arrived, that was what they had got. Now they’d have to win it.