The German plan of campaign was simple. Hindenburg was to strike east and south from East Prussia at the Russian lines along the Niemen-Bobr-Narew. Mackensen, having pushed the Russians out of Galicia, was to strike north through Lublin and toward Brest-Litovsk. A new army was to invade Courland and aim at Riga. It was the German hope that the main Russian masses would be caught and enveloped by Hindenburg and Mackensen, that Poland would be taken and all its garrisons, and the bulk of the Russian military power be destroyed.

The first blow fell at Gorlice in Galicia in the last days of April. Mackensen, furnished with the greatest train of artillery war had ever seen, burst through the Russian lines along the Dunajec, destroyed Dmitrieff's army, which faced him, almost captured the Russian Carpathian forces and drove the Russians rapidly beyond the San, retook first Przemysl and then Lemberg, thus clearing all but a corner of Galicia.

The main German and Austrian armies were then sent north toward Brest-Litovsk, while Hindenburg began his thrust by attacking Ossowetz and the Niemen-Bobr-Narew barrier of forts. By this time the world knew that Russian ammunition had failed and for many weeks the possibility of a tremendous Russian disaster existed. Step by step the Russians were pushed back. The fall of Warsaw was assured in July and it was not until August that the escape of the Russian garrison was certain. The same problem was raised about Kovno and Brest-Litovsk, but again the Russians won clear. Late in August the final net of the Germans about Vilna was drawn, but for the last time the Russians eluded it.

And with the battle of Vilna the German eastern campaign practically ends. In the north the Russians held Riga and the Dwina line, in the center they were behind the great marshes of Pinsk, to the south they were behind the Styr and Stripa, still holding Rowno, still clinging to a corner of Galicia. They had lost hundreds of thousands of prisoners and many guns. All of Russian Poland, most of Courland, and much other territory had been surrendered. But they had kept their armies intact and were once more in line.

In so far as the German campaign had been designed to free Austrian soil and relieve the pressure upon Austrian and German fronts in the east, it had been a shining success. It had served, too, to restore German prestige in the Balkans. But it had come too late to keep Italy out, and it had not eliminated Russia.

Unless the Germans were prepared to repeat the fatal Napoleonic march upon Moscow, there was now nothing for them to do but abandon their eastern campaign for the winter, to dig in and hold until the spring permitted new operations. But this offered to the Russians a period of recuperation and rest. In the spring they would have new armies and fresh artillery. These circumstances were the measure of the German failure in their second offensive. In their first they had set out to dispose of France and had suffered defeat at the Marne. In the second they had undertaken to put Russia out, and after a long series of victories, Russia had escaped and was now beyond their grasp.

From the military point of view the Russian failure was even more serious than the French, because it came a year later, and at the hour when the superior numbers and resources of the enemies of Germany were already beginning to tell.

THE THIRD GERMAN OFFENSIVE

The two preceding German campaigns had been based on purely military considerations. The first was a true Napoleonic conception designed to grasp a Napoleonic opportunity. The second was partly imposed upon Germany by Russian success and Austrian failure. There was no longer a question of destroying the opponents in order, it was a question of eliminating one and then finding a basis for peace with the others. The third German campaign, that in the Balkans, was political quite as much as it was military. It was designed to provide Germany with some profit for her great sacrifices and her great losses, but it was no longer a question of the conquest of any considerable foe.

By the operations of British sea power, Germany had now practically lost her colonial empire. It was certain that with peace she would not again be permitted to make use of British colonies or ports, as she had done before. Her overseas commerce with belligerents and their colonies was bound to be ruined, even if peace came soon, for the period of the war it was, of course, abolished.

The entrance of Turkey on the German side had opened for the Germans a new field for industrial exploitation, if there could once be opened a road from the Danube to Constantinople. This field would be beyond the reach of sea power. Once Germany had taken actual command at Constantinople, once the railroad from Hamburg to the Bosphorus was open, it was possible to threaten Britain in Egypt, and perhaps ultimately in India by the Bagdad and Mecca railways.

Such a threat, coupled with one more successful campaign, might exercise a decisive influence upon the minds of the people of the allied countries, and in opening a road to the Golden Horn, Germany might find the path to peace. Already there was apparent willingness in Berlin to evacuate Belgium and northern France, only from Russia did Germany now insist upon tribute in the form of conquered provinces. But until the road to Constantinople was open, until the Serbian nuisance was abolished, peace could not be considered.

Turkey, too, was calling for aid. Early in the year the Anglo-French fleets had tried to force the Dardanelles. Their failure had been followed by a land attack at Gallipoli, which had so far failed, but Turkish ammunition and artillery was inadequate for a sustained fight, and there was needed German aid. To lose the Dardanelles was to see Turkey conquered, Russia provided with munitions, and the whole German dream of expansion to Asia Minor destroyed.

It was necessary, too, to provide the German people with a new victory. They had been bitterly disappointed that the Russian campaign had not brought peace, or, at the least, the elimination of Russia. A new and relatively cheap success, the conquest of the Balkans, would fire their imagination and again stimulate their hopes for a victorious peace. In addition, Bulgaria now beckoned to the Germans. Her army was at the disposition of the two kaisers, but there was plain peril that if the coming were too long delayed, the Allies might succeed in persuading Ferdinand to cast his lot with the camp that now offered him Serbian Macedonia and Turkish Thrace, and were suggesting the further pourboire of Greek Kavala.

Accordingly Germany decided to go south, having gone west and east without finding peace or decisive victory. She had available for this operation troops no longer needed against Russia since the campaign on this front had died out, and she had to command it, the great Mackensen, whose fame now rivaled that of Hindenburg, whose victories had regained Galicia. "Constantinople and Peace" became the new German watchword, just as "Paris and Peace" and "Warsaw and Peace" had been in preceding months.

And at the outset of this third campaign it is perhaps appropriate to point out that Germany was now to achieve that complete military success that had been denied to her in France and Russia, she was to win a victory in the military sense which was beyond cavil, but she was this time to lose the political profit she had hoped, because she had mistaken the importance in the minds of her enemies of the Balkan field and fatally overestimated the war weariness of the peoples that opposed her. At the Golden Horn she was to find not peace, but the necessity for new campaigns.

THE SERBIAN PHASE

On the military side the Serbian campaign was the simplest of operations. For many months the Serbian forces had been posted south of the Danube and the Save and east of the Drin, looking over their frontiers into Hungary and Bosnia. Behind them from the Danube at Belgrade to the Aegean at Saloniki ran the Orient railroad, by which they were munitioned. At Nish halfway to the sea, the line drew near to the Bulgarian frontier and sent a branch off, which passed through Bulgaria and reached Constantinople.

The Saloniki railway was the life line of Serbia, it was also the natural route for a retreat, if the Austro-German attack became too heavy. But it was fatally exposed, should Bulgaria enter the war against Serbia. In the Treaty of Bucharest, Greece and Rumania had undertaken to join Serbia should she be attacked by Bulgaria, and the mission of Greece was to cover the Saloniki railroad as far north as it was necessary to join hands with the Serbians.

Now, while the Bulgarians were beginning to mobilize and the Austro-German hosts were gathering to the north, Serbia appealed to her former allies to keep their agreement. Both declined, and their refusal was fatal. The Allies had relied upon Greek promises, and had failed to collect any considerable force at Saloniki. They had trusted Bulgaria and refused to let Serbia attack her neighbor before Bulgarian mobilization was complete. Once Bulgaria had mobilized the doom of Serbia was settled.

What happened was this: The Germans forced the passage of the Danube north and east of Belgrade and came south along the broad Morava River Valley, driving the Serbs before them. Thanks to the heavy artillery of the invaders Serbian resistance was impotent. The Austrians, meantime, crossed the Drin and came east from Bosnia. Think of Serbia as a rectangle and you can visualize two sides of the figure as closing in on the center, which was the heart of Serbia.

At the appointed moment the Bulgarians struck west from a third side of the rectangle, speedily crossed the Belgrade-Nish-Saloniki railroad, and thus cut off the true line of Serbian retreat, that upon Saloniki.

Very early in the campaign the Bulgars seized Uskub, thus interposing a wedge between the small Anglo-French force at Saloniki and the Serbs about Nish to the north of Uskub. Meantime a desperate concentration was taking place at Saloniki, and an Anglo-French force, commanded by Sarrail, was being pushed up the Saloniki railroad toward Uskub to open a road to the Serbs to join their allies. The operation suggested that successfully conducted in Flanders in the opening months of the war, which enabled the Belgian army to escape from Antwerp and join their allies in Flanders.

But this operation failed. The French came north to the outskirts of Veles, twenty miles from Uskub, just too late to save the Serbians, who now fled west to Monastir and south to Montenegro and Albania. As a fighting force the Serbs were eliminated, the wrecks of their armies barely escaping to the Adriatic and Aegean coasts at Durazzo and Saloniki. Bulgarian troops forced the Katchanik gorges and took Prisrend, and German and Austrian forces entered the ill-omened Plain of Kossovo and overran the ancient Sanjak of Novibazar.

Before the storm that was now moving south, the French and British retreated upon Saloniki, and presently began to construct about this Greek city lines and defenses recalling those Wellington built at Torres Vedras before Lisbon to restrain the flood of Napoleonic invasion in the Iberian peninsula. The conquest of the Balkan peninsula, save for Greece, was now as complete as Napoleon's own success in Spain had been more than a century before.

In due course of time an Austrian army repeated the operations of the Germans, this time succeeding in reducing the strongholds of Montenegro, which had defied the Turk through long centuries. Mount Lovetcen, the peak which looks down upon Cattaro and commands the inner bay, was at last taken, Scutari followed, northern Albania was overrun, Nicholas followed Peter into exile. All Macedonia was taken and the Allies forced out of Serbia, which had become an entirely conquered country. To complete the conquest of the Near East there was needed nothing but a successful siege of Saloniki, but this required preparation and the rebuilding of destroyed railroads, and so the Allies found respite in this Aegean port for a brief time.

Such was Germany's third campaign. Her victory enabled her to send munitions to Constantinople, and insured the failure of the allied attack at the Dardanelles. Only a few weeks later the allied armies evacuated the Gallipoli Peninsula; thus testifying to the decisive character of the German operation. Still later Turkish reenforcements, doubtless drawing upon German sources for munitions, defeated another British expedition almost under the walls of Bagdad and drove it in retreat down the Tigris, ultimately surrounding it at Kut-el-Amara, a hundred miles to the south.

Again, there came immediately forecasts of another Turkish thrust at Suez, under German direction, a first attack having failed in the previous winter. Whether Germany actually obtained any considerable stock of provisions or foodstuffs may be doubted by her succor, but it is clear that her campaign had enabled her to make use of many thousands of Turkish troops, who were waiting only for arms, it had given her control of the Bulgarian army, a small but efficient force, and it had provided an eventual means of attacking the British Empire by land, once the advance upon Egypt could be organized.

This last circumstance is worth noting, for the time had now arrived when the Germans perceived that Great Britain had so far escaped injury, was the single one of the larger powers who had drawn profit without terrible loss from the war and was becoming the determining force in the allied camp, because its resources were still unexhausted and its armies only just coming into the field, while German numbers were approaching a positive decline. If Germany could reach Suez, conquer Egypt, using Turkish armies and German genius and munitions, she would deal a heavy blow to the British Empire, and she might compel the British to listen to proposals for peace, which were now contemptuously thrust aside by London.

In sum, the Serbian campaign saved Turkey, disposed of Serbia, enlisted Bulgaria, opened the road to the Near East and to subsequent attacks upon Egypt and perhaps upon India, but it did not bring peace, and it did not inflict any immediate injury upon any one of Germany's larger foes, only Serbia and Montenegro actually suffered serious loss, and the destruction of their armies was but a detail in a world war.

ITALY

For the purposes of a summary it is unnecessary to review in detail the Italian operations. They have no distinctive challenge to the reader. Italian statesmanship imposed upon the Italian high command a task which made immediate victory impossible, and assigned to Italy the useful but inglorious role of occupying some 400,000 Austrian troops, and thus contributing to the strain imposed upon the Central Powers and to the hastening of the moment when exhaustion might be expected to set in.

Had Italy decided to enter the war at the moment when Russia was destroying Austrian armies in Galicia in September and October of 1914 she would almost unquestionably have supplied the necessary numbers to bring a speedy and decisive defeat for the Central Powers. Again, had she selected the moment when Russian armies were at the crests of the Carpathians, and Przemysl had just fallen, she would have probably made the German offense against Russia impossible, brought Rumania in with her, and produced the collapse of Austria. Bulgaria would not have enlisted with the Central Powers, Greece would almost certainly have attacked Turkey, and the Balkan campaign would not have taken place.

But German diplomacy averted the second peril, and Italian alignment with Austria and with Germany in the Triple Alliance made an attack at the opening of the war unthinkable. When Italy did come in, the German victory in Galicia had been won, Russia was in retreat, the allied defeat before the Dardanelles forts and the Russian disasters had produced a profound effect in Balkan capitals, and Austria was able to find the troops to meet and check the Italian advance almost at the frontier. Since that time the Italian operations have been merely trench conflicts, and Italy has nowhere penetrated a score of miles into Austrian territory, nor has she taken Trieste, Trent, or even Gorizia.

If one desires a parallel for the Italian operations it is to be found in the later phases of the Peninsula War against Napoleon. This field was never of decisive importance, but it did require the attention of several of Napoleon's best marshals, and drew off thousands of French soldiers needed by the great emperor in the campaigns in eastern Germany, where his fortunes were finally decided. What Wellington did, the Italians under Cadorna have been imitating in their own peninsula, and their service to their allies has thus been very considerable.

Nor is it necessary for the purposes of so rapid a review of the main phases of the war to dwell upon the allied failure in the west between the end of the battles of Flanders in November, 1914, and February, 1916. At the beginning of 1915 what were allied hopes and purposes in the west? Unquestionably French and British public believed that with the coming year the Grand Alliance would be able to crush Germany. Unquestionably French and British high commands planned to open the summer with a drive that would clear France and Belgium. As for the Germans, having laid their plans to go to Russia, they asked nothing of their western armies save that the lines should be held.

The French began their spring drive in Artois and in Champagne. The Artois fighting of May and June was exceedingly severe, incidental gains were made, but the British were suddenly disclosed lacking in all proper ammunition, lacking in numbers to support the French offensive, and barely able to hold their own lines about Ypres, after desperate fighting, made memorable by the first use by the Germans of gas as a weapon of offense.

From June until September the western armies stood still, while Britain organized her munition manufactures and continued to send her new troops to the Continent. Kitchener's "million" was not realized until the late fall, instead of the early spring. But when, in the latter days of September, the British attacked about La Bassee, and the French in Champagne, the muddling of British officers cost the Allies a considerable triumph in Artois, and the French victory in Champagne was purely local. Some 30,000 prisoners, 200 cannon, this was the fruit of an offensive which cost the British 60,000 casualties, and the French hardly less than twice as many.

German defense, therefore, fulfilled its mission in the west, German armies were able to drive deep into Russia without having to detach reenforcements to the west. Such offensives as the Allies ventured were either complete failures or merely local successes, without major value. Belgium and northern France were not liberated, and there was, as yet, not even a promise of the crushing of Germany.

ALLIED POLICY

In the brief space that remains I desire to discuss the policy of the nations which are fighting the Teutonic Alliance. The German purpose at the outset of the war has been discussed. Franco-Russian preparation had been made long before the war, and the general plan of the high commands of the two allies worked out without any material interruption. The same is true of the cooperation of the British army. This simply followed out the plans agreed upon years before.

It is not true, as has been frequently asserted, that France or her allies were surprised by the German invasion of Belgium, this had long been foreseen. It is not true, as was believed widely at the time, that Joffre invited disaster by sending the mass of his troops into Alsace-Lorraine, yielding to political and patriotic sentiment. He did nothing of the sort. Such troops as were sent into these provinces fulfilled their mission and contributed to drawing German corps away from the north. The bulk of the French armies and the British Expeditionary Corps were in line along the Belgium frontier from Arlon to Mons when the Germans began their great drive.

The French were surprised in two respects. They had not foreseen the rapidity with which the German heavy artillery would reduce the forts in Belgium, the fall of Namur was the greatest catastrophe of the first period of the campaign, and they had not dreamed that the Germans would be able to mobilize so many troops in so short a period. Joffre had planned to meet the Germans along the Meuse and the Sambre, that is along the French frontier, but when the German advance began, his troops on these fronts were outnumbered by at least two to one, not because the mass of the French troops had been sent to Alsace-Lorraine, but because the French had not foreseen the capacity of the Germans to mobilize their reserves and had little more than their first-line troops ready, while the Germans were making use of Landwehr and even Landsturm formations in the first shock.

Once this fact was clearly established, Joffre resolutely drew his forces back until he was able to put more reserves in the field and thus approximately restore the balance between the two armies. But he was still heavily outnumbered at the decisive moment, winning his great battle with inferior forces. His enemy had reckoned on the traditional eagerness of the French to attack, and had expected to obtain a decisive victory, through superior numbers, in the first days of the war. The impression which the press reports gave in the early days, that the French were driven from defeat to defeat and almost succumbed to the German attack is far from accurate. In point of fact, the French armies, after suffering marked but relatively insignificant reverses at the outset, reverses due to the blunders of the subordinate generals in part, and to the greatly superior German numbers and artillery in the main, were drawn back in obedience to a carefully conceived plan, were denied the opportunity to fight, as they desired, until the exhaustion of German strength, ammunition, and transport, and the increase in French numbers gave the opportunity for a victory. The whole opening campaign was fought on the French side with a very keen recollection of the mistakes of 1870, and the result justified the strategy.

But with the end of the Battle of the Marne both the Allied and the German plans collapsed. Neither side had foreseen clearly the possibility of a battle in which the French might win a decisive victory, yet lack the numbers to enforce the decision absolutely. But the Germans were able to meet the situation promptly and, by preparing a position on the Aisne, to retain a considerable portion of the ground they had occupied in their first rush. Thus in failing to repeat their triumphs of the Franco-Prussian War and of the Seven Weeks' War, they had escaped the disaster of Napoleon at Waterloo, when he, too, had staked all on a single throw.

In the weeks and months that followed the German defeat at the Marne, allied understanding of the actual nature of the war developed only slowly. Until the coming of spring and the British failure to get men or munitions, the French and the British public, and probably their soldiers, believed that the Germans were shortly to be turned out of France. But with the failure there was at last established the real situation, the war had taken on the character of our own Civil War, it had become a struggle in which the decision would follow the exhaustion of one of the contending forces and the incidental victories of either side could not contribute materially to the ending of the war.

In the Civil War the North was exceedingly slow in learning this lesson and it was not until General Grant at last assumed the command of all the Northern armies that an intelligent policy was adopted. This policy has been summarized as the policy of attrition and it is now generally recognized as the policy on which the enemies of the Central Powers rely for ultimate success. Grant's own statement of this policy was as follows: "To hammer continuously against the armed force of the enemy and his resources, until by mere attrition, if in no other way, there should be left to him nothing but submission." By this policy Grant won his war.

Now the allied policy, which it is necessary to recognize, to understand the war as it is viewed by one of the two contending forces, is this: The Allies are satisfied that the German numbers have begun or are beginning to fail. They fix at around 8,000,000 the total man power of Germany at the outset, using all means of computation including their own experience. They figure that at the end of the first eighteen months Germany had lost permanently not less than 3,500,000, possibly 4,000,000. They know that it requires upwards of 3,000,000 men to hold Germany's present lines and about 1,000,000 to perform other necessary services.

Now no such wastage has to be faced by the Allies as a whole. France is in the German situation, but Great Britain is still possessed of large numbers of men and her losses are under 600,000, while her population together with that of her colonies is above 60,000,000, whites alone being considered, against Germany's 67,000,000. Russia's man power is practically limited only by the ability to equip and munition. Italy has, as yet, made little draft upon her resources. Austria, on the other hand, has suffered more heavily, proportionately figured, than Germany.

Within a time that can be approximately fixed, the Allies believe that Germany will have either to shorten her lines or underman them. If she undermans them she will face the peril that overtook Lee about Richmond, when, as he said, his lines were stretched so thin, they broke. If Germany shortens her lines, this will be a confession of defeat and will deprive her of the conquered territories. Meantime the entire strategy of the Allies is summed up in Grant's grim words, and as Grant kept up his hammering on all the fronts of the Confederacy so the Allies are keeping up their pressure.

But attrition of men is only half; there is the question of food and of money. Command of the sea insures the food supply of the Allies and their financial resources greatly surpass those of Germany. Germany is suffering—we have Harden's word for this, because of food shortage, she is suffering from economic paralysis resulting from the blockade and she is suffering from the lack of certain materials needed in war. She is compelled to find money for her other and poorer allies. The enemies of Germany do not expect that she will be starved out or that she will have to surrender for lack of materials to make ammunition. But they do believe that shortage of food, economic pressure, financial difficulties, will go hand in hand with the failure of numbers.

In a word the Allies are fighting a war with many weapons of which the army is only one and the British navy another, perhaps the most effective. They are not fighting to win a campaign and they are not basing their expectation of victory on the incidents in any one field or in any single campaign. The Germans, on the contrary, as we have seen, have undertaken three tremendous campaigns, the first to win an absolute victory on the battle field, a victory which would make the Germany of William II the successor of the France of Napoleon I in Europe; the second to dispose of one of the great foes and thereby win a limited but considerable success; the third to win peace and an incidental opportunity to expand toward the east, the only direction in which expansion cannot be checked by sea power.

The Allies still expect to crush Germany; by crushing Germany they mean bringing her back to her frontiers of 1914, detaching Alsace-Lorraine from her and possibly Prussian territory east of the Vistula. They mean to destroy her fleet, demand indemnities for Belgian and French sufferers, they mean to abolish what they regard as the Prussian menace to peace. They are fighting Germany as Europe fought Napoleon and with the same determination. On the German side the struggle is also being waged in the Napoleonic fashion, Germany is seeking to employ the Napoleonic method and has so far achieved something of the early success of the great emperor.

But the simplest fashion in which to describe the later phases of the conflict is to say that a war of action has become a war of endurance, that Germany has sought and missed a decision on the battle field and her foes are now seeking the decision through economic forces quite as much as military and through casualty lists rather than brilliant campaigns.



THE WAR CORRESPONDENT

By ARTHUR RUHL

When the American fleet was sent to Vera Cruz in the summer of 1914 and it looked for a time as if an army might go into Mexico, Major General Funston explained the conditions under which correspondents were to go to the front. There was to be no repetition of the scandalous free-for-all of the Spanish War, when news prospectors of all sorts and descriptions swarmed over to Cuba in almost as haphazard fashion as Park Row reporters are rushed uptown to cover a subway explosion or a four-alarm fire.

The number of men was to be limited and their privileges strictly defined. Only the press associations and some twenty or thirty newspapers were to send correspondents, and they must put up substantial bonds for each man—one for his good behavior, the other to serve as an expense fund against which would be charged his keep as a civilian guest of the army. These conditions fulfilled, the men were to accompany the expedition with the privileges, practically, of officers or neutral attaches.

They would join an officers' mess or have a mess of their own with similar service; they might provide their own horses which would be cared for with the other horses of the unit to which they were attached. They were to stay where they were put, so far as nearness to the fighting was concerned, according to the judgment of the commanding officer, and all their dispatches must first pass a military censor.

These rules were read with some dismay by those not included in the provisional list. To many who had hoped to see something of a war they doubtless seemed severe, yet it is a fact that had they been put into effect, the correspondents in Mexico would have seen much more, comparatively speaking, than any group of correspondents has seen in Europe. They would actually have accompanied the army, sharing throughout the expedition the day-to-day life of the fighting men, like the old-fashioned "horseback correspondent"—and nobody in Europe has done that.

At the beginning of the war, England permitted no correspondents at all at the front, and while a group was chosen, it was well into 1915 before they were even allowed to cross to France. Once they reached their headquarters they saw a good deal. They lived at or near the front instead of merely shooting up and back for a glimpse of it. They met many officers more or less intimately, saw the life behind and in the trenches; occasionally they were taken to observation stations from which they saw the effect of artillery fire, and even, perhaps, in the distance, charging infantry. Yet the number who had even these privileges was so limited that it included but one American.

Mr. Frederick Palmer was thus chosen to act as a sort of correspondent at large for the American press. Mr. Ashmead Bartlett, an English journalist, acted in a similar capacity for the English press and, indeed, for the rest of the world, at the Dardanelles. He saw a great deal, as much, perhaps, as any reporter has seen of any campaign, but he was almost alone in his glory, and so far as the distribution of such privileges is concerned, the English have been more cautious than any of the belligerents.

The French military authorities were more open minded, yet, while a few favored sons or the head of some press association whose position in Paris was almost as secure as that of an accredited diplomat, were quietly taken up to the trenches from the first, several months had elapsed before a group of correspondents went to the front. The desirability of publicity was better understood later, many neutral correspondents visited the trenches, and a few specially favored individuals spent some time at or near the front, but, even here, permission was obtained as a result of individual effort rather than as a part of a general scheme for handling, more or less impersonally, all applicants in good standing.

In Germany, correspondents were rather freely taken to the various fronts from the first. One reason for this, was, perhaps, that the Germans, with their thorough organization of everything, including censorship and secret service, may have known better just how far they could go. They were not afraid of what might get through the wall, because the wall was tight, and they knew just what could get out and what couldn't. At any rate, many reporters, both native born and foreign, were getting glimpses of the various fronts while the English group were still eating their heads off in London. Once there, however, they saw less, as a rule, than the English correspondents finally did, for their trips were generally mere visits—a sort of Cook's tour in war time.

A quotation from an article of mine in "Collier's" written after a trip through Belgium and down to the first-line German trenches at Givenchy will suggest the nature of these excursions:

"You go out a sort of zoo—our party included four or five Americans, a Greek, an Italian (Italy had not yet gone into the war), a diminutive Spaniard and a tall, preoccupied Swede—under the direction of some hapless officer of the General Staff. For a week, perhaps, you go hurtling through a closely articulated program, almost as helpless as a package in a pneumatic tube—night expresses, racing military motors, snapshots at this and that, down a bewildering vista of long gray capes, heel clickings, stiff bows from the waist, and punctilious military salutes. You are under fire one minute, the next shooting through some captured palace or barracks or museum of antiques. At noon the guard is turned out in honor, at four you are watching distant shell fire from the Belgian dunes; at eleven crawling under a down quilt in some French hotel where the prices of food and wines are fixed by the local commandant. Everything is done for you—more, of course, than one would wish—the gifted young captain conductor speaks English one minute, French or Italian the next, gets you up in the morning, to bed at night, past countless sentries and thick-headed guards demanding an Ausweis, contrives never to cease looking as if he had stepped from the bandbox, and presently pops you into your hotel in Berlin with the curious feeling of never having been away at all."

There were a great many trips of this sort under the auspices of the German General Staff, and every neutral correspondent who came to Berlin with letters establishing his position as a serious workman in good standing in his own country, could hope, after a reasonable interval for getting acquainted, to obtain permission to go on one of them. It was not an ideal way of working, to be sure, yet the "front" was a big and rather accidental place, and one could scarcely touch it anywhere without bringing back something to help complete the civilian's puzzle picture of war.

One man would get a chance to spend a night in the trenches, with the sky criss-crossed with searchlight shafts and illuminating bombs; an automobile party might be caught on some East Prussian road with the woods on either side crackling with rifle fire as the skirmishers beat through the timber after the scattered enemy as after so many squirrels. Our moment came one afternoon in the German trenches at Givenchy, when, with the English trenches only a stone's throw away, both sides began to amuse themselves by shooting dynamite bombs.

Groups of native-born correspondents were likely to see rather more than outsiders, and the more authoritative home writers were attached not infrequently to an army corps or staff headquarters for weeks at a time. The Berlin and Vienna bookshops are filled with books and pamphlets written by such men, though, of course, little of their correspondence has ever reached America. A man like Ludwig Ganghofer, for instance, became so much of an institution that papers even joked about him, and I remember a cartoon—in "Jugend," I think—picturing him puffing up a hill where a staff was waiting and the commanding officer saying "Ganghofer's here. The attack may now begin!"

In Germany, however, as in France, at least during the first year of the war, each correspondent, particularly a foreigner, was merely a privateer, making his own fight for a chance to work, and pulling what wires he could. After his brief excursion he returned to Berlin, a mere tourist, so to speak, and had to begin the old tiresome round—his own embassy—the German Foreign Office—the War Office—all over again. There was no organization in which he could enroll, so to speak, he had no permanent standing. This drawback—from the correspondent's point of view—was met in Austria-Hungary by the Presse Quartier, an integral part of the army like any other branch of the service, whose function it was to handle the whole complicated business of war correspondence.

The Austro-Hungarians, prepared from the first for a large number of civilian observers, including news and special writers, photographers, illustrators and painters, and, to handle them satisfactorily, organized this Presse Quartier, once admitted to which—the fakers and fly-by-nights were supposed to be weeded out by preliminary red tape—they were assumed to be serious workmen and treated as the army's guests.

The Presse Quartier—the Germans later organized one on somewhat different lines—was in two sections; an executive section with a commandant responsible for the arrangement of trips to the various fronts and the general business of censorship and publicity; and a second, an entertainment section, so to speak, also with its commandant, whose business it was to board, lodge, and otherwise look after correspondents when they were not on trips to the front. At the time I visited the Presse Quartier the executive section was in the city of Teschen, across the border of Silesia; the correspondents lived in the village of Nagybicse in Hungary, two or three hours' railroad journey away. In this village—the most novel part of the scheme—some thirty or forty correspondents were living, writing their past adventures, setting forth on new ones, or merely inviting their souls for the moment under a regime which combined the functions of tourists' bureau, rest cure, and a sort of military club.

For the time being they were part of the army—fed, lodged, and transported at the army's expense, and unable to leave without formal military permission. They were supposed to "enlist for the whole war," so to speak, and most of the Austro-Hungarian and German correspondents had so remained—some had even written books there—but a good deal of freedom was allowed observers from neutral countries and permission given to go when they felt they had seen enough.

Isolated thus in the country—the only mail the military field post, the only telegrams those that passed the military censor—correspondents were as "safe" as in Siberia. They, on the other hand, had the advantages of an established position, of living inexpensively in pleasant surroundings where their relations with the censor and the army were less those of policemen and of suspicious characters than of host and guest. To be welcomed here, after the usual fretful dangling and wire-pulling in war office anterooms and city hotels was reassuring enough.

Correspondents were quartered in private houses, and as there was one man to a family, generally, he was put in the villager's room of honor, with a tall porcelain stove in the corner, a feather bed under him and another on top. Each man had a soldier servant who looked after his boots and luggage, kept him supplied with cigars and cigarettes from the Quartier commissariat—for a paternal government included even tobacco!—and whack his heels together whenever spoken to and flung back an obedient "Ja wohl!" We breakfasted separately, whenever we felt like it, lunched and dined—officers and correspondents—together. There were soldier waiters, and on every table big carafes of Hungarian white wine, drunk generally instead of water. For beer one paid extra.

The commandant and his staff, including a doctor, and the officer-guides not on excursions at the moment, sat at the head of the long U-shaped table. Anyone who came in or went out after the commandant was supposed to advance a bit into this "U," catch his eye, bow and receive his returning nod. The silver click of spurs, of course, accompanied this salute when an officer left the room, and Austro-Hungarian and German correspondents generally snapped their heels together in semi-military fashion. All our goings and comings, indeed, were accompanied by a good deal of manner. People who had seen each other at breakfast shook hands formally half an hour later in the village square, and one bowed and was bowed to and heard the sing-song "habe die Ehre!" a dozen times a day.

With amenities of this nature the Quartier guests passed their time while waiting their turn to go to the front. There were always, while I was there, one or more parties in the field, either on the Italian or the Russian front, or both, while a few writers and artists were well enough known to be permitted to go out alone. The Hungarian, Mr. Molnar, for instance, whose play, "The Devil," was seen in America a few years ago, was writing at that time a series of letters under the general title, "Wanderings on the East Front," and apparently, within obvious military limitations, he did wander. One day, another man came into lunch with the news that he was off on the best trip he'd had yet—he was going back to Vienna for his skis, to go down into the Tyrol and work along glaciers to the battery positions. Another man, a Budapest painter, started off for an indefinite stay with an army corps in Bessarabia. He was to be, indeed, part of the army for the time being, and all his work belonged to the army first.

Foreigners not intending to remain in Austria-Hungary could not expect such privileges, naturally; but if they were admitted to the Quartier at all they were sent on the ordinary group excursions like the home correspondents themselves. Indeed, the wonder was—in view of the comparative ease with which neutral correspondents drifted about Europe; the naivete to put it mildly, with which the wildest romances had been printed in American newspapers—that we were permitted to see as much as we did.

When a group started for the front it left Nagybicse in its own car, which, except when the itinerary included some large city—Lemberg, for instance—served as a little hotel until they came back again. The car was a clean, second-class coach, of the usual European compartment kind, two men to a compartment, and at night they bunked on the long transverse seat comfortably enough. We took one long trip of a thousand miles or so in this way, taking our own motor, on a separate flat car, and even an orderly servant for each man.

Each of these groups was, of course, accompanied by an officer guide—several were detailed at the Quartier for this special duty—whose complex and nerve-racking task it was to answer all questions, make all arrangements, report to each local commandant, pass sentries, and comfortably waft his flock of civilians through the maze of barriers which cover every foot, so to speak, of this region near the front.

The things correspondents were permitted to see differed from those seen on the other fronts less in kind than in quantity. More trips were made, but there is and can be little place for a civilian on a "front," any spot in which, over a strip several miles wide, from the heavy artillery positions of one side to the heavy artillery of the other, may be in absolute quiet one minute and the next the center of fire.

There is no time to bother with civilians during an offensive, and, if a retreat is likely, no commander wishes to have country described which may presently be in the hands of the enemy. Hidden batteries in action, reserves moving up, wounded coming back, flyers, trenches quiet for the moment—this is about as close to actual fighting as the outsider, under ordinary circumstances, can expect to get on any front.

The difference in Austria-Hungary was that correspondents saw these things, and the battle fields and captured cities, not as mere outsiders, picked up from a hotel and presently to be dropped there again, but as, in a sense, a part of the army itself. They had their commandant to report to, their "camp" and "uniform"—the gold-and-black Presse Quartier arm band—and they returned to headquarters with the reasonable certainty that in another ten days or so they would start out again.

Another advantage of the Quartier was the avoidance of the not uncommon friction between the civilians of the Foreign Office and the soldiers of the War Office. The Foreign Office runs things, so to speak, in times of peace and it is to the Foreign Office that the diplomatic representatives of foreign powers apply for favors for their own fellow-citizens. But in war time the army runs things, and the Foreign Office official who has charge of correspondents is continually promising things or wishing to do things he is not sure of being able to carry out. The result is often a rather unpleasant sort of competitive wire-pulling between correspondents, some trying the Foreign Office, some the War Office, some attacking both at the same time—one would even hear it said now and then that the surest way to get anything from the soldiers was to complain to them that the Foreign Office civilians wouldn't do anything for you!

In Austria-Hungary the Presse Quartier acted as a bridge between the two. It was the definite court to which all applicants were referred and a good deal of aimless waiting about and wire-pulling eliminated at once. And having cleared away the preliminary red-tape, the correspondent had, in the Quartier commandant, an agent more likely to push his interests than the civilian officials back in the capital and more likely to be listened to by those at the front.

The war correspondent had been "killed off" so many times in newspapers and magazines of late years that one might expect him to be as dead as the dodo, and of course the old-fashioned "horseback" correspondent—a sort of unofficial envoy extraordinary from the reading public, who carried his own elaborate outfit and rode more or less where he pleased—is extinct. A horse would have been about as useful on most of the European fronts, under the conditions prescribed, as a rowboat. What the correspondent needed, in the few hours he was permitted to see anything, was a fast motor car, and quite as much as the car itself the pass, without which it would have been stopped at the first crossroads.

Wandering round the active front where any point in a strip of several miles wide, however apparently peaceful, is under observation and likely to be at any moment under fire, is not practicable even were it permitted. Modern artillery, long range rifles, aeroplanes and field telephones have put an end to such strolling; while the elaborate system of communication in such highly civilized neighborhoods as those in which the present war is being fought, and the care with which every scrap of information about the enemy is pieced together and coordinated, makes it imperative that every possible source of such information shall be controlled.

Nevertheless the Great War had no sooner started than the old guard bobbed up serenely, and with them new ones—men and women writers, adventurous novelists, privateers of all sorts. They have kept on working and seeing more or less, and have performed necessary and valuable service. They have described the life behind the front, the life in towns, camps, prisons, hospitals and given the news—the rough general outlines—of the swiftly changing drama. Very few have seen any fighting, properly speaking, and although bits of their work here and there deserve to become part of the permanent history of the war, they themselves would be the last to suggest that they have told the real story.

The real story is of two kinds. There is the narrative of the events, the orderly, understanding arrangement and coordination of the showers of facts and rumors that blow in from a hundred sources to the great news centers far from the front. And there is the story of personal experience, the sensations of the individual as he looks into the face of war. The first tells what happened, the other how it felt. For the one, the correspondent is too near, for the other too far away.

The division of the enormous battle fronts into innumerable little news-tight compartments, so to speak, understood in their entirety only by the commanders in chief at the centers of the telegraph and telephone network far behind the front, makes it impossible for a correspondent to see very far beyond his own nose. Even were he permitted to understand the general plan of his own army he could scarcely know, while still at the front, the general plan of the enemy. A well-informed observer working comfortably at his desk in one of the capitals, with the news of the world at his disposal, with experts on every subject within easy calling distance, and with every sort of map and reference book, is much better able to write a story of the war—such a story as this, for instance—than any correspondent actually at the front, however fortunately situated. There have been many such "correspondents at home" and reporters returning from first-hand glimpses of this and that, have often for the first time understood the significance of such details when they were seen through the broad perspective and leisurely analysis of such long-distance observers.

The nourishing flavor of such a little book as Fritz Kreisler's "Four Weeks in the Trenches"—scarcely more than a magazine article, with no sensational adventures and no attempt at rhetorical effect, and of several little collections of published letters—reveals at once the correspondent's other disability. People feel that this man really was there—this is what one real man with a gun in his hand did feel, and not what some civilian, sitting safely out of range, imagines crowds of men might have felt. Its very incompleteness, things left out because of sensibilities so stunned that events made no mark as they whirled by, is often more impressive than the conventional war correspondent's cocksureness and windy eloquence. There are scores of men like this gifted violinist—playwriters, painters, journalists, men trained to see things in various ways—drawn in by universal service and now buried in the mass, but destined some day to emerge to normal life.

From them the story of the individual, of the fighting itself, must come long after the war is over. It will come piecemeal, from diaries now stuck away in the soldiers' pockets, from memories that will only begin to act when peace has given weary brains a chance to work again, from men now tired and dirty and horror-stunned and scarcely able to remember their own names.



PART I—INDIRECT CAUSES OF THE WAR

POLITICAL AND DIPLOMATIC HISTORY OF EUROPE FROM 1866 TO 1914 WITH A CHAPTER ON THE HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF JAPAN

In order to understand properly the underlying causes which were responsible for the outbreak of the Great European War of 1914, it is necessary to be acquainted with the recent historical development of the various nations involved. In considering the various phases of this development it becomes evident that in modern times the history of any one country exerts a powerful influence upon the history of all the other countries. The vast development of means of communication between the various countries of the earth—railways, steamships, telegraphs, telephones—resulted in an equally vast increase of their commercial and social intercourse until one might almost claim that there is not a single event of any importance whatsoever happening in one country which does not make its influence felt throughout the entire world. It is not always easy or even possible to determine the exact degree to which the various nations of the world are affected by this mutual interdependency, and frequently many years elapse before it becomes evident at all that what one nation has done or neglected to do has an important relation to the fate of another nation, even though the two nations may have few points of contact and be separated by great distances.

To describe historical events as they happen day by day or even year by year throughout the modern world is an almost hopeless task, because a description of this nature would result in a confusion which would be even worse than an entire lack of knowledge concerning these matters. We will, therefore, consider separately the historical development of each nation and thereby try to arrive finally at a clear understanding of the historical causes of the Great War of 1914.

Some of these causes, of course, may be claimed to go back to the beginnings of the history of the various nations; but a majority of them had their origin in comparatively recent times. It is also true that the Napoleonic Wars resulted in certain international alignments some of which, at least in part, held over until comparatively recently. But it was only approximately at the beginning of the second half of the nineteenth century that international relations assumed the important position and the fateful influence which they hold now. The short war of 1866 between Prussia and Austria, fought primarily to determine the supremacy in German affairs, may conveniently be considered for our purposes a starting point of modern international history because it resulted in changes so important that their final results had a powerful influence over the fate of the entire civilized world. Inasmuch as this war affected more directly Germany and Austria, we will first consider these two countries.



CHAPTER I

GERMANY

In 1866 there was strictly speaking no Germany. That part of the world which during the past forty-five years has been known as Germany consisted of a large number of small states and principalities, speaking the same language and having in a general way the same customs and ideals. All attempts to find some basis for their political unification, however, miscarried. Whenever Prussia, which beyond doubt was the biggest and most powerful of all the German-speaking states, attempted to take the lead it was opposed by powerful Austria as well as by a varying number of smaller states. The latter, much as they desired in certain ways to bring about a united Germany in order to be better protected against their much more powerful neighbors, Russia and France, feared these hardly more than a Germany under the control of Prussia. It gradually became clear that unification of Germany would never be realized as long as Austria and Prussia were contending for leadership. How utterly impossible it was for these two countries to achieve any lasting success as long as they made a common cause of anything had been proven only two years earlier, when both went to war with Denmark about the succession to the throne of the duchies of Schleswig-Holstein. For no sooner had they succeeded through their combined efforts in defeating Denmark and thereby forced the northern kingdom to relinquish its claims on Schleswig-Holstein than they found it next to impossible to settle among themselves the division of the newly acquired territory.

It was about at this time that the greatest statesman of modern Germany, Bismarck, began to become all powerful. It was he who recognized more clearly than anyone else the need of eliminating Austria from German affairs, and then finding some cause which would appeal strongly and equally to all the other German states. The difficulties connected with the division of Schleswig-Holstein offered to him an opportune cause for a quarrel with Austria, and when he felt in 1866 that the Prussian army had been sufficiently re-formed and built up to overpower not only Austria, but any of the other German states which might possibly join with her, he went to war. Prussia had succeeded in forming an alliance with the newly united Italy on the basis of the latter's desire to regain the north Italian territory which was then in the possession of Austria. On the other hand the latter had drawn to its side the kingdoms of Hanover and Saxony, as well as all the south German states. The war was one of the shortest in the history of mankind, considering the size of the countries involved and the odds at stake. In less than two months, after only one important battle—at Sadowa—had been fought on July 3, and lost by the Austrians, peace was concluded at Prague. As a result of the arrangements made then, Austria was eliminated from German affairs and withdrew all its claims for Schleswig-Holstein, and Prussia was free to form a confederation of the north German states with itself as a leader, while the south German states were permitted to form a federation of their own. Austria furthermore lost Venetia to Italy. Of the Austrian allies, the south German states were let off easy with a money indemnity, but Hanover, Nassau, and Hesse-Cassel lost their independence and became part and parcel of the Prussian kingdom.

This addition to its territory made Prussia even more predominant in Germany than it had been in the past and Bismarck immediately proceeded to take the first step in the unification of Germany. This took the form of the North German Confederation and so well did he build at that time that the new government which he conceived then has ever since remained the government of united Germany. In its way it was unique. It was a mixture of monarchism and federation. Each of the federated states retained a large amount of control over its internal affairs, but yielded to Prussia control of its armies, foreign relations, railways, and posts and telegraphs. The King of Prussia became the president of this federation and as such its chief executive. The legislative powers were intrusted to two bodies, the Bundesrat and the Reichstag, the former representing the various states, the latter their people. The members of the Bundesrat were appointed by the rulers of the states which they represented, whereas the members of the Reichstag were elected by universal manhood suffrage.

This rise of Prussia's power and influence disturbed and displeased, among all the European states, none more than France. It was only a few years before Napoleon III saw himself forced, partly through internal difficulties and partly through his failures in Mexico and Italy, to challenge William I of Prussia. In this combat the predominancy in German affairs was no longer at stake, as it had been between Prussia and Austria; but so powerful had Prussia become that France felt it necessary to defend the leadership in Central European affairs which it then claimed. The revolution which had broken out in 1868 in Spain and resulted in the expulsion of Queen Isabella became the indirect cause of the Franco-Prussian War. After various unsuccessful attempts on the part of Spanish statesmen to find a king for their country among the European princes they offered the crown of Spain to Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, a relative of the King of Prussia. Naturally the prospect of having a German prince rule its western neighbor greatly excited France and led immediately to a strong protest on its part. But not satisfied with this Napoleon demanded from King William a promise that he should at no time permit his cousin to accept the Spanish throne. These demands of the French were promptly refused by the King of Prussia, and Bismarck and Von Moltke saw to it that the message as delivered was brusque and calculated to excite France to anger. Indeed, opinion was so deeply stirred that Napoleon felt compelled to ask for a declaration of war. On July 19, 1870, this step was taken.

Undoubtedly Napoleon was influenced in his decision by his expectation that the south German states would either side openly with him or else at least refuse to side with Prussia, basing this hope on their fear that if Prussia should become all powerful in Germany their own independence would be threatened. His expectations, however, were not realized. As much through the wonderful statesmanship of Bismarck, who knew when to give as well as when to take, as through the awakening of an immensely strong national feeling throughout the length and breadth of Germany, the south Bavarian states, within a few days after France had declared war, sided openly with Prussia. This combination proved too strong for France, for it was superior not only in numbers and equipment, but especially in leadership. The unified German armies won battle after battle in quick succession and by September 2, Napoleon found himself with a large army hopelessly surrounded in Sedan and was forced to surrender. He was sent to Germany as a prisoner of war and his downfall resulted in the end of the Second Napoleonic Empire and the declaration of the Third French Republic.

The German armies immediately proceeded to the siege of Paris and on January 8, 1871, the French capital had to capitulate. A few months later, in May, France and Germany made peace, the former paying an indemnity of $1,000,000,000 and ceding Alsace and a part of Lorraine. In the meantime the unification of Germany had progressed rapidly. Even before Paris had fallen, the German princes, headed by the King of Bavaria, had offered to King William the presidency over a new federation containing both the north and the south German states. This federation was to be known as the German Empire and its president as the German Emperor. On January 18, 1871, in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles King William accepted this offer, and was proclaimed German Emperor.

It was quite natural that in the beginning the path of the newly created German Empire should not be strewn exclusively with roses. At the time of its formation, it is true, it had nothing to fear from other nations. France which, in a way, may be considered at that time as its only external enemy, had been beaten, and beaten in such a way that it was clear that years would have to elapse before the new republic would be in a position to undertake anything against Germany. Indeed, a great many thoughtful people throughout the entire civilized world were hoping that this period of recuperation through which France was bound to pass would result in a gradual understanding between Germany and France. The gulf which separated them immediately after the Franco-Prussian War, to be sure, was wide; for the attitude of the two peoples in regard to the taking over of Alsace-Lorraine was widely different. The French felt that Germany had abused its power at the moment of its victory to tear an integral part off the body politic of the republic. They vowed that although the necessity of the moment had forced them to submit they would never forget the "lost provinces," and this spirit, this demand for restitution, was fostered and nourished throughout the years to come. From time to time it seemed as if the great masses of people in the two countries would finally reach an understanding. But whenever the cry for restitution seemed to have been stilled, politicians of one kind or another succeeded in making it sound again. Germany on the other hand claimed that Alsace-Lorraine had originally been a German province, had been taken from Germany by force, and that the French had neither a legal nor moral claim to the territory.

Internally the new chancellor of the German Empire had a great many battles to fight in order to achieve the financial, social, and military reforms which he deemed necessary for the safety and upbuilding of the empire. It is not necessary for our purposes to go into these struggles in detail. It suffices to note in passing that they resulted in increases and in vast improvements of the German army, and laid the foundation for the marvelous industrial and commercial expansion of the German Empire.

The leading men of the German Empire fully appreciated the need of their country of a long period of peace in order to work out the many problems which the unification had brought about. In every possible way the diplomats, politicians, and rulers of the various German states did their best to make it clear to the other nations that they had no desire for further conquests and were, to say the least, as anxious as their neighbors to maintain peace. In 1872 the three emperors of Russia, Austria, and Germany met together with their ministers at Berlin, and although no treaty was concluded at that time, the conferences which took place then and throughout the following years had a powerful influence on the continuation of European peace. About the same time Italy also attempted to show its good will toward Germany by sending the crown prince of the new kingdom on a visit to the German Emperor, and it seemed at that time as if the fate of all of Europe and, indeed, of the entire civilized world, was in the hands of the central European states—Germany, Austria, Russia, and Italy. Both France and England seemed to be isolated.

However, it was not long before clouds appeared on the firmament, and they came, as they had come before, and as they were to come again, from the East.

The first disturbance of the cordial relations, that apparently had been established among Germany, Austria, and Russia, was caused in 1876 when the Near Eastern question became again an issue between Austria and Russia. The latter's inquiries at Berlin as to the German attitude in a possible war between the other two empires were met with an evasive answer, except that it was made clear that Germany would not permit Russia to deal with Austria beyond a certain point. As a result of this stand Russia decided to settle the Eastern question through a war with Turkey rather than with Austria.

During the Russo-Turkish War, April, 1876, to February, 1877, the causes and results of which will be considered in another place, Germany maintained the strictest neutrality, so strict in fact that at its conclusion Germany was chosen as mediator. To this part the young empire adhered most carefully during the Congress of Berlin, June to July, 1878, and, difficult though it was, showed the strictest impartiality. At the same time it refused to gain any profit from the readjustment which resulted. In spite of this, however, it received little appreciation on the part of Russia, which apparently had expected a more active display of gratitude on the part of Germany for its own friendly neutrality during the Franco-Prussian War. In a way this marks the beginning of a strong anti-German feeling in Russia, which by 1879 had grown strong enough to make a war between the two countries seem possible. Bismarck immediately took the necessary steps to insure Germany against such a possibility by concluding an alliance with Austria, October 7, 1879, at Gastein. In this he was bitterly opposed by William I, whose personal feelings were leaning much more toward Russia than Austria. However, a threat on the part of the chancellor to resign brought this rapidly aging emperor to terms.

The Austro-German alliance was defensive only. It stipulated that in case of an attack by Russia on either contracting party the other was to assist with its entire forces. In case of an attack by any other power only friendly neutrality was to be observed, except if such a power was in any way supported by Russia, when the first stipulation was to take force.

Three years later, in 1882, Bismarck strengthened Germany's international position by overcoming Italy's enmity against Austria to the extent of inducing the southern kingdom to join in this defensive alliance, which from then on was known as the "Triple Alliance," and which endured until Italy's declaration of war against Austria in 1915. The chancellor had now succeeded in placing the keystone in Germany's defensive bulwark. He had to fear no longer the possibility of a joint attack by Russia and France. For the powerful triple block of Central Powers would make any joining of forces by these two countries impossible.

A result of this security was Germany's entrance among the colonial powers of the world. The objects of this step were twofold: to open up new fields for the rapidly expanding German trade, and to divert German emigration in such a way that its steady stream would not drain the Fatherland of too large a proportion of its surplus population. From 1884 on Germany used every opportune moment to acquire colonial possessions. Though for many years none of the other powers seriously objected, it was quite natural that sooner or later Germany would find itself in conflict with the other colonizing powers, especially with the greatest of all—England.

In 1884, Alexander III, who had succeeded his murdered father in 1881 and who was much less pro-German than the latter, showed signs of succumbing to France's strenuous advances looking toward an alliance to enable the republic to gratify its desire for revenge. But Bismarck's diplomatic genius not only prevented this, but even brought about a secret neutrality treaty between the two empires, which, however, was entirely separate from the Triple Alliance.

Gradually, thus, the chancellor accomplished all that he had set out to do after the formation of the German Empire to place his country, not only among the great powers of the world, but to gain for it within certain limitations, a leading position. With his internal policies he was hardly less successful, although he had many hard battles to fight to gain his end. The year 1888 saw him in the zenith of his power, and Wilhelmstrasse (where the German Foreign Office was located) promised fair to take the place that Downing Street had held. That year, however, brought a change of rulers to Germany. In March William I died at the age of ninety-one, and was succeeded by his son Frederick III, the son-in-law of Queen Victoria of England. This in itself endangered Bismarck's position and influence. For ever since 1879 Frederick had more or less openly allied himself with the National-Liberal party, which strongly opposed the chancellor's foreign policy. The new emperor, however, had been stricken with a mortal disease, which in 1878 was diagnosed as cancer of the throat, and which resulted in his death on June 15, 1888, less than four months after he had become emperor.

His son and successor, William II, was less than thirty years old, a more or less unknown quantity, with little experience, but possessing a very strongly individual temperament. The break between him and Bismarck came soon, and resulted in the latter's resignation on March 18, 1890. Germany could ill spare the master hand that had guided so successfully its destinies since 1870, and at no time since has Germany's international position been so strong or its foreign policies as purposeful as under its first chancellor.

The second incumbent of this office was General von Caprivi, 1890-1894, whose accomplishments were chiefly of a military and economic nature. Of the former the most important was the change to the two years' term of army service, of the latter the conclusion of commercial treaties with Austria-Hungary, Russia, Italy, and Rumania. In the field of foreign relations his term of office yielded the important result of a better understanding with England, accompanied, however, by a lessening of friendly relations with Russia. This period also brought to Germany the island of Helgoland in exchange for certain readjustments of boundaries in Africa. Bismarck's work in regard to cementing the German-Russian relations was undone by the refusal of Germany to renew the secret neutrality treaty which expired in 1890, and in 1891 Russia concluded an alliance with France which from then on considerably reduced the influence of the Triple Alliance. The menace of a France recovered and supported by a strong ally again loomed up, and the dissatisfaction of German public opinion, increased by the severe criticism of the retired "iron chancellor," resulted finally in the resignation of Von Caprivi.

His successor, Prince Chlodwig Hohenlohe-Schillingfuerst, 1894-1900, was an experienced diplomat, distantly related to the emperor, and possessing much stronger convictions of his own. By this time Germany's industrial development had made immense strides. From an agricultural country it had changed to a nation deeply interested in industry and commerce. Its merchants contended everywhere for the world's trade. Articles of German manufacture made the term "made in Germany" a by-word of quality and efficiency. Riches flowed into the empire in a steady stream. Riches, however, were not the only result of this development. The young empire began a fight for leadership in manufacture and commerce, in science and the arts. To achieve these ambitions, German agents and salesmen penetrated all countries, new and old, and built up vast markets for German products, at the same time using every means available to undermine and destroy the economic influence of other nations. Nor was the empire contented with material gain and new-found prestige; Germany abandoned its former policy of concerning itself only with European affairs, and became a sinister and unscrupulous opponent of other great powers in the dangerous game of "world politics." We are not concerned here, however, with this feature of Germany's advance, which is fully treated elsewhere.

This period brought out more and more the strong individuality of William II, who had early—earlier, perhaps, than anyone else—recognized his country's new needs, and who put all of his immense vitality into his efforts to fill them. Some results were: the beginning of a very definite and extensive naval program, the building and completion (1895) of the Kaiser-Wilhelm Canal between the Baltic and the North Sea, active participation in the development of Turkey in Europe and Asia, the acquisition of a "sphere of influence" in China, and the lease of Kiao-chau in 1897, the purchase of the Carolina Islands in 1899. All these activities brought Germany more and more frequently in contact and often in conflict with English interests. Its naval ambitions aroused the suspicions of the old mistress of the sea, and relations which at no time since the death of William I had been overcordial became more strained.

In 1909, Prince Hohenlohe was succeeded by his Foreign Secretary, Count, later Prince von Buelow. Though an experienced diplomat and a man of great intelligence and culture, he found his road beset with difficulties. Not only had he to face in international politics at every step the dual alliance of France and Russia, which was becoming rapidly more intimate, but English aversion against German independence in matters of world politics, and English resentment against German expansion grew day by day. The culmination of this general dread of German ascendancy found expression in the formation of the Anglo-French entente cordiale of 1904 and the Anglo-Russian arrangement of 1907, of which we shall hear more when considering the histories of the three countries directly involved. Whether or not the German claim that these agreements were concluded with the ulterior motives of isolating and then crushing Germany and her allies had foundations, is of little importance. For the fact remains that they were considered in this light, not only by Germany's diplomats, but by the nation at large, and ever after Germany's foreign policy was based on this consideration.

Even before England had actually come to a definite understanding with Russia, the first test was put to the new line-up of the European powers. In 1905 trouble arose about the extension of French influence in North Africa. Although a general European war seemed more possible at that time than at any other time within recent years, it was averted as a result of the so-called Algeciras Conference. In this first inning Germany won together with Italy and Austria against France, backed by Russia and England, and the result was the declaration of Morocco's integrity.



During the next decade the foreign policy of Germany showed the same chief characteristic that was noticeable in that of the other countries—high tension. One is almost tempted to compare this period of Europe's history to the hours immediately preceding a violent electrical storm. The diplomatic atmosphere was surcharged with electricity, and long before the storm really broke the growl of distant thunder could be heard and occasional flashes of lightning announced its approach. That, in spite of all signs, so many people firmly believed that the storm would never break, is easily explained with the innate optimism of mankind, and is on a par with the spirit of unbelief in unpleasant things that makes people go out unprepared for rain, as long as rain only threatens, but does not actually fall.

In 1911, Morocco again almost became the stumblingblock. In that year France annexed this north African country in spite of the agreement that had been reached at Algeciras. Germany immediately entered a strong protest, which, however, was later withdrawn in consideration of certain commercial privileges in connection with the development of the country, and the cession of territory in central Africa. Once more war had been avoided.

This period also saw numerous upheavals in the Balkans. Throughout these Germany made it clear that it would permit nothing in that part of the world which would work out to the disadvantage of its ally—Austria.

In spite of temporary reduction in the tension existing between Germany on the one hand, and England, France, and Russia respectively on the other, the differences between these countries became more marked, diplomatic clashes more frequent, and their mutual suspicion of each other more pronounced. England especially resented the ambitious naval program of Germany, which seriously threatened British supremacy on the sea and forced England to tremendous expenditures to maintain its overwhelming naval strength. France was menaced by Germany's increase in the peace strength of its army, which was accomplished in 1913 by means of special taxation known as the "Wehrbeitrag."

The German-French relations were influenced considerably, not only by French colonial policy, but also by conditions in Alsace-Lorraine. We have already heard of the French attitude in regard to these so-called "lost provinces." Right after the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71, and for a considerable period afterward, the desire for restitution and the demand for the reconquest of the lost territory undoubtedly was as sincere as it was widespread among the French nation. It is, however, no less true that these sentiments decreased in fervor, and most likely would have subsided entirely if they would have been permitted to take their natural course. Instead of this, this question gradually became a political issue of the first magnitude, and now one political party and then another would use it for its own purposes. It was thus that the French-German animosity was kept alive and nurtured. On the German side the more or less uncompromising attitude toward all things French as far as Alsace-Lorraine was officially claimed to be a matter of political necessity. At any rate it gave continual opportunities to French politicians to make capital out of the conditions as they existed in Alsace-Lorraine. One of the most severe outbreaks of anti-German and antimilitary feeling in that part of the German Empire happened in December, 1913, in the small Alsatian garrison town of Zabern, when some Alsatians of French antecedents and sympathizers were wounded in a clash with German officers and soldiers. Unimportant as this affair was, in a way, it resulted in a great deal of very pointed and unfriendly comment in the French press, and undoubtedly added fuel to the fire of Franco-German animosity which was burning even then stronger than it had done for many years.

In 1908, near the end of Prince von Buelow's incumbency of the chancellorship, his position became very difficult, because of the general disapproval on the part of the nation of the German emperor's custom to make long speeches concerning foreign affairs. Some of these speeches caused a considerable amount of offense in foreign capitals, and, while this matter, too, may be considered a minor detail in Germany's relations with foreign powers, it had at the same time some influence. Throughout this period the chancellor was supported by a combination of the National-Liberal and Conservative parties. But in 1909 the continuation of this combination became impossible on account of the divergence of opinion existing between these two parties in regard to the Government's financial reforms. The National-Liberal as well as the Social-Democrat and other radical members of the Finance Committee withdrew, and the Conservatives formed a new combination with the Center party. This new majority, however, made so many changes in the original Government bill, and forced through measures which the chancellor so thoroughly disapproved, that he handed his resignation to the emperor. It was not accepted right away, but upon his continued insistence, he finally was permitted to resign in July. His successor was Dr. von Bethmann-Hollweg, up to then Minister of the Interior of Prussia, a member of an old patrician house with strong National-Liberal tendencies.

In 1910 the Far Eastern problem again became acute. Russia, Japan, and England, of course, were most vitally interested in the future of China. Both France and Germany, too, had important commercial interests. For a time it looked as if these great powers would clash about the Chinese question, which each wished to solve in such a manner that the greatest possible advantage and gain would come to itself and none or the least possible to the others. However, in 1910 the United States proposed that the Manchurian railway, just then the principal issue, be financed by an international syndicate, reasserting, thereby, its previous stand for an "open-door" policy in China. Germany supported this attitude, and undoubtedly did not make through this action any friendships among the other powers.

In May, 1911, the Reichstag, after long discussion, accepted a bill giving a separate constitution to Alsace-Lorraine, making, thereby, this territory more equal to the other parts of the German Empire. This action, of course, was welcomed by the inhabitants of Alsace-Lorraine, and was a long step toward reconciling them sometime to the German overlordship. In the same degree in which it accomplished this it caused displeasure in France, where, by this time, every success in the Germanizing of the "lost provinces" was viewed naturally with almost as much disapproval as the original occupation.

It was in the same year, 1911, that the Morocco difficulties arose again with France, as we have already seen, but in spite of the appearance of a German gunboat at the port of Agadir and the threatening attitude of Germany, matters were finally settled amicably. The terms of the settlement, however, pleased neither the German nor the French nation at large, and a considerable feeling of enmity remained.

Late that year, 1911, a determined campaign was started by the German Navy League in an effort to bring about an increase of Germany's naval forces through the force of public opinion. This activity, which met with considerable success, was viewed with alarm and displeasure in England. These sentiments grew and spread to France when in the spring of 1912 the newly elected Reichstag adopted a bill carrying greatly increased expenditures for both army and navy.

In the summer of 1912 the Balkan question, which is treated in detail in a separate chapter, assumed threatening proportions. Germany as well as the other great powers, however, at that time managed to find a common basis and kept all from active participation in the two Balkan wars, restricting their activities to the exertion of their various influences for as just a settlement as was possible under the circumstances when the time for settlement had arrived in 1913. In spite of the inactivity of the powers there can be no doubt that their respective attitudes at that time toward the various Balkan States and their ambitions had an important influence on the latter's attitude toward the various powers after the war of 1914 had broken out.

In December, 1912, the Triple Alliance was renewed, although even then the conflicting interests of Italy and Austria in the Balkans had made such a step somewhat doubtful.

The early spring of 1913 brought with it the uncovering of a rather extensive scandal in connection with the manufacture of guns and other war materials. One of the Socialistic leaders in the Reichstag charged some officials of the great munition firm of Krupp and of other firms with bribery of War Department officials, and with the creation of artificial war scares in other countries for the sake of increasing munition orders. Although the German courts later sustained this contention to a certain extent, and although it resulted in a certain amount of antiwar sentiment, Germany continued with its well-defined program of increased preparedness. That the Government had behind it in its efforts the full support of public opinion was proven in June of the same year, 1913, by the passage in the Reichstag of another bill carrying considerable increases in the peace strength of the army, and by the fact that the necessary expenditures were met by special taxation, which, though severe in its effects alike on poor and rich, was borne cheerfully by the entire nation.



Although the Balkan question continued to be the source of considerable anxiety and extensive diplomatic conferences, the political horizon of Europe during the latter half of 1913 and the first half of 1914 seemed comparatively cloudless to all but the keenest observers. Like a flash of lightning out of a clear sky, therefore, came the news that the heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary, Archduke Francis Ferdinand, and his wife, the Duchess of Hohenberg, had been assassinated during a visit to Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia, June 28, 1914, and that the Austrian Government had determined to hold Serbia responsible. England, France, Russia, and Serbia tried, in vain, during the next five weeks to check the outbreak of a general European war.



CHAPTER II

AUSTRIA-HUNGARY

Amongst the great European nations the Austro-Hungarian Empire occupies a unique position. In number of inhabitants it is inferior only to Russia and Germany, whereas it occupies more territory than any other European country, with the single exception of Russia. In spite of this, however, Austria-Hungary possesses no foreign colonies, and those of its inhabitants who, for one reason or another, decided to leave the land of their birth, have, therefore, for years emigrated to foreign countries, and have been lost, in large numbers, to their native country. Of course, the desire for expansion, which is one of the chief characteristics of the historical development of the various nations during the twentieth century, made itself felt in Austria-Hungary as well as everywhere else. Not having any colonies and not having either the financial or military means of acquiring any, the Dual Monarchy has for many years been deeply interested in the Near East. There vast stretches of undeveloped territory, much of which was immediately adjoining its own territory, created a strong desire for possession, or at least for a preponderating influence. This desire was intensified by the peculiar racial conditions which existed in the Dual Monarchy.

Austria-Hungary in this respect also differed from all the other European nations. In each one of the other countries of Europe there was one race that was more numerous and more influential than any of the other races that might inhabit the same country. In Austria-Hungary, however, there were living side by side a number of widely different races. Germans, Bohemians, Poles, Hungarians, Serbians, and others. Of most of these races additional numbers were living in one or another of the adjoining countries, and this condition brought about a continuous desire on the part of these different nations to unite. For instance, the Poles living in Austrian Galicia never gave up their hope of once more becoming united with their fellow Poles in Prussian and in Russian Poland. In the same way the Rumanians in the Austrian province of Bukowina cast longing eyes toward Rumania and Russian Bessarabia; the Austrian Serbs did the same in respect to Serbia and so on.

All attempts of the Government to change this condition appeared to be futile, whether these attempts were of a friendly or of a hostile and oppressive nature. Legislature of any kind, as long as it affected racial questions, was not only unsuccessful in accomplishing its ends, but often resulted in bitter parliamentary discussions and hostilities. The resentment of the various racial units of the Dual Monarchy against such legislation was only deepened by the fact that for many years the actual power of government lay in the hands of the Germanic part of the empire in spite of the fact that the Germans, though in many ways the most advanced, were the least numerous.

In view of all these conditions it is rather remarkable that the Dual Monarchy should have held together as long as it did and, indeed, its disruption was frequently prophesied and as frequently expected. It is clear, therefore, why every attempt on the part of the different Balkan nations to readjust their affairs deeply interested and affected Austria-Hungary. For, even if the empire had given up all thought of profiting itself by such a readjustment, there was always the danger that it might lose both in territory and population. Such a loss, however small, would have seriously embarrassed the Dual Monarchy. For not only might it have resulted in further losses of the same nature, but also from a financial point of view the empire could not afford a diminution of any of its resources. As national wealth goes, Austria-Hungary cannot be considered rich by any means, being in this respect almost on an equal basis with Italy, which has only two-thirds the number of inhabitants and less than one-half the extent of the Dual Monarchy.

Considering the many difficult problems of political, financial and economic nature which the possession of colonies created for the various colonial powers of Europe, Austria might have considered itself fortunate because of its entire lack of colonies. However, the problem of Balkan readjustments, upon which we have touched just now, took the place of colonial problems and brought to Austria as many difficulties and entanglements as any colony has ever brought to its possessor. It was along that line that Austria-Hungary was brought into contact with the other nations of Europe. Of these Russia was the one most vitally interested in the same questions as Austria. For of almost every race that inhabited Austria additional numbers were living in Russia and whatever one country did or attempted to do in the Near East was looked upon with suspicion by the other. Turkey, too, of course, was vitally interested and affected by Austria's policy in the Near East and so was England ever since its foreign policy had been committed to the principle of keeping the Near Eastern status quo undisturbed.