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SELF-INTEREST was the dominant note of the years immediately preceding the outbreak of The Great War. In economics and in politics, among individuals, social classes, and nations, flourished a self-interest that tended more and more to degenerate into mere cynical selfishness. Pseudo-scientists there were to justify the tendency as part of an inevitable "struggle for existence" and to extol it as assuring the "survival of the fittest." Economic circumstances had provided the setting for the dogma of self-interest. The latest age in world history had been the age of steam and electricity, of the factory and the workshop, of the locomotive, the steamship, and the automobile. It had been the age of big competitive business. Between the capitalists of the new era had developed the keenest rivalry in exploiting machinery, mines, raw materials, and even human beings, with a view to securing the largest share of the world's riches and the world's prestige. It was a race of the strong, and "the devil take the hindmost." Competition in big business gave manners and tone to the whole age. It inspired a multitude of mankind to emulate the "captains of industry." It furnished the starting-point and the main impulse for the development of the doctrines of Socialists and of Anarchists and of all those who laid stress upon "class consciousness" and "class struggle." It even served to set farmers against manufacturers and to pit "producers" against "consumers." To secure power and thereby to obtain wealth, or to secure wealth and thereby to obtain power, became the more or less conscious end and aim of individuals and of whole classes...
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Copyright © 2016 by Carlton Hayes
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THE GREAT WAR COMES
THE GENERAL CAUSE: INTERNATIONAL ANARCHY
THE IMMEDIATE CAUSE: GERMANY
THE OCCASION: THE ASSASSINATION OF AN ARCHDUKE
GERMANY CONQUERS BELGIUM AND INVADES FRANCE
MOBILIZATION AND STRATEGY
THE CONQUEST OF BELGIUM
THE INVASION OF FRANCE
GERMAN GAINS IN THE WEST – AND FAILURE
RUSSIA FAILS TO OVERWHELM GERMANY: THE RUSSIAN INVASION OF EAST PRUSSIA
THE RUSSIAN INVASION OF GALICIA
THE GERMAN INVASION OF RUSSIAN POLAND
THE SECURITY OF SERBIA
GREAT BRITAIN MASTERS THE SEAS: IMPORTANCE OF SEA POWER
THE PARTICIPATION OF JAPAN
THE CONQUEST OF THE GERMAN COLONIES
TURKEY’S SUPPORT OF GERMANY
GERMANY’S COUNTER-OFFENSIVE ON THE SEAS
THE ALLIES ENDEAVOR TO DOMINATE THE NEAR EAST: ALLIED OPTIMISM IN THE SPRING OF 1915
THE ATTACK ON THE DARDANELLES
ITALY’S ENTRY INTO THE WAR
RUSSIA RETREATS: MACKENSEN’S DRIVE: THE AUSTRIAN RECOVERY OF GALICIA
HINDENBURG’S DRIVE: THE GERMAN CONQUEST OF POLAND
REVIVAL OF POLITICAL UNREST IN RUSSIA
FAILURE OF THE ALLIES TO RELIEVE RUSSIA
GERMANY MASTERS THE NEAR EAST: DECLINE OF ALLIED PRESTIGE
BULGARIA’S ENTRY INTO THE WAR AND THE CONQUEST OF SERBIA
FAILURE OF THE ALLIES TO RELIEVE SERBIA: THE SALONICA EXPEDITION
COMPLETION OF GERMAN MASTERY OF THE NEAR EAST
GERMANY FAILS TO OBTAIN A DECISION IN 1916: TEUTONIC OPTIMISM AT THE BEGINNING OF 1916
THE DIFFICULTY AT VERDUN: “THEY SHALL NOT PASS”
THE DIFFICULTY IN THE TRENTINO: ITALY’S DEFENSE
THE DIFFICULTY IN IRELAND: SUPPRESSION OF REBELLION
DIFFICULTIES AT SEA: THE GRAND FLEET AND THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT
THE ALLIES FAIL TO OBTAIN A DECISION IN 1916: ATTEMPTED COÖRDINATION OF ALLIED PLANS
SIMULTANEOUS ALLIED DRIVES: THE SOMME, THE ISONZO, AND THE SERETH
THE PARTICIPATION AND DEFEAT OF RUMANIA
STALEMATE AND THE TEUTONIC PEACE DRIVE
THE UNITED STATES INTERVENES: THE STAKES: ISOLATION OR A LEAGUE OF NATIONS?
THE OCCASION: UNRESTRICTED SUBMARINE WARFARE
THE PROBLEM: PREPAREDNESS
RUSSIA REVOLTS AND MAKES “PEACE”
DESTRUCTION OF RUSSIAN AUTOCRACY: THE MARCH (1917) REVOLUTION
DISINTEGRATION OF DEMOCRACY: POLITICAL AND MILITARY EXPERIMENTS
DICTATORSHIP OF THE BOLSHEVIKI: THE NOVEMBER (1917) REVOLUTION
DEFECTION OF RUSSIA: THE TREATY OF BREST-LITOVSK
THE ALLIES PAVE THE WAY FOR ULTIMATE VICTORY: ALLIED PLANS AND PROSPECTS IN 1917
THE LESSON OF THE HINDENBURG LINE
RECOVERY OF ALLIED PRESTIGE IN THE NEAR EAST
SEEMING OBSTACLES TO ALLIED VICTORY
GERMANY MAKES THE SUPREME EFFORT: “WHOM THE GODS WOULD DESTROY”
THE DRIVE AGAINST THE BRITISH: THE BATTLE OF PICARDY
THE DRIVE AGAINST THE FRENCH: THE AISNE AND THE OISE
THE DRIVE AGAINST THE ITALIANS: THE PIAVE
THE FINAL GERMAN DRIVE: THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE MARNE
THE ALLIES TRIUMPH AND CENTRAL EUROPE REVOLTS: ALLIED VICTORIES IN THE WEST
ALLIED INTERVENTION IN RUSSIA
ALLIED TRIUMPH IN THE NEAR EAST: SURRENDER OF BULGARIA AND TURKEY
THE COLLAPSE OF AUSTRIA-HUNGARY: RESURGENCE OF OPPRESSED NATIONALITIES
THE END OF HOSTILITIES: FLIGHT OF WILLIAM II
A NEW ERA BEGINS
LANDMARKS OF THE NEW ERA
APPENDIX I. THE COVENANT OF THE LEAGUE OF NATION
APPENDIX II. AMERICAN RESERVATIONS TO THE TREATY OF VERSAILLES
APPENDIX III. AGREEMENT BETWEEN THE UNITED STATES AND FRANCE
SELF-INTEREST WAS THE DOMINANT note of the years immediately preceding the outbreak of the Great War. In economics and in politics, among individuals, social classes, and nations, flourished a self-interest that tended more and more to degenerate into mere cynical selfishness. Pseudo-scientists there were to justify the tendency as part of an inevitable “struggle for existence” and to extol it as assuring the “survival of the fittest.”
Economic circumstances had provided the setting for the dogma of self-interest. The latest age in world history had been the age of steam and electricity, of the factory and the workshop, of the locomotive, the steamship, and the automobile. It had been the age of big competitive business. Between the capitalists of the new era had developed the keenest rivalry in exploiting machinery, mines, raw materials, and even human beings, with a view to securing the largest share of the world’s riches and the world’s prestige. It was a race of the strong, and “the devil take the hindmost.”
Competition in big business gave manners and tone to the whole age. It inspired a multitude of mankind to emulate the “captains of industry.” It furnished the starting-point and the main impulse for the development of the doctrines of Socialists and of Anarchists and of all those who laid stress upon “class consciousness” and “class struggle.” It even served to set farmers against manufacturers and to pit “producers” against “consumers.” To secure power and thereby to obtain wealth, or to secure wealth and thereby to obtain power, became the more or less conscious end and aim of individuals and of whole classes.
Trade – the veritable red blood of modern industrial life – has not been, and from its nature cannot be, narrowly national. Not only must there be commerce between one highly civilized nation and another, but there must likewise be trade between an industrialized nation and more backward peoples in tropical or semi-tropical regions. The modern businessman has need of raw materials from the tropics; he has manufactured goods to sell in return; most important of all, he frequently finds that investments in backward countries are especially lucrative in themselves and stimulative of greater and more advantageous trade. So self-interest has been pursued abroad as well as at home, and usually with the most calamitously anarchical results. Whatever restrictions might be imposed by a strong national state on the selfish activities of its citizens at home were either non-existent or ineffective in restraining them wherever governments were unstable or weak. In backward countries the foreign exploiter often behaved as though “getting rich quick” was the supreme obligation imposed upon him by the civilization whose representative and exponent he was. The natives suffered from the unregulated dealings of the foreigners. And the foreigners, drawn perhaps from several different nations, carried their mutual economic rivalries into the sphere of international competition and thereby created “danger zones” or “arenas of friction.”
After 1870 this aspect of capitalistic imperialism was increasingly in evidence. Any one who would follow an outline-story of the exploitation of backward regions by business men of Great Britain, Germany, France, Italy, Russia, Japan, and the United States would perceive the process and would appreciate its attendant dangers. Any one who is at all familiar with the “arenas of friction” in Egypt, in China, in Siam, in the Sudan, in Morocco, in Persia, in the Ottoman Empire, and in the Balkans would be in possession of a valuable clew to a significant cause of every war of the twentieth century, particularly to the chief cause of the Great War.
What had complicated the situation was the fact that trade, though in essence international, had been conducted in practice on a national basis, and that foreign investors had been perpetually appealing for support not to an international conscience and an international police but to the patriotism and armed forces of their respective national states. In other words, anarchy had continued to characterize international politics as well as domestic economics.
There was no international organization. There was no general authority for the determination of disputes and for the regulation of world interests. There were at the opening of the twentieth century some fifty states, in theory absolutely independent, sovereign, and equal. In fact, the fifty were very unequal and even the strongest among them was not strong enough to maintain its independence should the others unite against it. Yet each proceeded to act on the assumption in most cases that it was self-sufficient and that its own self-interest was its supreme guide.
Running through the whole anarchic state-system, as woof through warp, was the doctrine of nationality. It is a common-place to us that a compact people speaking the same language and sharing the same historical traditions and social customs should be politically united as an independent nation. To the nineteenth century, however, nationalism was a revolutionary force. At its dawn there was no free German nation, no free Italian nation. But the all-conquering armies of the French Revolutionaries brought to the disjointed and dispirited peoples of Europe a new gospel of Fraternity, that men of the same nation should be brothers-in-arms to defend, their liberties against the tyrant and their homes against the foreign foe. Poetry glorified the idea of national patriotism, religion sanctioned it, and political theory invested it with all the finality of a scientific dogma. Within a century, the spirit of nationality produced an independent Greece, a Serbia, a Rumania, a Bulgaria, a Belgium, a Norway, an Italy, a Germany. Each nation – old and young – was proud of its national language, its national customs, its frequently fictitious but always glorious national history, and above all, of its national political unification and freedom.
Everywhere the doctrine of nationality has brought forth fruits in abundance. It has awakened all peoples to national self-consciousness. It has inspired noble and glorious deeds. It has stimulated art and literature. It has promoted popular education and political democracy. It should have led, not backwards to eighteenth-century indifferent cosmopolitanism, but forwards to twentieth-century inter-nationalism, to a confederation of all the free nations of the world for mutual cooperation and support. Hither, on the eve of the Great War, it had not led. And this was the tragedy of nationalism.
Nationalism was utilized too often to point citizens to what was peculiar to their own nation rather than to what was common to all mankind. It served to emphasize the exclusiveness of each state and to promote selfishness in a new and national form. It led nations which had not yet achieved complete unity and independence, like the Irish, the Poles, the Czechs, the Serbs, and the Rumanians, to combat more fortunate nations; and among the perfected nations it aroused such selfish intolerance as to render them tyrannical over dissident minorities and to cause them to entertain the notion that they were manifestly destined to impose their own brand of civilization or Kultur upon, if not arbitrarily to rule over, “inferior” races.
Nationalism, moreover, prompted whole peoples to give patriotic support to the pretensions of their relatively few fellow-citizens who in less favored lands were seeking profits at the expense of natives and perhaps of neighbors. The foreign tradesman or investor was under no obligation to an impartial international tribunal: he had only to present his international grievances to the uncritical and sympathetic ears of his distant fellow-nationals, with the usual result that his cause was championed at home and that redress for his real or fancied wrongs was forthcoming from a single one of the fifty sovereign states. And when tradesmen or investors of other nationalities appealed from the same distant regions to their several states, what had been an arena of economic friction between competing capitalists in backward lands speedily became an arena of political friction between civilized sovereign states.
In this fashion the spirit of nationalism operated to reënforce the anarchy both of international politics and of international economics. Modern imperialism, curiously enough, became an arc on the circle of exclusive nationalism. It was a vicious circle, and the only way to break it seemed to involve the method most terribly anarchic – employment of brute force – war! It had been in view of this grim eventuality that in the nineteenth century every sovereign state had been arming itself and utilizing every landmark in the progress of civilization in order to forge instruments of destruction. Imperialism – Nationalism – Militarism – these three stalked forth hand in hand.
Armed force was comparatively little used; its mere existence and the mere threat of its use ordinarily sufficed. Indirectly, if not directly, however, force and power were final arbitrament between each two of the fifty sovereign states. And it was no euphemism that every such state was styled a “Power,” and that certain states on account of the thickness and weight of their armor and the success that customarily attended their threats were popularly dubbed “Great Powers.” In a world like this there was little chance for international order and security. It was international anarchy – and that was all.
For many generations before the Great War the delicate relations between the jealously sovereign states – aptly called the “balance of power” – had been manipulated by a professional class of “diplomatists” with the aid of military and naval attaches and of spies and secret service. The customs and methods of diplomacy had been determined in large part at a time when they conformed quite nicely to the purposes and ideals of the divine-right dynasts of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, when democracy was constantly preached and increasingly practiced, they might have seemed old-fashioned and anachronistic. To be sure, there were some modifications both in the objects and in the methods of diplomacy: as a result of the industrial changes in our own day, economic questions provided a larger and more attractive field for tortuous diplomatic negotiation than mere dynastic problems; and by the use of the telegraph, the telephone, and the cable the individual diplomatist was kept in closer touch than formerly with his home government. Still, however, the diplomatists were mainly persons of a class, elderly, suave, insinuating, moving mysteriously their wonders to perform. Democrats who in many countries had laid violent hands upon innumerable institutions of despotism and had brought most matters of public concern to the knowledge of a universal electorate, hesitated to assail this last relic of divine-right monarchy or to trust the guidance of international relations to an enfranchised democracy which might by the slightest slip upset the balance of power and plunge an anarchic world into an abyss.
So the diplomatists in our own day continued to manage affairs after their old models. They got what they could for their fellow-nationals by cajolery or by threats. If they thought they could do more for their fellow-nationals by making special “deals” with diplomatists of other Powers, they did so, and presto! a “convention,” an “entente,” or a “treaty of alliance” defensive or offensive or both. The game had become quite involved and absorbing by 1914, and quite hazardous. Germany thought she needed aid to enable her to retain the loot which she had taken from France; Austria-Hungary thought she needed assistance in the development of her Balkan policy; Italy thought she must have help in safeguarding Rome and in defending herself from possible French or Austrian aggression. So German and Austrian diplomatists formed a “defensive alliance” in 1879, and Italy, joining them in 1882, transformed it into the “Triple Alliance.” This was the beginning of the alignment of the Great Powers in our own generation. Diplomatists of republican France and autocratic Russia cemented the secret defensive “Dual Alliance” in 1892. Diplomatists of democratic Great Britain and oligarchical Japan formed a Far Eastern “alliance” in 1902. Diplomatists of Great Britain and France effected a rapprochement and an “entente” in 1904. To this “entente” the diplomatists of Russia were admitted in 1907. And between Triple Alliance and Triple Entente the balance of power was so neatly adjusted that from 1907 to 1914 one trivial occurrence after another almost upset it.
Of course, the smaller states – the “lesser powers were mainly at the mercy of the “Great Powers” and their delicate balance. On the very eve of the Great War diplomatists of Germany and Great Britain were secretly negotiating the virtual partition of the colonial empire of Portugal. On the other hand, changes among the lesser powers might produce prodigious danger to the balance of the Great Powers. The defeat of Turkey by four little Balkan states in 1912-1913 appeared on the surface to be slightly more advantageous to Russia than to Austria-Hungary, with the result that Germany and her Habsburg ally were thrown into a paroxysm of fear, and one Power after another consecrated the year 1913 to unprecedented armed preparedness. By 1914 it actually required nothing less trivial in itself than the assassination of an archduke to exhaust the imagination and endeavor of the professional balancers between the Powers and to send the diplomatists scurrying homewards, leaving the common people of the several nations to confront one another in the most formidable and portentous battle-array that the world in all its long recorded history had ever beheld.
Those last years before the storm and the hurricane were indeed a strange, nightmarish time. Man had gained a large measure of control over his physical environment and a very small amount of knowledge about his true political, social, and economic needs. In most countries democracy and nationalism were growing by leaps and bounds. In other countries there was more or less mute protest against interference with national right and democratic development. Everywhere the Industrial Revolution was providing an economic foundation for international federation. Yet the spirit of the age seemed incapable of expression save in institutions which had been distantly inherited and which in most instances had outlived their usefulness. Recurring crises between sovereign states and increasing social unrest in every country were alike signs of the passing of a worn-out age and of the coming of a new age which should more perfectly square institutions with vital popular needs and longings. Those three shibboleths of the nineteenth century, – Nationalism, Imperialism, Militarism, – as interpreted in the traditional language of the exclusive state system, were producing the utmost confusion. Together they embodied the spirit of Anarchy, a spirit that could not permanently endure on a shrinking globe or among social animals. Together they were operating to produce a cataclysm which should stand forth as one of those great crises in Man’s historic evolution, such as the break-up of the Roman Empire, the Reformation, and the French Revolution. And the cataclysm came in the Great War. Its underlying cause was international anarchy. Its stakes were the perpetuation or the destruction of that anarchy.
The vices of modern political and economic life might be exemplified in greater or less degree by reference to the history of any Power or any country. Obviously they were more developed in the “Great Powers” than in the “Lesser Powers”; and of all the “Great Powers” the most perfect exemplar of nationalism, imperialism, and militarism, and therefore the most viciously anarchic in international relations, was Germany. It was Germany which precipitated the Great War.
Militarism is not merely the possession of large armed forces; it involves also the exaltation of such armed forces to the chief place in the state, the subordination to them of the civil authorities, the reliance upon them in every dispute. In explaining why a given nation may be peculiarly predisposed to militarism, at least four factors should be taken into account: (1) geographical situation, (2) historical traditions, (3) political organization, and (4) social structure. In every country one or another of these factors has worked toward militarism, sometimes two or three. In Germany all four have been fully operative in that direction.
For centuries German lands had been battlefields for aggressive neighbors. Situated in the center of Europe, with weak natural frontiers, these lands had been the prey of Spaniards, Swedes, Frenchmen, Poles, and Russians. From the Thirty Years’ War, in the first half of the seventeenth century, down to the domination of Napoleon Bonaparte, in the first decade of the nineteenth century, most of the German states were at the mercy of foreigners. What international prestige Germans retained throughout that dreary period was credited to the military prowess of Austria and more particularly to the waxing strength of Prussia. Prussia had no easily defensible boundaries, and her rise to eminence was due to the soldierly qualities of her Hohenzollern sovereigns – the Great Elector, King Frederick William I, and Frederick the Great. When, in the nineteenth century, the German Empire was created, it was the work of the large, well-organized, well-equipped army of Prussia, and it was achieved only at the price of French military defeat and of diplomatic concessions to Russia. After the creation of the German Empire in 1871 most of its citizens continued to believe that its geographical position between populous Russia and well-armed France required the guarantee of militarism for its future maintenance.
Despite the drawback of their geographical situation the Germans had finally achieved national unification, and among a people zealously worshiping the spirit of nationalism the process by which they had secured national union became their most hallowed historical tradition. It will be recalled that the first serious attempt to achieve the political unification of the Germanies was made by the democratic Frankfort Assembly in the stormy days of 1848-1849; that it represented a combination of nationalism and liberalism, of the German nation with the German democracy. But this first attempt failed. The second attempt, Bismarck’s attempt “by iron and blood,” was crowned with success. Bismarck’s three wars of 1864, 1866, and 1870-1871, solidly established the united German Empire. “Nothing succeeds like success,” and the three wars simultaneously sanctified the union of nationalism and militarism, of the German nation with the Prussian army. Moreover, as Prussia henceforth embraced two-thirds the area and three-fifths the population of the Empire and as the Hohenzollern king of Prussia was henceforth the German Emperor, the whole Empire was inevitably Prussianized, and Prussian history and Prussian tradition supplied the patriotic impulse to all Germans. In this way the tradition of militarism – the most important one that Prussia had – gradually supplanted the more cosmopolitan and cultural traditions which had once flourished in southern and central Germany, and in the pantheon of national heroes all German patriots inscribed tablets to the long line of warlike Hohenzollern monarchs, to the valorous Queen Louise, to Scharnhorst, Gneisenau, Moltke, and Roon, to the unscrupulous and forceful Bismarck – a veritable galaxy of Thors and Wodens.
With this tradition the political organization of the German Empire was in perfect harmony. Chief authority in the central government was confided to the Bundesrat, a close corporation of diplomatists representing the hereditary princes of the German states, meeting in secret session, and largely controlled by the chancellor, an official appointed by, and responsible to, the king of Prussia. Only secondary authority was intrusted to the popularly elected Reichstag. Prussia, as the dominant state in the confederation, retained her oligarchical and plutocratic form of government, with her parliament elected by the absurd and thoroughly undemocratic three-class system of voting. The Emperor, in training and profession a soldier rather than a civilian, was commander-in-chief of the army and navy, and his tenure was for life. Under the constitution of Prussia, whose contingent comprised the greater part of the German army, the Emperor-King might apply indefinitely from year to year to the support of the army the amount last voted by the parliament, instead of being obliged to depend upon annual financial grants. The German soldier took an oath of allegiance to the Kaiser and not to the Constitution. In Germany, finally, the military authorities were accountable for their acts only to military tribunals. Such an affair as that at Saverne in Alsace in 1913-1914 was a clear illustration of the disregard of the military for civilian rights and of the inability of civilians under German political institutions to obtain redress for their just grievances against the military.
Most potent of all factors in predisposing Germany to militarism was the structure of her society. In Germany more nearly than in any other highly industrialized country, agriculture has held its own and the agricultural classes have suffered less in purse and in prestige through competition with manufacturers and tradesmen. Not only have the German farmers preserved their economic independence, but a conspicuous group of them have continued to our own day to enjoy the greatest social prestige and to exert the greatest influence in politics. These are the landholding nobles and the country gentlemen of Prussia – the squirearchy, or Junkerthum. From time immemorial they had divided their attention between oversight of their extensive estates and the service of their Hohenzollern overlord in his civil bureaucracy or in his army. Unlike their fellows in France no mighty revolution had wrested their lands from them and no republican régime had deprived them of their offices and privileges. In our own generation the efficient civil service in Prussia and throughout Germany was still largely recruited from them; most commissioned officers in the large Prussian army were still appointed from their number; and they were still utilizing their positions of trust and power in order to serve their own class-interests. The Junkers could afford to be most intensely loyal and patriotic. They extolled militarism, and the extolling of militarism exalted them.
Second only to the Junkers in significance and influence were the capitalists, the product of that amazing industrial and commercial evolution through which Germany had passed in the last forty years. Not a country in the world had witnessed in so brief a time an economic transformation of such prodigious dimensions as the German Empire had experienced. Cities had grown rapidly; factories had been reared overnight; mineshafts had been quickly sunk into the bowels of the earth; an ever expanding fleet of merchant vessels had put to sea, carrying German manufactures to the uttermost parts of the globe; traders, suddenly gorged with gold, had speedily turned investors, and, imitating the example of older foreign industrialists, had rushed to exploit Africa and South Sea Islands and China and South America and the Ottoman Empire.
The capitalists, and the middle classes generally, might have been expected to come into sharp collision with the Junkers, so divergent were the natural interests of the two classes. As a matter of fact they did collide repeatedly in shaping domestic policies, and much of the internal history of the German Empire from 1870 to 1914 was the story of the conflicts and compromises between them. One sacred German institution, however, kept the class-struggle within patriotic bounds, and that institution was militarism. German traders and investors, arriving late in foreign and backward lands, usually found the keenest economic competition already proceeding between business-men of Great Britain, France, or some other industrialized Power; and were they to have an equal or a better chance in the international scramble for economic exploitation they would have to invoke the armed forces of Germany, their own “Great Power.” At home a huge military machine was ready to aim and fire. Admitting that the German army of the 1870′s was relied upon chiefly for defense against potential attacks of neighboring France and Russia, it may be affirmed that twenty and thirty years later it had become the standing threat by means of which German citizens were prosecuting their unregulated economic activities abroad and by means of which the whole German Empire was championing unrestrained anarchy in international relations. To the existing army, the capitalistic interests of Germany added the rapidly expanding navy with the threats therein implied. The Junkers officered all the armed forces and naturally extolled militarism. Militarism proved serviceable to the capitalists, and they in turn extolled militarism. By the iron ring of militarism were agricultural and industrial interests wedded. The Junkers were now serving the capitalists, and the capitalists were honoring the Junkers. The promise “to obey” was left out of the covenant, for both contracting parties had freely given that pledge to the high priest who solemnized the nuptials, to the Kaiser himself.
Even in Germany protests were raised from time to time against the extent of militarism and against some of the uses to which it was put. The numerically important party of the Social Democrats were particularly vocal in their denunciations. The Center, or Catholic, party had not always taken kindly to militarism. There were various groups of radicals who had inveighed against it. It was naturally viewed with dislike by dissident nationalities within the German Empire, such as the Poles, the Danes, and the Alsatians. Yet over these parties and factions the Junker and capitalistic patriots always managed to keep the upper hand, and in course of time the opposition dwindled rather than increased. The dissident nationalists and the pacifist radicals were relatively few and quite impotent. The Catholics grew more resigned to militarism when they discovered that it was being used to bolster up Austria-Hungary, Germany’s Catholic ally. And the Social Democrats were never given to violence; as time went on, they were too intent upon rolling up electoral pluralities to take a positive stand that might shock the patriotic instincts of their fellow-countrymen. The militarists in Germany were having their own way.
Forcefully the militarists cleared the way for German capitalists abroad. The German fist was shaken in the face of Japan in 1895 and in the face of China in 1897 and again in 1900. In 1896 there were threats against Great Britain in connection with affairs in South Africa. In 1898 there were veiled threats against the United States in connection with affairs in the Philippines, and in 1903 America was concerned with German threats against Venezuela. In 1896 the Kaiser himself, on a spectacular visit to Turkey, declared at Damascus that “at all times he was the friend and protector of the three hundred million Mussulmans who honored Sultan Abdul Hamid as Caliph” – an assertion not only of German political and economic interests in the Ottoman Empire but also of German opposition to British rule in India and in Egypt and to French rule in northern Africa. In 1904 the Kaiser encouraged Russia to fight Japan, and in the following year he utilized Russian military defeats in order to compel France, Russia’s ally, to alter her Moroccan policy. In 1908-1909 he stood “in shining armor” beside his own ally, Austria-Hungary, enabling her coolly and calmly to tear up an international treaty and to appropriate the Serb-Turkish provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina despite the entreaties of the states of Serbia and Montenegro and despite the lively sympathy of the Russians with their South Slav (Jugoslav) brethren. In 1911 Germany unsheathed the sword at Agadir, and put it up again only on condition of receiving a hundred thousand square miles of French colonial dominion in equatorial Africa. In 1912 and 1913, during the Balkan Wars, Germany proved herself a brilliant second to Austria-Hungary in preventing Serbian egress to the Adriatic, in driving the Montenegrins out of the town of Scutari which they had captured from the Turks, in erecting the petty principality of Albania, and otherwise in strengthening the Austro-German strangle-hold on Turkey and the Balkans. From 1895 to 1914 Germany pursued without cessation the policy of employing force and threats and bluff in order to win economic advantages and political prestige. “It is only by relying on our good German sword,” wrote Crown Prince Frederick William in 1913, “that we can hope to conquer that place in the sun which rightly belongs to us, and which no one will yield to us voluntarily. . . . Till the world comes to an end, the ultimate decision must rest with the sword.”
Militarism has been most frequently excused on the ground that it guarantees order and security. Paradoxical as it may seem, German militarism from 1895 to 1914 produced no such happy results. Not only was there a renewed epidemic of wars and rumors of war between states but there was the most astounding lack of a sense of security in Germany. The more Germany affronted Russia, France, and Great Britain, the higher rolled the wave of fear, even of panic, within Germany. Patriotic militaristic societies came into being by the score, societies like the Navy League, the Pan-German League, the Security League, performing the twofold function of preparing the mind for additional deeds of aggression and of instilling in the same popular mind the basest sort of fright and terror. Under the auspices of these leagues what might be termed a “psychology of suggestion” was communicated gradually and skillfully to the German masses. Russia was “menacing,” and as formerly there had been a “Yellow Peril” so now there was a “Slavic Peril.” France was thirsting for “revenge,” was “vengeful,” but also the French were “decadent.” The English were insanely “jealous” and Great Britain was “the vampire of the Continent.” Moreover, when “menacing” Russia and “vengeful” France and “jealous” Britain tended to draw together, the German professors of suggestive psychology began to exploit the word “encirclement” and to expatiate upon the ring of dangerous, greedy neighbors by which the Fatherland and child Austria were surrounded. As the ring best known to the German mind was of iron, this foreign “encirclement” was naturally termed the “iron ring.”
One step further went the terrifying phrase-makers of Germany. Now that they had made up their own minds and had gone far toward fashioning the conviction of the bulk of their fellow-countrymen that sooner or later Germany and Austria-Hungary would be crushed to death by the inevitable pressure of the encircling “iron ring,” they began to suggest and then to preach the necessity of a speedy open attack before the iron ring should become so strong as to be irresistible. Such an attack upon nominally peaceful neighbors could not be construed as “defensive war.” Yet from the German standpoint it would not be “offensive war.” The psychologists escaped from the dilemma by urging the plausible slogan of “preventive war.” And to the problem of finding the most favorable opportunity for inaugurating the “preventive war,” German militarists and German patriots turned their attention. In 1914 Germany was ready, and her governing class of Junkers and capitalists were willing, to precipitate war.
On June 28, 1914, the Archduke Francis Ferdinand, nephew of the aged Emperor-King Francis Joseph and heir to the Habsburg crowns, was assassinated, together with his wife, in the streets of the Bosnian city of Serajevo by youthful Serb conspirators. The outrage caused an instantaneous outburst of indignation throughout Austria-Hungary and Germany. For on Francis Ferdinand many hopes had been pinned. His piety had made him a favorite with Catholics; his loyalty to the German alliance augured well for the future maintenance of the international solidarity of the two great Teutonic Powers; his vigorous patriotism and his conscientious fulfillment of administrative duties were harbingers of the continued integrity and stability of the Dual Monarchy after the demise of Francis Joseph. Moreover, Francis Ferdinand was supposed to favor a special policy on the part of Austria-Hungary toward the Slavs of Southern Europe: to him was attributed the leadership in a scheme to transform the Dual Monarchy into a Triple Monarchy, in which the Serbs of Bosnia and the Serbo-Croats of Croatia-Slavonia and probably the Slovenes would constitute an autonomous entity resembling Austria and Hungary; and to him, therefore, was imputed by patriotic Serbians and Montenegrins the inspiration of the hostile attitude which Austria-Hungary, with Germany’s powerful backing, had taken, especially since 1908, toward the territorial expansion of the two independent Serb kingdoms.
Certainly the Serbs disliked Francis Ferdinand immensely and certainly from 1908 to 1914 they organized secret societies in Bosnia as well as in Serbia and Montenegro and conducted a deliberate propaganda with the more or less avowed object of wholly detaching the South Slav peoples from the Habsburg Empire. Naturally, then, when the official Austrian investigation into the archduke’s assassination indicated that the plot had been executed by Bosnian youths animated by the revolutionary secret societies of the Serbs and with the connivance of at least two officials of the kingdom of Serbia, the indignation of both Germans and Magyars was aroused. The government of Austria-Hungary solemnly affirmed that the very existence of the Dual Monarchy depended upon putting an end once for all to Serbian machinations, and with practical unanimity the responsible press of Germany declared that Austria-Hungary’s welfare was Germany’s welfare. But by the same token and with equal unanimity the press of Russia declared that Serbia’s welfare was Russia’s welfare. A new crisis, and a most serious one, had arisen in the Balkans.
One week after the Serajevo assassination, a conference of German and Austrian dignitaries was held at Potsdam. Precisely what was there discussed and determined upon we do not know. There is little doubt, however, that the Austro-Hungarian government received carte blanche to use the archduke’s murder as the pretext for dealing drastically with the one obstreperous Balkan state which had been thwarting the full realization of Teutonic political and economic aims in southeastern Europe. As recently as August, 1913, Austria had formally invited Italy to coöperate with her in crushing Serbia. At that time no good excuse existed for such a use of force and Italy had declined the invitation, but now the occasion was propitious and the ruling classes in Germany were favorably disposed.1 Perhaps the German dignitaries, mindful of the success of their former military threats in 1908-1909 and in 1912-1913, entertained the idea that if Germany were now again to stand “in shining armor” beside her ally, Russia would once more back down and leave Serbia to the tender mercy of Austria-Hungary. It would be Germany’s rôle by threats and intimidation to keep the Balkan conflict “localized.” Assuredly the German dignitaries must have foreseen the possibility of Russia’s not backing down and of the resulting precipitation of a general and truly Great War. But such a war, precipitated by Austria’s act and Germany’s threat, might be the heralded “preventive war,” through which Germany would break the “iron ring” of her jealous and greedy neighbors and assume in the wide world a* position to which her might and her Kultur destined her. It was a peculiarly opportune moment for provoking the “preventive war,” for at that very moment each one of the Entente Powers was embarrassed by domestic difficulties – Russia by a serious and violent strike of workingmen in Petrograd, France by an alarming popular opposition to the new three-year military law and by a scandalous murder trial of political importance at Paris, and Great Britain by the menace of civil war in Ireland. It was time to cast the die, and whether strained peace or vast war would eventuate was a minor consideration to the Imperial German Government. If Russia simply blustered, Germany would gain her point; if Russia fought, Germany would succeed even better. It would be another instance of “heads, you lose; tails, I win.”
Such at any rate is the burden of the testimony of a conspicuous German diplomatist, Prince Lichnowsky, the Kaiser’s ambassador at London during those decisive days. In a private memorandum prepared in 1916 and indiscreetly published in March, 1918, Prince Lichnowsky gives the most damning lie to the official contention of his government that it had had no prior knowledge of Austria’s plans against Serbia and that it had been most anxious to preserve peace and thereto had counseled moderation at Vienna. Referring to the Potsdam conference of July 5, 1914, he affirms that “an inquiry addressed to us by Vienna found positive assent among all personages in authority. Indeed, they added that there would be no harm if war with Russia were to result.” Prince Lichnowsky, who from personal acquaintance with the members of the British government had come to believe implicitly in the pacific purposes and policy of Great Britain, was greatly perturbed by what he deemed the mistaken policy of his own government in backing Austria-Hungary’s selfish Balkan policy, and he accordingly besought Herr von Jagow, the German foreign secretary, to recommend moderation to the Austrians. “Herr von Jagow answered me that Russia was not ready, that there doubtless would be a certain amount of bluster, but the more firmly we stood by Austria the more would Russia draw back. He said Austria already was accusing us of want of spirit and we must not squeeze her; and that, on the other hand, feeling in Russia was becoming more anti-German and so we must simply risk it.” If any confirmation of this point of Prince Lichnowsky’s memorandum is required, it is provided by the revelations of Dr. Mühlon, an ex-director of the Krupps, who learned from high German officials in the middle of July, 1914, that the Kaiser was fully cognizant of the Austrian purpose and that it was not the intention of the German government to maintain peace.
Provided, as we now know, with secret assurances of Germany’s unqualified support, Austria-Hungary presented to Serbia, on July 23, 1914, an ultimatum couched in the most peremptory terms; it breathed a ruthless determination to crush all Pan-Serb plotting regardless of international usage or of constitutional formalities. The ultimatum alleged that, by failing to suppress anti-Austrian conspiracies, Serbia had violated her promise of 1909 to “live on good neighborly terms” with Austria-Hungary, and had compelled the government of the Dual Monarchy to abandon its attitude of benevolent and patient forbearance, to put an end “to the intrigues which form a perpetual menace to the tranquility of the Monarchy,” and to demand effective guarantees from the Serbian government. As definite guarantees of good behavior Serbia was called upon to suppress anti-Austrian publications and societies, to discharge such governmental employees as the Austro-Hungarian government should accuse of anti-Austrian propaganda, to exclude anti-Austrian teachers and textbooks from the Serbian schools, “to accept the collaboration in Serbia of representatives of the Austro-Hungarian government for the suppression of the subversive movement directed against the territorial integrity of the Monarchy,” and to signify unconditional acceptance of these and the other Austro-Hungarian demands within forty-eight hours.
Thenceforth events marched fast. Russia, France, and Great Britain at once endeavored to obtain from Austria an extension of the time-limit of the ultimatum in order that the whole question might be submitted to general international negotiation, but to international anarchy rather than to international cooperation Austria-Hungary was committed and she sharply declined the request. On July 25, Serbia replied to the ultimatum, promising to comply with such demands as did not seem to impair her independence and sovereignty and offering to refer all disputed points to the Hague Tribunal or to a conference of the Great Powers. The Austrian government pronounced the reply evasive and unsatisfactory, broke off diplomatic relations with Serbia, and started the mobilization of her army. The Serbians removed their capital from Belgrade to Nish and began a counter-mobilization. War was clearly impending between Austria-Hungary and Serbia.
But a much vaster and more terrible war was impending. To the Russian view it was obvious that Austria-Hungary was planning to deprive Serbia of independence and to annihilate Russian influence in southeastern Europe. On the other hand the German government insisted that the quarrel was one which concerned Austria-Hungary and Serbia alone: it consistently and. pertinaciously opposed the repeated efforts of Russian, British, French, and even Italian, diplomatists to refer the quarrel to an international congress or to the Hague Tribunal. Unequivocally Germany declared that if Russia should come to the assistance of Serbia, she would support Austria-Hungary with all the armed forces at her command. The last resort of an anarchic world was in a test of physical strength, and the most powerful of all the Great Powers, thoroughly possessed of the demon of militarism, was deaf to all suggestions of negotiation and compromise and by threats and imprecations was pushing the whole civilized world to that ultimate anarchic test.
On July 28, 1914, – exactly one month after the archduke’s assassination, – Austria-Hungary formally declared war against Serbia. On the next day the Russian government decreed the mobilization of its army. On August 1, the frantic endeavors of various diplomatists to arrive at some peaceful solution of the Serbian problem were rudely arrested by the outbreak of war between Germany and Russia. Germany had presented a twelve-hour ultimatum to Russia, demanding immediate and complete demobilization; Russia had refused to comply; and Germany had declared war.
The German government knew that war with Russia was likely to involve France. France was the sworn ally of Russia. There was popular feeling in France that common cause must be made with Russia if France were to preserve her own prestige and recover Alsace-Lorraine. Accordingly, on the very day of delivering the ultimatum to Russia, the German government demanded to know within eighteen hours what would be the attitude of France; if the French government should repudiate its alliance with Russia and promise to observe neutrality, the German ambassador at Paris was instructed to demand that the powerful French fortress of Toul and Verdun be handed over to Germany for the duration of the war. Apparently the German government was resolved thoroughly to humiliate, if not to crush, France. The French government, however, gave a non-committal answer to the German ultimatum, and began mobilization. On August 3 Germany declared war against France.
Thus, within a week of the declaration of hostilities by Austria-Hungary against Serbia, four Great Powers were in a state of war – Germany and Austria-Hungary against Russia and France. The attitude of the other two Great Powers of Europe – Great Britain and Italy – did not long remain in doubt. Italy promptly proclaimed her neutrality, on the ground that the war waged by her allies was not defensive, but offensive, and that therefore she was not bound to give assistance to them. Great Britain, however, appeared more hesitant. The English people certainly had sympathy for France and little love for Germany, and the British government, though liberal and pacifistic, had already informed Germany that, while their country was not formally engaged to help France or Russia, they could not promise in case of war to observe neutrality. By August 2, the British government had gone further and had announced that they would not tolerate German naval attacks on the unprotected western coast of France. And on the next day occurred an event which decided Great Britain to enter the war on the side of Russia and France.
On August 2, – twenty-four hours before the formal declaration of war by Germany against France, – German troops were set in motion toward the French frontier, not directly against the strong French border fortresses of Verdun, Toul, and Belfort, but toward the neutral countries of Luxemburg and Belgium, which lay between Germany and less well-defended districts of northern France. Both Germany and France had signed treaties to respect the neutrality of these “buffer states,” and France had already announced her intention of adhering loyally to her treaty engagements. But on August 2 German troops occupied Luxemburg in spite of protests from the grand-duchess of the little state; and on the same day the German government presented an ultimatum to Belgium demanding within twelve hours the grant of permission to move German troops across that country into France, promising, if permission were accorded, to guarantee Belgian independence and integrity and to pay an indemnity, and threatening that, if any resistance should be encountered, Germany would treat Belgium as an enemy and that “the decision of arms” would determine the subsequent relations between the two Powers. The Belgian government characterized the ultimatum as a gross violation of international law and not only refused categorically to grant Germany’s request but appealed at once to Great Britain for aid in upholding the neutrality of Belgium.
The neutrality of Belgium had long been a cardinal point in the foreign policy of Great Britain. The British had fought against Napoleon I in part because of the annexation of Belgium by France, and they had opposed the threatened aggression of Napoleon III against the little kingdom; they were not likely to view with favor German attacks upon Belgium or its possible incorporation into the German Empire. On August 4, therefore, when news was received in London that German troops had actually crossed the border into Belgium, Sir Edward Grey, the British foreign secretary, dispatched an ultimatum to Germany, requiring assurance by midnight that Germany would respect Belgian neutrality. Germany refused, on the ground of “military necessity,” and Bethmann-Hollweg, the German chancellor, with evidence of anger and disappointment, rebuked Great Britain for making war for “a scrap of paper.” The next day, Mr. Asquith, the British prime minister, announced that a state of war existed between Great Britain and Germany.
On August 6, Austria-Hungary declared war on Russia. On the following day little Montenegro joined her fellow-Serb state of Serbia against Austria-Hungary. On August 9, a state of war was proclaimed between Montenegro and Serbia, on one hand, and Germany, on the other; on August 13, between France and Great Britain, on one hand, and Austria-Hungary, on the other. This completed the first alignment of the European Powers in the Great War: Germany and Austria-Hungary, on the one side, against Russia, France, Great Britain, Serbia, Montenegro, and Belgium, on the other. It was speedily evident that the opposing combinations were fairly evenly matched in resources, in prowess, and in determination, and that the war would be not only terribly expensive but horribly destructive and long drawn out. There was no sign that either Germany or Austria-Hungary would consent to make peace separately; and on the other side, Great Britain, France, and Russia mutually engaged by the Pact of London, of September, 1914, not to conclude peace separately nor to demand terms of peace without the previous agreement of each of the others.
IN PRECIPITATING THE GREAT War, the German militarists had dictated to the governments and the diplomatists; in waging it, they dictated to the nations. No European people was advised of the actual situation until war had been declared, and every popular demonstration against war was inexorably suppressed. At Berlin meetings of Social Democrats and pacifistic radicals were broken up, and as soon as war was proclaimed a most rigorous censorship of the press was enforced. So skillful were the German Government’s pleas “that the sword had been thrust into its hands,” so densely ignorant of the real facts were the bulk of the German people, so patriotic were they all, that there was a pathetically general and speedy acquiescence in the decision of the militarists. With the formal order for mobilization, issued in Germany on August 1, 1914, crowds surged through the streets of Berlin cheering and singing patriotic songs. The war found the German nation superbly confident and tremendously loyal. On August 4 the Reichstag unanimously passed all the necessary war bills and authorized extraordinary war credits. This time the Social Democrats joined with the other parties in applauding the Kaiser.
If an aggressive Power could so instantly command the enthusiastic support of all its citizens, it is not surprising that the peoples obviously attacked should rally immediately and whole-heartedly to the military aid of their governments. This was what happened in Serbia, Russia, Belgium, and France. Even in Great Britain, though the resignation of three members of the cabinet on the eve of hostilities indicated opposition to entering the struggle, the appointment of Lord Kitchener as secretary of war and the popular favor accompanying it subsequently signalized the triumph of the war-spirit. From German sources emanated reports that a serious pacifist and Laborite resistance was being encountered by the British government; on the contrary, a statement issued by representatives of all sections of the labor movement in October, 1914, pledged the loyal support of the British working classes for the war against German militarism, since the victory of the German army “would mean the death of democracy in Europe.” All the independent peoples of Europe were loyal to their several Governments. Truly the Great War was to be a War of the Nations.
Before military operations could be inaugurated on a large scale in any theater of the war, the millions of men composing the “citizen armies” of the various Continental belligerents had to be collected, equipped, and sent to the front, that is “mobilized.” In time of peace each nation had troops scattered in towns and camps all over the country. Take Germany for example. Germany’s standing, or “peace,” army was composed of about 800,000 officers and men, organized in twenty-five army corps. On a peace footing, an army corps numbered about 20,000. For war each army corps was raised to a strength of about 43,000 men by the inclusion of “active reserves,” i.e. men who had recently served and were still under twenty-eight years of age. This gave Germany a field army of over 1,100,000 young trained men. Next, the Landwehr or second line, consisting of trained men between twenty-eight and thirty-nine years of age, was called up to reinforce the first line. The Landwehr numbered about 2,200,000. The third line or Landsturm included 600,000 trained men of middle age, who would be called upon for special aid behind the front and for defense against invasion. In addition Germany had at least 500,000 able-bodied men of military age who had been excused from regular military service and could be used in case of war to replace the wounded and killed. Thus there were military forces in Germany, already trained, amounting to 4,400,000, and of the untrained enough more potential soldiers to bring up the grand total to nearly seven million men. War, therefore, meant military service for some member of almost every family.
The word of mobilization, flashed by telegraph to every corner of the German Empire on August 1, brought the active reserves to the appointed mobilizing center of each army corps. Some German corps were mobilized at frontier towns, such as Strassburg, Metz, Saarburg, and Coblenz. Others had to be transported by rail from the interior. The immensity of this movement may be faintly appreciated when one considers that an army corps required more than one hundred trains, each composed of fifty-five cars, for its transportation. Guns, rations, ammunition, artillery, clothing, hospital supplies, trucks, and horses went with the troops. In many cases the rations and horses had to be purchased from farmers at the beginning of mobilization, and motor trucks and clothing from merchants. The whole railway system was operated by military authorities on a special schedule calculated to bring the troops to the front in the shortest possible time. The huge national army was a perfect mechanism whose delicate adjustments might be thrown into fatal confusion by the blunder of one stupid official or the delay of one special train. Travelers who witnessed the German armies concentrating on the French frontier affirm that the marvelous German mobilization progressed with the precision of clockwork.
In France, in Austria-Hungary, and in Russia, mobilization was slower and less perfect in its appointments. But most reports confirm the impression that both the French and the Russian armies were put in the field with greater celerity and with far less confusion than could have been expected. Great Britain, alone of the belligerents, did not have the general compulsory military service, but her small standing army of 250,000 men was already in a state of high efficiency and preparedness; a hundred thousand volunteers appeared in a day or two; another army of half a million was recruited with little difficulty; and it was estimated that Britain, with her colonies and dependencies, could within three years send four million men to the theater of war.
No less perfect than the organization and movement of the enormous armies was the equipment with which they fought. The Great War was to be a war of machines, waged with the help of every deadly device science could invent. A feature of the conflict in the Franco-Belgian theater was the new Krupp 11-inch howitzer, weighing about seven tons, hauled by powerful motors, and capable of throwing an 11-inch shell at any object within a radius of five miles. But the surpassing achievement of the Krupp gun-factory at Essen in the early stage of the war was the production of a 16-inch (42-centimeter) siege-piece which could be transported by rail and readily emplaced on a concrete foundation. From this mortar, discharged by electricity, a shell one meter in length, weighing almost a ton, and filled with high explosives, could be hurled some fifteen miles.
In the field much smaller guns were ordinarily used. The German army employed a three-inch gun capable of throwing twenty 15-pound shells a minute at an enemy three miles away. The French field gun (the famous “75″) was of slightly smaller bore than the German, but of greater power and weight. Machine guns were used on both sides with telling effect. A machine gun is light enough to be packed on the back of a horse or drawn on a light carriage; it fires from five hundred to seven hundred shots a minute. The regular arm of the infantry was, of course, the rifle, tipped with the bayonet for hand-to-hand encounters; of the various makes, the German Mauser possessed the greatest muzzle velocity, although the French Lebel had a longer effective range.
Airplanes, whose value in warfare had long been discussed, now rendered priceless service, not only for general reconnaissance but also in locating the hostile force so that the artillery officers could instruct their gunners at what angle to fire at the unseen enemy. Even more important than the airplane was the automobile. Motor cars incased in steel and armed with rapid-fire guns accompanied the German cavalry on its swift advance. Speedy automobiles and motorcycles were invaluable for communication where telephone, telegraph, or airplane was not available. Enormous motor trucks, often provided with monster searchlights, were ceaselessly employed in conveying incalculable quantities of foodstuffs.
The Great War originated as a struggle on the part of Austria-Hungary and Germany against the “Slavic Peril,” against the great Slav empire of Russia and the small Slav kingdoms of Serbia and Montenegro. But from the very beginning of hostilities, Teutonic defense against Russia was of minor interest as compared with the attack on Belgium and France. The reason was quite simple. The German General Staff had planned to hurl the bulk of the German army first against France and then, having crushed France, to transfer it to the east to turn back the tide of Russia’s slow-mobilizing multitudes. For Russia, with all her 180 millions of inhabitants in Europe and in Asia, was spread over so vast an area and was so deficient in railways that ten of her thirty-six army corps could not arrive on the scene within two months, and the remaining twenty-six were not expected to begin a serious attack within the first few weeks of the war. Germany would leave a small force of her own to coöperate with Austro-Hungarian armies in holding back the Russian advance-guard, while with the rest she would overwhelm France. The German armies in the west would sweep across Belgium – with its network of convenient railways and smooth highways – turning the flank of the strong line of French fortifications along the Franco-German frontier, and swoop down upon Paris with irresistible might. The French army annihilated, the German troops could be shifted from the west to the east (it is less than 600 miles from Belgium to Russia, that is, about the distance from New York to Cleveland), and reserves could be brought up to defeat the oncoming Russians.
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