The King, who had played a part in bringing the Anglo-Russian Entente to fruition, put his seal on the bargain by traveling to Reval (now Tallin) in June 1908 to meet Tsar Nicholas II. Announcement of the visit upset radical Labour M.P.’s. “An Insult to Our Country”21 was the title of an article published by James Ramsay MacDonald, who described Nicholas II as “a common murderer”22 and demanded that the King not go “hobnobbing23 with a blood-stained creature like the Tsar.” The King went anyway, taking with him on the Victoria and Albert the Queen, Sir Arthur Nicolson, and Sir John Fisher. The voyage across the North Sea was rough, with everyone seasick. “The Queen lay on deck24 like a corpse,” Fisher wrote to his wife.fn2 In the calm waters of the Kiel Canal, the King sent for Fisher to talk while he had his breakfast and watched the escort of German cavalry trotting along the banks. At Kiel, Prince Henry of Prussia greeted the visitors and assigned four German destroyers to escort the British yacht up the Baltic.
On a spring morning, Victoria and Albert anchored off Reval near the two Russian Imperial yachts, Standart (used by the Tsar) and Polar Star (used by the Dowager Empress Marie, Queen Alexandra’s sister). During the visit, which lasted two days, no member of the English party set foot on shore; luncheons, teas, banquets, and balls took place in the salons, in the dining rooms, and on the decks of the yachts. This arrangement was prompted by what were tactfully referred to as “unstable conditions” inside the Russian Empire. Nicholas II was accompanied by his wife, his mother, his sister, Grand Duchess Olga, his Prime Minister, Peter Stolypin, and Isvolsky. One evening when the Tsar and the two Empresses were on board Victoria and Albert, a Russian steamer bearing a choral society approached and anchored close enough so that the singers could perform for the royal guests. Some in King Edward’s suite were nervous about the proximity of the steamer; a strong arm could have thrown a bomb across the water. The chief of the Russian police assured them that all of the singers, women as well as men, had been stripped and searched.
Good weather and family feeling put the King and Fisher in high spirits. On his own initiative, the King suddenly declared that he was making Nicholas II an Admiral of the Fleet in the British Navy. The Tsar, he explained, needed a British naval uniform to supplement his uniform as colonel of the Scots Greys, since “he was more likely to meet26 British warships in future than he was to encounter British troops.” The Tsar, reported Fisher, “is simply like a child27 in his delight” and quickly made the King an admiral in the Russian Navy. Back in England, the Cabinet and First Lord Reginald McKenna grumbled that constitutionally they should have been consulted. Fisher pooh-poohed these technicalities: “It’s a jolly good thing28 to have a King who knows how to act, as Cabinet Ministers seem to me to be always like a lot of frightened rabbits.” Following the state banquet on the British royal yacht, Fisher waltzed the “Merry Widow” with Grand Duchess Olga, in the center of a circle formed by the company. Then Fisher went up on deck and, at the request of the King, danced a solo hornpipe. “What a very nice time29 we spent at Reval,” Grand Duchess Olga wrote her dance partner. “I hadn’t laughed so much for ages!”
Entente with England was only the first of the diplomatic triumphs with which Isvolsky intended to adorn his career as Russian Foreign Minister. During the negotiations in St. Petersburg, Grey and Nicolson had dangled the lure of British support for a paramount Russian objective: opening the Dardanelles to the passage of Russian war-ships. Since the major powers had signed the Treaty of London in 1871, the strait had been closed to all foreign warships. For Russia, this had the advantage of protecting the Empire’s Black Sea coast from European warships. But Russian warships were prevented from exiting through the Dardanelles into the Mediterranean. The Russian Black Sea Fleet had therefore played no part in the war with Japan. Russian nationalists viewed closure of the strait as humiliating to a Great Power’s prestige. Nicolson’s suggestion that England might help Russia break this barrier had pleased Isvolsky, but, curiously, once Isvolsky decided to attempt this objective, he did not work through England. Instead, he went through Austria.
His partner was Count Alois Lexa von Aehrenthal, the Austrian Foreign Minister. Isvolsky knew Aehrenthal well: the Austrian, a tall, broad-shouldered man with drooping eyelids and a weary, indolent air—“amiable and chatty,30 but not brilliant” was Nicolson’s description—had been Hapsburg ambassador in St. Petersburg. Aehrenthal was well aware of Isvolsky’s ambitions on the Dardanelles. When a change in the government of Turkey confronted Austria with an opportunity, Aehrenthal realized that he and Isvolsky might work together to achieve their national objectives and to defy the rest of Europe.
The treaty negotiated at the Congress of Berlin by Bismarck, Disraeli, and Gorchakov was the cornerstone of European diplomacy in the Balkans. Any admission that the Ottoman Empire was disintegrating would unleash a race for spoils which could plunge Europe into war. Accordingly, shams were employed: for thirty years the Christian provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina had been occupied and administered by Austria; Bulgaria had ruled itself for the same period as a “self-governing principality.” In both cases the façade of Turkish sovereignty remained in place. In the summer of 1908, the Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid II was overthrown by a group of revolutionaries calling themselves Young Turks. Aehrenthal feared that the new Turkish government might attempt to reassert full control over Bosnia and Herzegovina; in order to forestall this, he decided that Austria-Hungary should formally annex the two provinces. Normally, Imperial Russia would strenuously, perhaps forcibly, have resisted. The one million people of Bosnia and Herzegovina were Slavs who, through the long years of Austrian occupation, had dreamed of the day they would unite in a purely Slav nation around the independent kingdom of Serbia. To these aspirations—shared and encouraged by Serbia—Russia had given its blessing. Now, in pursuit of his goal of opening the Dardanelles, Isvolsky was about to sacrifice these promises.
On September 19, 1908, interrupting his cure at Karlsbad, the Russian Foreign Minister secretly visited Buchlau, the Bohemian castle of Count Leopold von Berchtold, Aehrenthal’s successor as Austrian ambassador in St. Petersburg. Aehrenthal was waiting there. Together, the two foreign ministers worked out their scheme: Austria would support a Russian demand that Turkey open the Dardanelles to passage by individual Russian warships; in return, Isvolsky would turn his back while Austria annexed Bosnia and Herzegovina. Since both halves of the plot were in violation of European treaties signed by all the Great Powers, the two foreign ministers agreed to synchronize their moves: announcement of the annexation and presentation of the demand on the Dardanelles were to be simultaneous. No date was set for the twin faits accomplis; Isvolsky explained later that it was understood that no step would be taken until he had had a chance to prepare the ground with his Entente partners; Aehrenthal admitted that he had agreed to wait until he had received from Isvolsky a written summary of their conversation and, in any event, not to act without giving his partner fair warning.
Isvolsky had placed himself in a precarious position. He was preparing to betray the Balkan Slavs, to whom Russia had deep historical and psychological commitments. He was preparing to defy the Great Powers, possibly including his Entente allies. And, desiring exclusive credit for his coup, he had informed neither the Tsar nor Prime Minister Stolypin. Unfortunately for Isvolsky, before he was ready to betray the Balkan Slavs, Aehrenthal betrayed him. Thinking he had plenty of time, Isvolsky left Bohemia, crossed the Alps, stopped in Rome, and arrived in Paris on October 3. Here he was handed a letter from Aehrenthal informing him that circumstances compelled him to proceed at once. Two days later, Bulgaria proclaimed its independence. On October 6, Emperor Franz Josef formally proclaimed the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Nicholas II was furious. “Brazen impudence,”31 he wrote to his mother. “The main culprit is Aehrenthal. He is simply a scoundrel. He made Isvolsky his dupe.”
Isvolsky had sacrificed Russian honor without having been paid his price. He was left to rush about
Europe, endeavoring to find support for a Russian move which had depended for its success on a simultaneous move by Austria. In France, Russia’s ally, he found little. Stéphen Pichon, the French Foreign Minister, was evasive: Go to London and see what support you can get, he advised his Russian colleague.
Isvolsky arrived in London on October 9. He found Sir Edward Grey outraged by Austria’s action. “The Whig statesman,32 the monitor of public law in Europe, the English gentleman, the public school boy: all these elements in [Grey’s] character were equally affronted,” wrote Winston Churchill. To Grey, “it mattered not to us33 that Austria should annex instead of merely occupying Bosnia and Herzegovina. But... we felt that the arbitrary alteration of a European treaty by one Power without the consent of the other Powers who were parties to it struck at the root of all good international order.” On October 5, Grey had sent telegrams to all major capitals insisting that “it is an essential principle34 of the law of nations that no Power can free itself from the engagements of a Treaty nor modify its stipulations except by consent of the Contracting Parties.” Britain, Grey declared, would refuse to recognize the annexations at least until the views of other Powers were known. When Sir Charles Dilke complained in the House of Commons that the Foreign Secretary was making too much fuss, Grey retorted that the sacredness of international agreements was at stake.
Grey was icy when Isvolsky appealed for Britain’s support in opening the Dardanelles. Having condemned the breaking of one treaty, Grey would not condone the breaking of another. Consideration of the strait at that moment, he said, was “inopportune.”35 His reputation and career collapsing, Isvolsky mingled pleas with threats. “Isvolsky went on to say36 that the present was a most critical moment,” Grey reported to Nicolson. “It might either consolidate and strengthen the good relations between England and Russia, or it might upset them altogether. His own position was at stake, for he was entirely bound up with the policy of good understanding with England which he had advocated against all opposition.”
Neither pleas nor threats made any impression on Grey; Britain would not support Russia in any demand on the new Turkish government. When Isvolsky, desperate to salvage something, proposed holding a conference to discuss the annexation and the Dardanelles, Grey agreed. If other Powers were willing to sanction what Aerenthal had done and Isvolsky proposed to do, Britain, Grey said, might also be willing.
On October 22, Aehrenthal declared that he would attend a conference only if it was agreed in advance that the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina was accepted and that the subject would not be discussed. Isvolsky, now assailed by a betrayed and outraged Serbia, refused, whereupon Aehrenthal rejected the invitation. The role of Germany became critical. Neither the Kaiser nor Chancellor Bülow had been informed of the planned annexation. William’s first reaction was that Aehrenthal’s act was “a piece of brigandage”37 which “confronted us with the dilemma of being unable to protect our friends the Turks” because “our ally has injured them.” “Thus my Turkish policy, so carefully built up over twenty years, is thrown away. A great triumph over us for Edward VII.” Bülow insisted that he learned of the annexation “only at the same time38 as the news was communicated to London and St. Petersburg.” Nevertheless, Germany had no choice except to support Austria. Two years earlier, in 1906, Bülow had written: “Our relations with Austria39 are now more important than ever because Austria is our one sure ally. We must reveal as little as possible of our relative political isolation to the Austrians. It is only human nature that if I tell a man I need his horse, he puts a very high value on the horse.” Aehrenthal already had comprehended this, and before the annexation remarked that Germany must support Austria’s move as the Reich had no other serious ally. Bülow found related reasons: “Austria-Hungary behaved40 totally loyally to us at Algeciras... like should be paid with like.” Accordingly, Berlin supported Austria’s rejection of Isvolsky’s invitation. “The conference won’t come off,”41 said Bülow. “We shall have nothing to do with it.”
Isvolsky was trapped. For weeks, he complained to anyone who would listen that Aehrenthal was “duplicitous”42 and “no gentleman.” Aehrenthal silenced him by threatening to publish the correspondence between them before the meeting at Buchlau, implying that the Russian Foreign Minister had made statements which might further compromise his position.
War seemed imminent. Serbia mobilized; Russian and Austrian troops took up positions on the frontier. On November 6, Balfour, leader of the opposition, wrote to Lord Lansdowne, who led the Unionist Party in the House of Lords:
Asquith asked me43 to speak to him last night after the House rose. He was evidently extremely perturbed about the European situation, which, in his view, was the gravest of which we have had any experience since 1870.
He said that, incredible as it might seem, the Government could form no theory of German policy which fitted all the known facts, except that they wanted war.... [I]t would certainly involve Russia, Austria, and the Near East—to say nothing of ourselves. I observed... that it was difficult to see what Germany expected to gain by a war... Asquith’s only answer... was that the internal condition of Germany was so unsatisfactory that they might be driven to the wildest adventures in order to divert national sentiment into a new channel.
Aehrenthal understood the strength of his position. He did not fear war; in fact, he already had promised General Count Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf, chief of the Austrian General Staff, that unless Serbia gave way and recognized the annexation of the two Slav provinces, he would approve an Austrian assault on Serbia. He disdained talk of the sanctity of treaties. “Your Sir Edward Grey44 wants peace,” he said disparagingly to a group of English visitors in Vienna. Besides, he scoffed, “What can England do to us?”
In March, Bülow brought the crisis to a head. On the twenty-first, he instructed Count Friedrich von Pourtalès, German Ambassador in St. Petersburg, to tell Isvolsky that “unless Russia agreed45 to recognize the annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina, Germany would leave Austria-Hungary a free hand.” The message was clear: Austria would overwhelm Serbia; if Russia attempted to aid her Serbian client, the German Empire would stand beside Austria. “We expect a precise answer,46 Yes or No,” Bülow instructed Pourtalès. “Any vague, complicated or ambiguous reply will be treated as a refusal.” Nakedly confronted by the threat of war, Russia backed down. The Russian Council of Ministers sat for three hours on March 22 and advised the Tsar to consent. Nicholas telegraphed William that he accepted the annexation, adding, “with God’s help47 war would thus be avoided.” In the Reichstag, Bülow paid the Tsar an ironic tribute: “Russia’s recent conduct48 has won the gratitude of all friends of peace.” Most of the credit Bülow kept for himself. “I solved the Bosnian crisis,”49 he announced in his memoirs, and cited the words of Emperor Franz Josef to support his claim. Bülow “managed the affair excellently,”50 the Chancellor quoted the Emperor. “On the one hand, he carried our claims on Bosnia and Herzegovina through to a successful conclusion.... On the other hand, he did not let things go as far as war. I must give him all the praise for an old man like me does not want to have a war again.” Along with praise, Franz Josef sent Bülow a signed photograph in a gold frame, a full-length portrait of himself, and the Order of St. Stephen—highest in the Hapsburg Empire—set in diamonds. A year later, on a visit to Vienna, the Kaiser—who originally had described the annexation as “a piece of brigandage”—also claimed credit, for having “taken his stand in shining armor51 at a most grave moment by the side of “[Austria’s] Most Gracious Sovereign [Franz Josef].”
The abruptness of the Russian capitulation surprised Europe. “Russia was stiff52 for a time and then suddenly threw up the sponge and collapsed,” Grey observed. “The strain on Isvolsky’s temperament had been very great and he seemed to have had a sudden reaction at the end to despair and disgust.” In Russia, the spectacular collapse was humiliating. “I have been assured53 by those who have witnessed many phases in the recent hi
story of Russia that there has never previously been a moment when the country had undergone such humiliation,” Nicolson wrote to Grey. “Although Russia has had her troubles and trials, both external and internal, and has suffered defeats in the field, she has never had, for apparently no valid excuse, to submit to the dictation of a foreign power.” Tsar Nicholas explained the crisis to his mother: “Germany told us54 we would help solve the difficulty by agreeing to the annexation, while if we refused, the consequences might be very serious and hard to foretell. Once the matter had been put as definitely and unequivocally as that, there was nothing for it but to swallow one’s pride and agree. But,” added the Tsar, “German action towards us has been simply brutal and we won’t forget it.”
The triumph in which Aerenthal, Bülow, and the Kaiser exulted came at high cost. Russia resolved that she would never submit again. If a second challenge came, Russia would accept. From 1909 onward, the commander of the Kiev Military District in the Ukraine had standing orders to be ready within forty-eight hours to repel an invasion from the west. The Bosnian Crisis left Isvolsky bitter and unforgiving. Although he remained Foreign Minister for three more years, his effectiveness was diminished. In 1911, he resigned and was appointed Russian Ambassador to France. In Paris, he worked vengefully day and night to strengthen the Franco-Russian alliance. When war came, Alexander Isvolsky boasted, “This is my war!55 My war!”