German policy was significantly influenced by Izvolsky’s apparent isolation in his own country. Tsar Nicholas took pains to assure the German military plenipotentiary, navy Captain Paul von Hintze, of his continued desire for good relations. Ferdinand von Monts, German ambassador to Rome, reported his Russian colleague’s insistence that the mood in St. Petersburg was absolutely peaceful. The Russian had sharply criticized Izvolsky’s behavior, even though he was a close relative. From the Petersburg embassy, Friedrich von Pourtalès quoted the Russian war minister: Serbia was completely powerless to start a war; France was too weak to think of anything but the defensive; and Russia wished no war with Germany over Serbia’s pretensions.4
For Bülow this was an opportunity to recover ground lost in 1905. Rejecting encouragement from within his foreign office to mediate directly between Izvolsky and Aehrenthal, he instead instructed Hintze and Pourtales to stress both Germany’s current support for Austria and Russia’s current isolation as the direct consequences of a “demonstrative” Russian rush into England’s embrace. Why, Bülow asked, should not the kaiser be hurt at Russia’s abandonment of a Germany that, under constant threat to her own security and constant pressure from Europe’s radicals, had been such a faithful and unrequited supporter for so many years? And what were the probable results if Aehrenthal released the documents showing Izvolsky’s original encouraging of the annexation? What price then the rhetoric of Slavic unity and European solidarity?5
Aehrenthal had originally begun the annexation adventure to improve relations with Russia, not destroy them. Yet neither was he blind to the implications of Russia’s continued waffling on the Serbian question. Russia, he insisted, must give up her “mad claim” to being Serbia’s protector. Serbia was a local power, unentitled to compensation except as a concession.6
From a German perspective, Aehrenthal’s position did no more than reflect the blind alley in which Russia found herself. The German consul in Moscow, for example, reported that the Russian government could hardly expect popular support for war on Serbia’s behalf. Panslavism was a dead issue in central Russia. Domestic corruption and abuse of police power were far livelier themes. Witte too, in a long conversation with Pourtalès, began by stressing the centuries of tradition and the deep idealism behind the concept of Slavic brotherhood. But when pressed to declare if Russia had a real interest in helping the Serbs, Witte said decisively, “No.”7
As early as December 11 Izvolsky had informed the German ambassador that he wanted war at no price. “What should I do now?” he asked despairingly. When told he needed only to reach an agreement with Austria-Hungary, the Russian foreign minister bristled that it was impossible to negotiate with Aehrenthal. Now, with February giving way to March, Bülow was convinced the crisis had gone on beyond reason or profit for anyone. With neither Russia nor Austria willing to move decisively, the risks of an accidental explosion were growing with each passing week. Sir Arthur Nicolson was among the firmest supporters of close Anglo-Russian cooperation. Yet even he observed the “strange inconsistency” of insisting that a rival “is not to advance beyond a certain point if it be not intended to prevent him doing so at all costs… I fear that Russia may some day find herself in the dilemma of having to decide either to afford material assistance to the victims of Austria… or to abdicate permanently her position as the great Slav protector and guardian.”8 The situation resembled nothing so much as a tightly covered pot of boiling water. Either the heat must be reduced or a safety valve introduced.
From Bülow’s perspective, Russia’s continued demands for an international conference only invited a repetition of the events of Algeciras: Germany and Austria could expect to be outvoted and humiliated. In a century shaped by two world wars and an ongoing threat of nuclear holocaust, negotiations tend to acquire talismanic significance lacking in earlier and simpler times. Bülow was familiar with the axiom that a diplomatic victory is best completed when the loser is allowed to save as much face as possible. But were Russia’s aims really so innocent? It hardly represents a long-term triumph of statesmanship to talk an adversary initially intent on taking five of one’s fingers into resting content with only two. On February 24, Hintze described the unspoken goal of Russia as being the master of the Balkan Peninsula and the Slavic world. The only thing keeping her from falling on Austria was German support.9 This seemed too extreme to be accepted at full value. On the other hand, Russia had overbet her hand badly enough to make calling it a reasonable option on three levels. This might drive a wedge between Russia and her western partners—who had consistently shown their reluctance to underwrite Izvolsky’s initiative. It might help teach Russia a lesson in great-power responsibility, a lesson recent events suggested was badly needed. Finally, by demonstrating to Aehrenthal and company how crisis management should be concluded, it would re-establish German ascendancy in that relationship.
Bülow’s opportunity came in March, when Aehrenthal finally threatened to publish the documents conceding Austria’s right to annex Bosnia and Herzegovina unless Russia cooperated in muzzling Serbia. A desperate Izvolsky appealed to Berlin. Bülow began by suggesting that Russia was attempting to play cards already beaten on the board. German good offices would depend on Russia’s commitment to one thing: controlling Serbia by any means necessary for the sake of European peace. Otherwise Germany would, with deep regret, allow developments to take their course.
Given Russia’s military weakness, domestic turmoil, and diplomatic isolation, any moderate response was welcome. Initial reactions in St. Petersburg were favorable. Then Izvolsky once again muddied the waters. Too much of his career was riding on the annexation issue to enable easy acceptance of what amounted to a clear-cut Austrian victory. Nor was he particularly happy about the possible results of pressuring Serbia to drop her protests. Might this not amount to abandoning permanently both Russia’s Balkan position and the southern Slavs to the Dual Alliance? Izvolsky made his official reply opaque, hoping to negotiate better terms. Instead he strained Germany’s already thin patience to the breaking point. William regarded Izvolsky’s tone as insolent. Bülow felt the matter could be dragged out no longer. Nor did further delay seem necessary. On March 20 Hintze reported a conversation with an assistant to the Russian war minister. According to this official, Germany could be assured that Russia would not draw the sword for Serbia under any circumstances. Only liberals and revolutionaries wanted war. The next day Bülow insisted that Russia give an “unequivocal answer—yes or no” to the question of annexation. If no, then Germany would withdraw from the situation and—repeating a phrase used in the earlier dispatch—let developments take their course.10
This communication has been described as everything from a highhanded ultimatum to a courageous attempt at ending a dangerous situation by plain speaking. Interpretations have been complicated by German journalists and politicians who ranted about “Nibelungen loyalty” to Austria and the virtues of mailed-fist diplomacy. Technically, an ultimatum is a final opportunity for the receiving government to accept the stated terms or face direct coercion. This means that both involved parties must have a similar understanding of the diplomatic situation, and both must be aware that the communication has been submitted for the purpose of providing an either/or alternative. The German note did not meet the criteria because it contained no threat of positive actions. Announcing the intention of standing by in a crisis is no more than a statement of proposed behavior. The recipient of the statement remains free to act in his own perceived best interests. Russian finance minister V. N. Kokovtsov supported that position by telling the British ambassador that the German démarche “was not an ultimatum; it might perhaps even be admitted that it did not actually put any direct pressure on the Russian Government.”11