Little more than forty-eight hours later the Admiralty announced that new orders had been issued to the First and Second Fleets of the British Navy. They were the most powerful units of the world's most powerful marine force, and they happened to be concentrated in the English Channel for maneuvers just finished. Now, contrary to previous plans, they were not to disperse. All shore leaves were cancelled.
In Paris, a hastily called Ministerial Council cabled the text of the Austrian "jewel" to President Poincare on the battle cruiser France. Poincare was about to visit some Scandinavian ports. He cancelled all further travels. The France headed straight for Dunkirk.
At his summer residence on the Gulf of Finland, the Tsar stopped playing tennis. The Russian General Staff Gazette proclaimed a "State of Pre-Mobilization." It involved, among other measures, preparations to deploy troops quickly at "any threatened frontier" (in this case the Austrian) and the recall of reservists to bring border divisions to full strength.
Overnight Berchtold's libretto had gone to pieces. He had miscalculated entirely its effects on its intended audience.
The pause he had spun out so cunningly after Sarajevo; the lethargy so studiously orchestrated through four weeks; the dolce far niente put on by the Ballhausplatz that was to have gentled Europe into a summer sleep so sweet that, by the time it woke and rubbed its eyes, it would see Serbia crushed-all that artfulness had produced a very different outcome and an altogether unwanted mood.
During the long month, Sarajevo had dimmed into a trivializing distance. By the end of July, Vienna's abrupt growl at Serbia sounded-even in diplomatic French-like a savage vendetta over a remote cause. Huge Habsburg looked like a brute seizing a stale pretext to exterminate little Serbia. Now it was the ultimatum that looked like an outrage, not the Archduke's assassination.
And that wasn't all. Vienna's month-long "peace" act produced yet another unpleasant result. During the many days the Ballhausplatz had spent styling the nonultimatum super-ultimatum, General Conrad on his nonholiday holiday had seethed and scribbled and cabled in his Dolomite village, perfecting the mobilization schedules of his army. Of course he had put none of them in effect as yet-that would have rattled the fair-weather scenery. But with the demarche delivered, this backstage phase of his effort was over. On July 26, the General charged into Berchtold's office saying that the martial moves made by Serbia's friends in the last twenty-four hours had revised his plans. To prepare for all contingencies, Austria's forces must now be at absolutely maximum strength and in optimum condition before striking Belgrade-a goal he, Conrad, would need at least three weeks to reach; the army could not start its offensive until then.
Count von Berchtold took all this like a true Viennese. Yes, he had lost his poise temporarily in Ischl. But he recovered it fast, together with his instinct for make-believe. So the fiction that was to beguile Europe had misfired. Very well, he would produce another fiction.
This one he believed in himself. Cleverly it turned Conrad's bleak news of the Army's unreadiness into the semblance of an advantage. Now (as one of the Foreign Minister's lieutenants would later recall)
Berchtold regarded even the declaration of war as not more than an extreme form of pressure to obtain a diplomatic surrender from Serbia which still had almost twenty days for reflection, seeing that military operations would not commence before August 15th…
How induce the proper "reflection" in Serbia and her allies? Again by theatrical means, naturally. The Foreign Minister decided that Habsburg would put on a face that was absolutely resolute and charmingly patient at the same time.
To show absolute resolve, Austria declared war on Serbia at 1 P.M. of July 28, by cable. For the first time in history a telegram opened hostilities between two countries (a first time balancing the last time of Austria's ultimatum in diplomatic French). Austria also trumpeted its determination with thousands of mobilization posters materializing overnight, black print on gold background, from one end of the Empire to the other; by patriotic fireworks in newspapers amenable to government influence; by the announcement that His Majesty was about to issue a ringing manifesto calling his subjects to arms.
At the same time the mask of charming patience spoke. Austrian ambassadors-especially those accredited with Serbia's friends-pointed to Habsburg restraint. Here was a great power at war. Yet so far Austria had not taken advantage of its enemy's smallness but only of the fact that the Serb capital lay just across from the Austrian border. Austria had done no more than shell that capital from its own territory. There was still no invasion of Serbia. Furthermore, despite the enormity of Sarajevo, the Austrian government asked only justice from Belgrade and not one square inch of Serbian land.
Surely this demonstrated Vienna's patience? As for Vienna's charm, consider her treatment of General Radomir Put- nik, Chief of Staff of the Serbian Armed Forces. When Vienna had surprised Belgrade with the ultimatum, the General was still sipping the waters of the Austrian spa Bad Gleichenberg. Of course he departed instantly. On his way home via Budapest, he was hauled off the train and held as a potential prisoner of war-the war Austria would declare within hours. However, "orders from an All-Highest level" had the General released. An Austrian army physician was detailed to attend the General's asthma while he remained on Austrian soil. An honor guard escorted him to the personal train of General Conrad; and it was in the luxury of Conrad's salon car that he was allowed to proceed to the Serbian border to assume command against the troops of his host.
Shouldn't such Viennese gallantry sway Belgrade's heart, even as Austria's might should soften Belgrade's impertinence? And wouldn't Belgrade's allies be wise to help Belgrade practice moderation? Shouldn't they join Berchtold's effort to prevent the deepening and widening, indeed the very continuance, of the conflict? Shouldn't they make Belgrade see reason on the one sticking point in the Austrian demarche (participation of Austrian police in the pursuit of Sarajevo accomplices on Serbian soil)-the one point whose settlement on Austrian terms would stop the war before it had really begun? This was the outline of Berchtold's new plot. But Libretto B fared no better than Libretto A. And once more Germany chimed in with the wrong note.
Not that Berlin had changed its-public-willingness to sing along. This time, though, the Heldentenor himself, the Kaiser, insisted on making an entrance. When the crisis broke, he was still away on his Nordic cruise. His ministers tried to keep him there. They knew too well His Majesty's impulsiveness, unevenness, hollowness-the thunder of his tongue, the shaking of his knees. During Libretto A they had encouraged the blithe continuation of his voyage. The Wilhelmstrasse had radioed the Imperial yacht Hohenzollern as little of the tension as late as possible. In fact, the Kaiser first learned of the Austrian ultimatum not from his Berlin Chancellery but from his yacht's radio officer who had listened to news agency reports on July 24.
This irritated Wilhelm, but not enough to abandon his sail along the glitter of the fjords. He did ask Berlin to keep him abreast of developments in detail. In return he received a long, ingeniously murky telegram from his Chancellor, climaxing in the sentence "the diplomatic situation is not entirely clear." By then it was early in the morning of July 27. Libretto B was on. The Kaiser wired Berlin that he proposed to head home. Back came a telegram saying "Your Majesty's sudden reappearance might cause undue alarm." And just that alarmed His Majesty at last.
Never mind that Berlin had just announced that he would not return until August 2. He not only decided to turn his yacht around, he transferred to the swiftest of his escorting cruisers, the Rostock, to speed his homecoming.