When the last sentence was written, no one doubted that Germany would surrender some time; the only question was “When?” Her last frantic drive came to an end with her defeat in the second battle of the Marne. In the autumn of 1918 she requested an armistice, with a view, it was generally believed, to creating an opportunity to get her troops, ordnance, munitions, and supplies safely back into Germany. She could then rest and prepare for another drive in the spring of 1919.
Nothing but unconditional surrender could be accepted, and the Allied lines pushed on. “Are you going to France?” some one asked an American soldier as he stood waiting on the wharf. “No, ma’am; to Berlin,” he replied.
People who were following on their maps the course of the war moved every day the flags of the Allies a little nearer the German boundaries. The German plan had been to make a drive, then rest and take plenty of time to prepare for another drive. General Foch’s plan was to keep up a continuous battle, striking first at one point, then at another, then at two together, no German ever knowing where the next blow would fall. The result was that at the end of his nine weeks’ campaign the line of the Germans on the Western Front was everywhere crumbling, while the Allies’ line was as powerful as at first. Guns, supplies, and prisoners were captured in large numbers by the Allies. Japan was winning victories in Siberia, and England in Palestine. On the Italian Front and in the Balkans the Allies were moving resistlessly forward. Austria begged for peace. Turkey signed an armistice that was really a surrender. Troops of the Allies took possession of the forts on the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles. The Turkish army was demobilized, and a great force of Allied mine-sweepers set to work to clear the straits of mines.
It was evident that the end of the war was at hand. Before the middle of October, 1918, the Belgian authorities sent word to the Belgian refugees in England to prepare for a return to their own country. People watched eagerly for news of the ending of the war, and in the gray of the morning of November 11, which it has since been proposed to call “Victory Day,” the cable under the sea thrilled with the announcement of an armistice between the Allies and Germany. Sleepy travelers were aroused by the tooting of their locomotives responding to the bells and whistles and shouts in every city and village along their lines. Long before daylight the streets of cities were full of happy, good-natured crowds. “The boys are coming home!” millions of Americans were saying joyfully to themselves. It is no wonder that boys and girls danced and sang; that men tossed up their hats and raided the toy shops for everything that would make a noise; that they rang bells and blew horns; that clouds of confetti swept around the sky-scrapers of New York; that processions marched through the streets of every city; and that when evening came, buildings were illuminated, bands played, and the whole country gave itself up to rejoicing. Most interesting of all the celebrations was that of the Sioux Indians of South Dakota. They danced their ancient Victory Dance and made as many speeches as their white brothers. One chief gravely expressed his joy for the victory over “barbarism such as Indians never heard of before.” Another said of the Germans, “Let them put away their barbarism, and then we will give their nation its old place by the sacred campfire of the nations.”
This armistice was the same as a surrender, because of the strictness of its terms. They were neither cruel nor unmilitary, but they were severe, because the nations could put no trust in the word of their treacherous foe, and to protect themselves they were obliged to leave Germany powerless to renew the warfare. They required that she should withdraw from the lands that she had invaded and make good all damage as far as possible. She must also vacate a long stretch of territory on the western side of the Rhine. Three great cities in this territory, Cologne, Coblenz, and Mayence, were to be occupied by the Allies. Another stretch of land, twenty-five miles wide, lying on the eastern side of the Rhine, the German troops were required to evacuate. Military stores and equipments must be surrendered, and both military and civilian prisoners must be set free. The quantity of material to be given up was enormous; for instance, 30,000 machine guns and 10,000 motor trucks. All money and securities which had been stolen from the countries of the Allies must be restored. The treaties imposed upon Russia and Rumania must be abandoned.
Most humiliating of all, perhaps, but necessary, were the terms imposed upon the German navy. Battleships, cruisers, submarines, and destroyers in large numbers had to be surrendered. To receive their surrender, two hundred and forty British ships of war were drawn up in the North Sea, together with French and American fighting ships, “Comrades of the Mist,” as Admiral Beatty called them. No opportunity for treachery was allowed, and the guns which had last been fired at the battle of Jutland were in such order that in thirty seconds a broadside could have been poured out. “German fleet in sight on the starboard bow,” called the lookout man in a matter-of-fact fashion, as the fleet advanced in procession. “The German flag will be lowered at sunset,” commanded Admiral Beatty, “and will not be hoisted again without permission.” At the close of the ceremonial, the English sailors gave three rousing cheers for their commander. “Thank you,” said the Admiral; and added, “I always told you they would have to come out.”
So it is that the end of the war has come, but not the end of difficulties. Germany is in the uproar of anarchy, and the streets of Berlin have flowed with the blood of her citizens. The Kaiser has abdicated his throne; he fled to Holland even before the armistice was signed. The Crown Prince is virtually a prisoner on a little island belonging to Holland. Germans bitterly regret that they have lost the war and are angry with the leaders who brought them into disaster and downfall; but neither Kaiser, junkers, nor everyday citizens have expressed the least penitence for the suffering which they have brought upon the world. How can these people be helped to “put away their barbarism,” as the Sioux Indian said, and be fitted to take a place “by the sacred campfire of the nations”?
And shall this barbarism go unpunished? “The country that recklessly plunged the world into agony must accept a stern reckoning,” said Lloyd George, Premier of England. This stern “reckoning” is not because, in the madness of warfare, occasional cruelty might have been shown, but because such cruelty is the settled policy and belief of a nation of more than 60,000,000 people, and the world must never again be called upon to suffer from it.
Many other questions are pressing upon us. How shall Russia be aided to find herself? Where shall the border-lines of the various countries—new and old—be drawn? Shall there be disarmament, and to what extent? What laws of trade must be formed? What is meant by the “freedom of the seas”? How can it be made sure that the smaller peoples may live unmolested by more powerful neighbors, greedy of wealth and territory? Shall there be a League of Nations, and what shall be its province and its powers?
It is such questions as these that must be answered at the Peace Table by representatives of the nations that have struggled together to withstand the onslaught of Germany. It is upon the wisdom and justice with which these questions are answered that, perhaps for many generations to come, the peace of the world will depend.
The year 1916 began with a struggle which lasted for six long months to decide whether a certain little town in France should be captured by the Central Powers or remain in the hands of the French.
That little town was Verdun. It runs up the hill from the Meuse River to the cathedral built long before America was discovered. It is not far from the border-line between France and Germany, and after the Franco-Prussian War the French set to work to make it the strongest town in their country. It is much more than merely a “fortified town”; it is a wide area of land with fortified positions at every turn—not in plain view by any means, but concealed so cunningly that the sharpest eyes could not discover them. There are secret roads, mysterious gun-pits, where one would never think of looking for a gun, but so placed that one or another of them can command every approach. Underground there is a whole labyrinth of passageways, besides galleries, tunnels, winding staircases, and a great number of rooms for all purposes, well ventilated and lighted with electricity. One might be roaming about aboveground, thinking himself almost alone; but if an alarm was signaled, troops would suddenly spring up from cellars and caves in the rock and all sorts of unexpected places. Around Verdun are wooded hills, and they too have been skillfully fortified. All these are the older defenses. More recently trenches have been made in most intricate arrangement and wild entanglements of barbed wire have been placed.
This is the fortress that the Crown Prince of Germany strove for six months to capture. It was the military key to western France, and, like Constantinople, it had a great sentimental value. Then too, thrones are a bit uncertain in these days, and many people thought that the German Crown Prince was determined to strengthen his hold upon the German folk by so notable a conquest. However that may be, the military people of Verdun suspected early in the year that something was going to happen. Soldiers and guns were brought up in great numbers. There were attacks on the Allies here and there along the Western Front, and the Kaiser paid a visit to his troops. Moreover, there was a certain stir and restlessness which soldiers known how to interpret. In the later part of February the attack began, and it continued until almost the end of the year with now and then a lull of a few days.
The hero of Verdun was General Pétain, tall, slender, and inclined to be silent. Before the war he was a retired colonel. Joffre, however, has a way of finding out when people have anything in them, and he called him back to service. Twice he was promoted within a year, and the was put in command at Verdun. This was the silent man’s opportunity, and he showed himself a genius in military strategy. The attack upon Verdun was carried on with ammunition in unlimited quantities and guns and men in unlimited numbers. The fighting as a whole was of the most terrible nature, with all the horrors of modern guns and modern explosives, but by the skill of the French general and the bravery of the French soldiers Verdun stood.
But what was England about that she did not come to the help of Verdun? That is what the fault-finders were asking. England was no “slacker.” Within one week of the outbreak of war, she had sent 40,000 men across the Channel. Within one month 500,000 had enlisted; two months later, the sum was 1,000,000; and in three months from then, 500,000 more had joined the ranks. “As to the women,” said the superintendent of one of the government factories, “I can tell you of a surgical-dressing factory near here, where for nearly a year the women never had a holiday. They simply would not take one. ‘And what’ll our men at the front do, if we go holiday-making?’ they said.” Just now England was hard at work on her plans and had no idea of explaining them to anybody. General Haig was in command, a canny Scot, with a charming manner but an expression that said, “I purpose to see this job through.” He had been examining the lay of the land opposite the English front on the Somme River. He was quietly building roads and a railway, and before long motor trucks and caterpillar tractors were bringing guns, shells, barbed wire, howitzers, bombs, and hospital tents. Landscape painters were called upon to help in the camouflage, and airmen sailed aloft to see how well they had succeeded. One succeeded altogether too well, if we may trust the story, for he camouflaged so perfectly the van in which homing pigeons had been brought that on their return they did not recognize it.
The preparations for what is now called the battle of the Somme continued. At length the word was given, and on the morning of July 1 the struggle began, directed by General Haig and Marshal Joffre. It did not end until the November rains brought it to a close. Fighting went on furiously, frequently as severe as at Verdun. It was here that the Germans had their first experience of a great lumbering “tank,” that roamed about like a gigantic caterpillar, but sent forth death and destruction in a fashion quite unlike caterpillars or anything else that the Germans had ever seen. Of course the commanders had hoped to break through the German lines and drive the invaders out of France. They had not done this, but they had kept large forces away from Verdun and had also made it possible for Russia to win a victory in the East.
During this year 1916 there were three especially important events in the history of the war. One was the siege of Verdun; one was the battle of the Somme; and the third was an engagement which took place in the North Sea on the last day of May, between the English and the German fleets.
During the war the English took the Orkney Islands for their naval base, and frequently they made “sweeps” through the North Sea. One afternoon in May, when the English cruisers were off the coast of Jutland, they met the German fleet, “spoiling for a fight.” In the old stories of pirates a sea-fight was carried on by grappling two vessels together, the men of one boarding the other, and fighting hand to hand with swords and cutlasses and anything else that was convenient. In a modern naval battle the ships are miles apart, and the gunners would find swords and cutlasses somewhat in their way. All the afternoon the vessels of the two fleets fought, but the English kept an eye to the north, for Admiral Sir John Jellicoe, one hundred miles away, had been sent for by wireless. Just before six o’clock his fleet of battleships made their appearance. Twilight soon came on, and the rest of the fighting was done in the dark. The English had no idea of ceasing to fight, but they discovered that their enemies had slipped away. To follow them into their mine-strewn area would have been utter folly, so they waited till morning. The Germans hastened to publish it abroad that they had won a great victory; but in the morning, when the English were patrolling off Jutland, not a German vessel appeared, nor was the German fleet seen again till one day nearly three months later, when it showed itself in the North Sea. Luck was against it, for the English were there also, and the fleet withdrew. The English navy has a proud record. It has cleared the ocean of German craft, has practically ended German commerce, and has by its protection made the commerce of the Allies possible.
Several other countries had now entered the war. Portugal was bound by treaty to assist England if at any time her aid should be needed. She had other reasons for fighting Germany, however, for both countries had territory in Africa, and to make sure of her own possessions, Portugal had promptly attacked those of Germany. Early in 1916 she confiscated some German ships which lay in her harbors; and not many days later Germany declared war on the little country.
Italy had belonged to the Triple Alliance for thirty years; but in this time her relations with the Allies, and especially with France, had been growing more cordial, while her relations with the Central Powers had been growing less cordial. The cause of this was chiefly a question of territory. When the present kingdom of Italy was formed, in 1861, there was considerable territory which was inhabited by Italians, but had not become part of the new kingdom. Winning this from foreign control came to be called “redeeming Italy,” and the Italian districts still remaining in the hands of Austria were spoken of as “Italia irredenta,” or unredeemed Italy. These districts lay about Trieste and the Trentino, and the lay of the land was such that it would be comparatively easy for Austria to push down into Italy, and not at all easy for Italy to thrust herself up into Austria. Italy wanted these districts, but Austria held on to them. Moreover, Austria, supported by Germany, had violated the Treaty of Berlin and had already seized upon Bosnia and Herzegovina. If she also got possession of Serbia, she would be able to stretch still farther down the eastern side of the Adriatic. Austria had no idea of yielding, and in 1915 Italy declared war on her.
Italy’s example was followed by her little friend San Marino, the oldest state in Europe, and the smallest republic in the world, for it contains only thirty-eight square miles. It looks upon Americans as its foster children, and declares proudly that the United States has adopted the Sammarinese form of Government. The independent little republic lies in the mountains about one hundred miles south of Venice, and near the eastern coast of Italy. It has been described as “a piece of land entirely surrounded by Italy.” In 1916 Italy, but not San Marino, declared war on Germany.
The “Fronts” had become many. There was now an Italian Front, a Galician Front, and an Armenian Front, to say nothing of invasions and attacks in numerous other places.
Of course long before this, when the war was only a few months old, the Turks had set their eyes upon Egypt and the Suez Canal. Egypt is ruled by England, and the Suez Canal is of great importance to all nations that trade with the East, and especially to England. That is why the Turks determined to attack it. Aside from the question of fighting, this was rather a difficult task, for the Turks had to cross the Sinai Peninsula, which extends into the Red Sea, and carry their artillery and supplies with them. Moreover, there are no railroads on this peninsula. Nevertheless, they succeeded and launched their boats on the canal. It was night, but the English troops discovered them, and the Turks fled. Through 1916, they kept troops in sight of the canal as a threat, but the English also kept troops there and were ready at any moment to defend the canal if necessary.
Things were particularly active near the Caucasus Mountains, to which the Grand Duke Nicholas had been sent after his disagreement with the Czar. Southwest of Caucasia is Armenia, a part of Turkey in Asia. The Armenians have for hundreds of years been oppressed by the Turks. During the last quarter of a century there have been at least three savage attempts, which the Turkish Government either planned or connived at, to destroy the whole race. In 1915 came the most terrible persecution of all. Thousands of Armenians were slaughtered on the spot. Other thousands were driven from their homes out into the deserts of Arabia, where starvation and exhaustion and the brutality of their merciless guards ended their lives. So far as the Turks gave any excuse for this barbarous act, it was that the Armenians would aid the Russians. During the earlier massacres England, France, and Russia had threatened and protested and had at length brought Turkey to terms. In this, the most terrible massacre of all, there was only one country that could have stopped her—Germany. And Germany said not a word.
When the Allies gave up the attempt to capture Constantinople and their troops moved away, the Grand Duke knew very well that some of the Turks would come at once to fight his Russian army in Armenia. He had been planning an attack upon two important cities in Armenia, Erzerum and Trebizond; and now he hastened to make the attack before the coming of the Turks from Gallipoli.
The Grand Duke had the advantage of a railroad which would land his supplies only eighty miles from Erzerum; but the Turks had a hard time getting theirs, for their nearest railroad was four hundred and forty miles from Erzerum. It would have been simple and easy if the Black Sea had been open to them, but that was in the hands of the Russians, and the Russians were decidedly successful in sinking ships. The Russians captured Erzerum with its guns and ammunition and stores of all sorts. A little later they took Trebizond. The Grand Duke had made a fine record for himself in Armenia.
The Russians had been driven out of Germany and Galicia and they had lost Poland; but they held a line from the Gulf of Riga to the border of Rumania. They had had a busy winter, and they had brought together a vast amount of ammunition. They planned a drive into Galicia, and they made it, for they captured Czernovitz, a city which they had taken in 1914, but had been obliged to surrender; then took one place after another, successful in whatever they attempted and taking thousands of Austrian prisoners. Russia was in her glory.
While the Grand Duke was capturing towns in Armenia, the English were attacking the Turks in Mesopotamia, or the country between the rivers, the place where some people think the Garden of Eden was situated. Late in 1914 the English with troops from India had sailed up the Persian Gulf and defeated the Turks near the head of the Gulf. They hoped to get possession of Baghdad, the city of the Arabian Nights, and the place which Germany planned to make the terminus of her railroad. They now came within about one hundred miles of the city of many stories, but when they had reached the little Arab village of Kut-el-Amara, the Turks surrounded them and settled down comfortably to starve them out. The native Arabs tried their best to leave the town, but “the more, the hungrier,” reasoned the Turks, and drove them back. The besieged troops were not strong enough to make a sortie. Sickness appeared among them, and the medicines gave out. English aeroplanes dropped into the village, not bombs, but 1800 pounds of food; but this did not last long when there were so many starving people to eat it. An expedition sent out for their relief had to turn back; and soon the Turks were rejoicing over a surrender.
Waging war on the Italian Front was no easy matter. Indeed, the Italians have struggled under greater difficulties than any other nation. Their line of trenches is longer than the whole Western Front; and many of these trenches have been dug out of snow and ice or blasted out of solid rock. In the valleys the Italians have fought in a burning heat, in the lowlands they have fought in water up to their waists. The Italian mountaineers, the wonderful Alpini, are not only experts on skis, but they know how to drive iron pegs into rocky walls and so clamber up precipices. They can make their barracks in caverns of ice, and more than once sudden storms have shut them up on their mountain peaks from December to April.
In the struggle for Trieste the Austrians quietly brought their troops from Russia to Trent, and collected supplies and ammunition in that place. They had the great advantage of being on high land, while the Italians were on low land. Suddenly the Austrians attacked their adversaries with heavy bombardment and drove them back to their frontier. General Cadorna was now made commander-in-chief. His plans did not include retreating, and before long he pushed forward, and now it was the turn of the Austrians to retreat. The Italians drove onward, and soon did part of what they had wanted to do, they captured Gorizia, thirteen miles from Trieste, and detachments of Italian cavalry entered the city in triumph with the King of Italy at their head. But they had only begun to carry out their plans. Trieste, the port that they had longed for, was so near that they hoped to push on and capture it. But the winter came upon them and the fulfillment of their hopes was delayed.
Rumania had been hesitating whether to join Germany or the Allies. She knew just what she wanted, and she was trying to select the winning side so as to get it. Like Serbia, she wanted to bring under one rule all neighboring people of her blood.
The Russians, her next-door neighbors, had been meeting with much success, and the Germans had not succeeded in taking Verdun; therefore she decided to join the Allies. Many Rumanians lived in Transylvania, just across the Hungarian border. Poor Rumania did not stop to consider what her allies were doing, or whether she was planning the wisest course that could be taken; she dashed across the border into Transylvania so suddenly that the Austria-Hungarian forces retreated before her. Then came fierce counter-attacks under Generals Von Mackensen and Von Falkenhayn. The Russians had come to Rumania, but they were in the extreme southeast of the land. The full force of a terrible drive came upon the little country. Early in December the Central Powers captured Bucharest, the Rumanian capital, and imposed upon its people a tax amounting to $380 a head. Straight through the land they went, from Hungary to the Black Sea; they had won rich wheat-fields and oil-lands. Little Montenegro, too, had been overcome, and King Nicholas had departed for France. Neutral countries had been shown what fate would befall them if they ventured to oppose the Central Powers.
This was the story of the year 1916. It was as a whole favorable to the Allies. They had had the advantage at Verdun, on the Somme, in Armenia, and on the sea. On the other hand, the expedition to Mesopotamia was a failure and Rumania had been crushed.
When the grandfathers of the present school-children were studying geography and came to the map of Europe, they found just north of Greece a broad band of country extending from the Black Sea to the Adriatic which was called Turkey. It was bounded on the north by the Save River, but at the northeast it stretched far up along the east side of the Carpathian Mountains. This was “Turkey in Europe,” but the Turks ruled a much larger territory in Asia, just across the Straits of Bosphorus.
The original home of the Turks was in Persia. They had gradually pushed on to the westward, until they held Asia Minor, Constantinople, and much of what is now known as the Balkan States. They had forced their way to the north and had even besieged Vienna. Then came struggles with Russia. Russia was successful, but the other European countries feared that she might become so powerful as to threaten them, and so made her give up most of her Turkish conquests. Europe wanted the Turks driven back into Asia, but no state was willing that any other state should become heir to their territory. An attack upon them would be likely to bring on a general European war. That is why no one ventured to interfere in 1895, when the Turks, who are Mohammedans, massacred tens of thousands of Armenian Christians.
In Turkey in Europe there were several small nations. They were inclined to quarrel among themselves, but on one point they agreed, namely, they all hated their ruler and meant to get free. Greece had freed herself long before Germany began the present war, and one by one most of the other little nations had declared their independence. Bosnia and Herzegovina had fallen into the hands of Austria-Hungary and were helpless. In 1878, after a war between Russia and Turkey, the Treaty of Berlin had been signed, which allowed Austria-Hungary to “occupy” and rule these two countries. In 1908, she announced that she should retain them as permanent parts of her empire. This was not according to the treaty, but for one reason or another nothing was done to prevent it.
The Balkan peoples—for the district took its name from the Balkan Mountains—were all excellent fighters, and if they had held together and been willing to yield a point to one another now and then, they could have driven the Turks out of Macedonia and Albania, and perhaps even across the Bosphorus. “Those peoples will never unite,” said the wiseheads of Europe; but in 1912 the unexpected happened, the little countries did unite, and they drove the Turks so far toward the Bosphorus that they had nothing left in Europe but Constantinople and a little of the country west of that city.
But now the Balkan countries began to quarrel again. Bulgaria did not think there had been a fair division of the land that she had won in the struggle. The result was that they had a little war of a few weeks among themselves, Serbia, Greece, Montenegro, and Rumania lining up against Bulgaria, and winning the day.
In the first war the influence of Germany and Austria had been in favor of Turkey; in the second war it had been in favor of Bulgaria. In both wars they had favored the side that lost. Russia had favored Serbia, and therefore was on the side that won. Not long before the Balkan Wars, the interests of France and Germany in Morocco had clashed, and France had come off victor. Within a few years, then, Russia and France had gained in prestige, while Germany and Austria-Hungary had lost. It was practically certain that as soon as an opportunity appeared, the last two countries would try to make themselves more powerful.
Taken as a whole, the people of the Balkans are a quick-tempered folk; and whatever strikes them as showing the least shade of injustice, they are ready to resent—with a gun. Indeed, in many districts, the inhabitants have such a relish for gunpowder that they delight in using it to welcome their friends as well as to make away with their enemies. Like the Russians they belong to the great Slavic family, but they are of different nations and origins.
In the Balkan States there is much that is beautiful. There are grand old mountains, deep green valleys, wide fields of swaying grain, and everywhere there are flowers. Bulgaria is so well adapted to the growing of roses that they are raised there by the million to make the delicious attar of roses; but wherever you go, there are daisies, wild clematis, poppies, and scores of other kinds of flowers, and the summer air is always sweet with the perfume of the honeysuckle.
Serbia is called the “poor man’s paradise.” In many parts of the country there are two crops a year, and the soil is so rich that a very little land will support a family. There are gypsies who wander about and beg and tell fortunes, but there are no poorhouses, and it is exceedingly rare to find a really needy person.
The capital of Serbia was Belgrade. It was a clean white city, and stood high up on a hill, looking far away to the mountains on the horizon. At the foot of the hill the Save River meets the Danube and sweeps half around the town. In the streets were trolley cars and also lumbering ox-carts drawn by the biggest and slowest of oxen. There were peasants just in from the country, the men wearing sheepskin coats, fur inside, and the women in short skirts of blue or cream-colored homespun, and always displaying an apron gorgeous with bright embroidery. On fête days the women sometimes wore long velvet coats embroidered with gold thread and fastened with gold buttons as big as marbles.
The Serbians were as independent in dress as in other matters, and when parliament was in session, some of the members wore handsome frock coats and fine linen, while others appeared in their sheep-skin coats or whatever else they might choose. They were not ignorant, these roughly clad farmers, and many of them had very good incomes; but they saw no reason for changing their garb to suit the whim of any one else. Many of them sent their sons to the university. They were a kindly folk, pleasant and hospitable, and proud of keeping their word. They loved their ballads and fairy legends; they sang the magnificent old chants in their churches; they said a bit of a prayer when they kindled their fires; and when they went to battle, they were the bravest of the brave.
There were two things that the Balkan peoples wanted with their whole hearts. One was to be free from Turkish rule; and this they had succeeded in bringing about. The other was quite a different matter, for they were not satisfied to be divided by mountains and rivers and political boundaries; they wanted to include in each state all the people of the same nationality. This would have been difficult enough even if they had been willing to keep within the limits of the group of states, but that would not answer their purpose. East of Rumania, for instance, was Bessarabia. Here lived many Rumanians; but of course Russia had no idea of giving up this fertile district, larger than Switzerland, just to accommodate Rumania. West of Rumania, in eastern Hungary, there was the same condition, for here too lived many Rumanians, and Austria-Hungary would not for a moment consider surrendering this part of her territory.
With Serbia matters were even worse. Her one great wish was to bring the Serbs under one rule by uniting Serbia, Montenegro, and the two provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina, which were in the hands of Austria-Hungary. If this had come to pass, Serbia would have been somewhat larger than the State of Michigan. Moreover, she would have won access to the sea, and would no longer have been obliged to get permission of her neighbors when she wished to send her products to market.
This is the way it stood with the Balkan nations at the end of 1913. None of them were contented. Bulgaria was angry because in the settlement after the war so much of the land which she had won from Turkey had been taken from her. Bosnia and Herzegovina were enraged at having been made a part of Austria-Hungary. Serbia was perhaps the most wrathful of all, for she was left with no hope of uniting the Serbian race. Moreover, in order to appease Austria-Hungary a port on the Adriatic which Serbia had captured had been taken from her, thus leaving her with no approach to the sea. The Balkan States had long been called the “powder magazine of Europe,” and now the magazine was all ready to explode.
The spark that exploded the magazine flashed out in Serajevo, the capital of Bosnia. This is a wide-awake little city, whose inhabitants make a vast amount of pottery and metal ware, dye and weave silk, and carry on a large trade. It is a pleasant town. A river runs through it, and gardens are all around. Some fine modern buildings have been erected, and in contrast with them there are, high up on a hill overlooking the city, picturesque ruins of the stone walls of a castle seven centuries or more old.
One beautiful June day in 1914, a gentleman and his wife were riding in procession in Serajevo. The mayor of the place stood waiting in the town hall, all ready to make his address of welcome, for the gentleman was the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, nephew of the Emperor of Austria, and was himself heir to the Austrian throne. Suddenly a bomb exploded directly behind their automobile, evidently aimed at the Archduke and his wife. They were not harmed, but the occupants of the car following them, part of their escort, were fatally injured. Some hours later, while the royal guests were on their way to the hospital to inquire for the wounded, a student of only eighteen years sprang out of the crowd and threw a bomb at their car. This failed to explode. The young man then drew a revolver and fired three shots, two of which struck the Archduke and the third his wife. Both died within an hour.
Emerson writes, in his Concord Hymn, of the Massachusetts farmers who “fired the shot heard round the world,” and surely this shot at Serajevo was heard round the world. The assassin belonged in Herzegovina, in Bosnia, but he had been living in Serbia, in Belgrade, and the Austro-Hungarian papers declared at once that Serbian influence had made him a murderer. They demanded that Serbia should be punished.
For one whole month Austria-Hungary plotted and prepared. Then a note was sent to Serbia. This accused the Serbian Government of planning or at least conniving at the assassination, and demanded that Serbia should suppress all newspapers and societies unfriendly to Austria-Hungary, and cut out from the public schools all teaching tending to the same result and to any thought of a possible future union under Serbian rule. It demanded the arrest and punishment of all connected with the crime, especially two men who were mentioned by name, one an officer in the army. It demanded that Austria-Hungary should share in the investigation of the conspiracy. Austria-Hungary had taken a month to prepare this note, but she required Serbia to present her reply within forty-eight hours.
Then the telegraph wires began to hum, and messages whizzed back and forth among the diplomats in the attempt on the part of several countries to avert war. England did not want war, neither did France, nor did Serbia’s “big brother,” Russia, and the little country was urged to return as conciliatory a reply as possible. Serbia put her pride into her pocket and yielded, but required that if any one was to be punished, proof should be given of his crime. One demand, however, she refused flatly, a demand to which no self-respecting country could yield. This was that Austria-Hungary should take part in the investigation of the conspiracy. She expressed her willingness, however, to leave the whole question to the Hague Court in case this reply should not be satisfactory. This was given to the Austro-Hungarian Minister within the forty-eight hours, and although Sir Edward Grey, English Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, declared that this reply was the greatest humiliation he had ever seen a country undergo, the Minister said that it could not be accepted, as Serbia had not yielded to the demands in every particular, and that same day he and his staff left Belgrade.
War between Serbia and Austria-Hungary now seemed unavoidable, but why need the other states of Europe have anything to do with it? Why, if there must be conflict between the two countries, could they not fight it out and leave the rest of the world in peace? The answer is, “Because of the aims of Germany and because of the Eastern Question.” At the outbreak of the war few people thought much about any possible aims of Germany, but they thought a great deal about the Eastern Question, that is, the relations of Turkey and the Balkan States with the rest of Europe, especially Russia, Austria-Hungary, and England.
Russia is an enormous country. That portion of it which is in Europe is one fourth larger than all the rest of the Continent. It is a land of almost endless resources. It is rich in minerals and precious stones; it raises flax, hemp, timber, cotton, and quantities of sugar beets, besides great numbers of cattle, horses, sheep, hogs, and goats. It has millions of acres of the best wheat land in the world. Of course the Russian winters are long and cold and the summers are short; but when summer does come, it is so hot that vegetation grows wonderfully fast.
Naturally, after Russia has produced all these valuable articles, she wants to sell them to other nations. Then come difficulties, for transportation is not good. If Russia had as many miles of railroads in proportion to her size as France has, the big country would have six and one half times as much mileage as at present. She has rivers and canals, and at the north she has harbors, but from three to six months of every year all these are closed by ice. On the Black Sea she has her port of Odessa, but to carry her goods out of the Black Sea her ships must pass through the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles, which are controlled by Turkey. Russia, then, would be glad to have the Turks pushed over into Asia Minor. As to Serbia, her “little brother,” both Russians and Serbians are of the same family of nations, the Slavic, and while Russia would hardly have wished Serbia to become powerful enough to rule all the Balkan States, she could not endure the thought of her becoming a part of Austria-Hungary, and thus enormously increasing the Austrian and the German power.
Germany had long felt what is called the “Drang nach Osten,” that is, the push toward the East, for trade, agriculture, and colonization. She had already, as has been said, secured the right to build a railway from the Bosphorus to Baghdad, and had built one third of it. A “middle Europe” combination, consisting of Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Balkan countries, and Turkey, would open Germany’s way to Baghdad, to the Far East, and to the rich lands of southeastern Russia, the Ukraine. With Turkey Germany had made friends; Herzegovina had become a part of Germany’s ally, Austria-Hungary; nothing blocked her way but the other Balkan countries, especially Serbia. If Serbia, then, fell under German control, Russia must give up all hope of ever holding Constantinople, and she had strong reason to fear losing the Ukraine, which was somewhat restless under Russian rule, and no one could say how much more of her territory. It is no wonder that, when Austria-Hungary threatened Serbia, Russia made her prompt declaration, “On the day that Austrian troops cross the boundary line of Serbia, Russian troops will mass for war.”
Austria-Hungary is a combination of two countries, ruled by one man, but independent in many respects. Delegations from the parliaments of the two countries meet one year in Vienna in Austria, and the following year in Budapest in Hungary. These delegations settle questions of national finance of war, and of foreign relations. Other matters are settled by each country for itself. Each half of the “Dual Monarchy” is made up of numerous small states. No one of these forgets that it was once independent, and its people do their best to maintain their old language and their old customs. They have formed one kingdom, but they have never formed any real union. Indeed, neither Austria nor Hungary is a closely united state. In Austria, about one fourth of the inhabitants are Germans; but the government is so ordered that they are in control. In Hungary, the Magyar aristocracy hold the ruling power. In each state the Slavs are the “under dog.” They have no political power, and small attention is paid to their interests or wishes. These Slavs belong to the great Aryan family whose home was in central Asia. They form nearly one half of the population of Austria-Hungary, but they are of many nations, and each little group cling together and look upon others with some jealousy and often with dislike.
The different peoples in the Dual Monarchy are discontented, and the two kingdoms are not happy together. Their union was formed merely as a matter of convenience. Between two and three centuries ago there were, instead of one Germany, two hundred or more tiny states, which were supposed to owe some allegiance to the Emperor of Austria. It was not a willing allegiance; nevertheless, a sort of union was at length formed with Austria at its head. But Prussia, one of these states, grew strong and began to rival Austria. The Prussian statesman Bismarck now brought it about that a confederation was formed with Prussia as its head and Austria left out. Then came the war with France in 1870, during which this confederation was changed into an empire, and William I, grandfather of the present Kaiser, and already King of Prussia, was proclaimed German Emperor. Neither Austria nor Hungary was quite strong enough to stand alone, and therefore they formed the twofold monarchy. Moreover, in 1879, Austria-Hungary and Germany formed an alliance for mutual defense. A little later, Italy joined them. This union was known as the Triple Alliance.
A war between Austria-Hungary and Serbia would serve Germany well, for of course the big country would subdue the little one, and the way to Constantinople would be open. But if Russia entered the fray, that was quite another matter, for if Russia gained power in the Balkans, Germany’s plans for the Far East would fall through. Therefore, if Russia was to protect Serbia, Germany would enter the war as the ally of Austria-Hungary.
But what about France? After the Germans defeated France in the war of 1870, the two provinces, Alsace and Lorraine, had been taken by Germany, and France felt the need of a friend as a support against the increasing German power; therefore she had formed an alliance with Russia, and if Russia fought, France would fight.
Then one more country must be considered, England. It was England’s policy to keep out of “Serbian quarrels,” but England had large interests in the East; she must look out for a clear way to Egypt, Persia, India, Thibet, and Afghanistan. Those who are in charge of a country’s interests must look far ahead, not only to what is reasonably certain to happen, but also to what might by any possibility happen. England had also interests in the Mediterranean, and she had agreed with France that in case of any necessity, the French navy should guard those interests. In return, England was to guard the western shores of France. Then, too, Dover Strait is hardly more than twenty miles wide at its narrowest point. If the Triple Alliance should crush France, then Belgium, then Holland, and so control the English Channel, Dover Strait, and the North Sea—England would be hemmed in by enemies. Of course, no one in England expected these things to come to pass, but it was the business of her statesmen to be on guard against whatever might be within the bounds of possibility. Therefore, some years earlier, England, Russia, and France had made an informal alliance called the Triple Entente, that is, the triple understanding or agreement. The object of this was to preserve the balance of power in Europe against the Triple Alliance. Its purpose was wholly defensive, for protection against the aggressive German plans.
At the beginning of the war, Germany announced her intention of standing by Austria-Hungary. Italy, as a member of the Triple Alliance, was bound to stand by Germany and Austria if they were attacked. They were not attacked, they were making the attack, and Italy declared her intention to be neutral.
Three days after Serbia handed her reply to the Austro-Hungarian Minister, Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia, and two days later she began to bombard Belgrade.
A few months later it came to light that, one whole year before the Serajevo incident, Austria, certain of the aid of Germany, had determined to attack Serbia in order to clear the way to the East. The assassination of the Archduke was the spark that exploded the powder magazine of Europe; but if that had not occurred, some other pretext for war would surely have been found.
EUROPE ABOUT 1870 SHOWING TURKEY IN EUROPE. COMPARE THIS MAP WITH THE MAP OF THE PAN-GERMAN PAN.
THE PAN-GERMAN PLAN. SHOWING “MIDDLE EUROPE,” AND GERMANY’S MAIN ROUTE TO THE EAST (THE BERLIN TOBAGHDAD RAILWAY) AS IT WAS IN JANUARY 1918. BULGARIA SURRENDERED TO THE ALLIES, SEPTEMBER, 1918.
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