Yet neither Moltke’s alarm nor the demands of Prussian war minister Erich von Falkenhayn for preliminary mobilization were enough to move Bethmann. The chancellor’s reluctance reflected mixed motives—hope that at the eleventh hour a miracle might happen; desire to bring the Social Democrats into line behind a war waged against tsarist autocracy; and determination to make Russia cut her own diplomatic throat. As early as July 26, Bethmann had reacted to a demonstration before the Russian embassy by insisting that such behavior merely gave Russia an excuse to claim that Germany wanted war. This would be premature as long as Russia had made no aggressive moves. Whatever happened, Bethmann insisted, Russia must be put in the wrong before Germany and the world.83 When he met with Moltke, Falkenhayn, and Jagow on the evening of July 29, he responded to the generals’ urging by stressing the risks of sacrificing public opinion at home and in Great Britain. England, Bethmann argued, would not stand by her ally should Russia unleash a general war by attacking Austria.
Bethmann’s position was reflected in the conference between Sazonov and the German ambassador, held sometime between 5:00 and 7:00 p.m. the same day. Pourtalès insisted that if Russia continued her mobilization measures, Germany would be forced in her turn to mobilize and a European war would be almost impossible to stop. Sazonov regarded the communication as a virtual ultimatum in the worst traditions of 1909. As soon as Pourtalès left, Sazonov contacted the war minister and the chief of staff. Like their German counterparts, they insisted on immediate general mobilization. Unlike Bethmann, Sazonov agreed.
The foreign minister was not well equipped to respond to the kind of if/then situation apparently presented by Pourtalès. In common with civilian heads of state everywhere in Europe, he was essentially ignorant of military matters. The days of the soldier-kings, even relatively pedestrian ones like Napoleon III or William I, were long past. The evolution of professionalism in the nineteenth century had generated a corresponding climate of specialization—particularly in Russia, whose administrative ethos was anything but friendly to the military virtues. Wearing a beme-dalled uniform on state occasions hardly conferred expertise. Nor did a major crisis provide a favorable environment for challenging the men who claimed to know what they were doing, even if they were part of the system that had most recently produced Tsushima and Mukden. Since the question had first been raised, Russia’s generals had insisted that a partial mobilization would significantly interfere with a general mobilization. And Germany’s attitude in the context of Austria’s attack on Serbia seemed to render general mobilization inevitable.
The orders were on the point of being dispatched when Nicholas suspended them. A conciliatory telegram from William had led the tsar to hope Germany might yet back down. Sazonov was not directly informed of the imperial decision, but the war minister lost no time in letting him know the new turn of events. By that time it was close to midnight and Sazonov, understandably exhausted, went to bed. At 1:00 a.m. on July 30, Pourtalès asked to see him once more. The dishevelled foreign minister heard Bethmann’s latest proposaclass="underline" Germany would do its best to get Austria to renounce territorial claims against Serbia. Sazonov replied that this was no longer enough. Under pressure he finally agreed that if Austria would remove from her ultimatum the clauses attacking Serbian sovereignty, Russia would halt her own military preparations.84
In making this offer Sazonov may have wished for no more than a chance to go back to bed. In any case his mind had changed when he met with the French and British ambassadors during the morning of July 30. Germany’s latest proposal, Sazonov declared, was unsatisfactory. Under its terms, even if Serbia’s territorial integrity were respected, she would eventually become a vassal of Austria, “just as Bokhara… was a vassal of Russia.”85
Sazonov’s conclusion that Russia would face internal revolution by accepting this possibility is less significant than his choice of comparisons. Insisting on an essential identity in terms of foreign policy between central Asia and southeastern Europe was a major contribution to the outbreak of world war and the end of the Russian Empire. It was also a significant vindication of Holstein’s position on Russia’s ultimate intentions in the Balkans.
At 11:00 a.m. Sazonov had another meeting, this one with the war minister and the chief of staff. Both once again urged immediate general mobilization, arguing that war was inevitable and German mobilization was much further advanced than anyone supposed. This convinced Sazonov once more—if further convincing was, in fact, needed. Unable to persuade the tsar by telephone to take this step, Sazonov made a personal appointment for 3:00 p.m. For almost an hour he used his considerable eloquence to persuade a still-wavering Nicholas to order general mobilization, “as it was clear to everybody that Germany had decided to bring about a collision.” When the tsar finally agreed Sazonov telephoned the chief of staff, transmitted the authorization, and told the officer that the decision was final. He could smash his telephone.86
Once again, Sazonov chose an illustration that was a metaphor. The telephone and the telegraph had done much to shape events in the past month, both by overwhelming statesmen with more material than they could process and by accelerating the pace of events. Modern communications technology was a double-edged sword. It enabled a much finer tuning of crisis management than had been possible in earlier generations. Sir Charles Napier’s conquest of Sind, Marchand’s and Kitchener’s clash at Fashoda, were anachronisms by 1914. No longer could general wars begin inadvertently on Europe’s peripheries. But once a crisis began frightening the participants, the ready availability of information tended to destabilize the situation even further.87
The impact of broken sleep, interrupted meals, and ruined digestions has seldom been considered in evaluating the outcome of the July Crisis. Such factors were not likely to be stressed in the memoirs of men raised in atmospheres of Victorian reticence. Who would dare suggest he had contributed to starting a war that slaughtered millions of men because bowel disturbances affected his judgment? Yet most of the key decisions in every European capital were being made by men in their fifties and sixties, accustomed to eating and drinking well in an era when geriatric medicine was based principally on admonitions to lead a regular life with limited stress.
Anything less like the situation in Berlin can scarcely be imagined. Fritz Fischer, Immanuel Geiss, and their imitators present a picture of Germany’s decision makers insouciantly playing Russia as a matador plays the bull, waiting patiently for the final decision that would make her the villain of the drama at home and abroad. As late as July 25, senior officials of the foreign office reassured Berliner Tageblatt editor Theodor Wolff that “neither Russia, nor France, nor England” wanted war. Russia in particular would find “everything stolen… and no ammunition.” But Wolff remarked on Jagow’s shuffling gait and stopped posture. Kurt Riezler noted that after the news of Russia’s partial mobilization the work “day” began extending to 5:00 or 6:00 a.m.88 Moltke continued to warn of the risks Germany was running by not ordering her own general mobilization—particularly in view of Britain’s repeated statements that she would not remain neutral in a Russo-German conflict. And as Bethmann faced the collapse of his strategy, his aplomb collapsed along with it.