IV
ROUMANIA
2
While at Sinaia I received the news of the
assassination of the Archduke from Bratianu. I was confined to bed, suffering
from influenza, when Bratianu telephoned to ask if I had heard that there had
been an accident to the Archduke's train in Bosnia, and that both he and the
duchess were killed. Soon after this first alarm came further news, leaving no
doubt as to the gravity of the catastrophe. The first impression in Roumania
was one of profound and sincere sympathy and genuine consternation. Roumania
never expected by means of war to succeed in realising her national ambitions;
she only indulged in the hope that a friendly agreement with the Monarchy would
lead to the union of all Roumanians, and in that connection Bucharest centred all its hopes in the
Archduke and heir to the throne. His death seemed to end the dream of a Greater
Roumania, and the genuine grief displayed in all circles in Roumania was the
outcome of that feeling. Take Jonescu, on learning the news while in my wife's
drawing-room, wept bitterly; and the condolences that I received were not of
the usual nature of such messages, but were expressions of the most genuine
sorrow. Poklewski, the Russian Ambassador, is said to have remarked very
brutally that there was no reason to make so much out of the event, and the
general indignation that his words aroused proved how strong was the sympathy
felt in the country for the murdered Archduke.
When the ultimatum was made known the entire
situation changed at once. I never had any illusions respecting the Roumanian
psychology, and was quite clear in my own mind that the sincere regret at the
Archduke's death was due to egotistical motives and to the fear of being
compelled now to abandon the national ambition. The ultimatum and the danger of
war threatening on the horizon completely altered the Roumanian attitude, and
it was suddenly recognised that Roumania could achieve its object by other
means, not by peace, but by war—not with,
but against the Monarchy. I would never have
believed it possible that such a rapid and total change could have occurred
practically within a few hours. Genuine and simulated indignation at the tone
of the ultimatum was the order of the day, and the universal conclusion arrived
at was: L'Autriche est devenue
folle. Men and women with
whom I had been on a perfectly friendly footing for the last year suddenly
became bitter enemies. Everywhere I noticed a mixture of indignation and
growing eagerness to realise at last their heart's dearest wish. The feeling in
certain circles fluctuated for some days. Roumanians had a great respect for Germany's
military power, and the year 1870 was still fresh in the memory of many of
them. When England,
however, joined the ranks of our adversaries their fears vanished, and from
that moment it became obvious to the large majority of the Roumanians that the
realisation of their aspirations was merely a question of time and of
diplomatic efficiency. The wave of hatred and lust of conquest that broke over
us in the first stage of the war was much stronger than in later stages,
because the Roumanians made the mistake we all have committed of reckoning on
too short a duration of the war, and therefore imagined the decision to be
nearer at hand than it actually was. After the great German successes in the
West, after Görlitz and the downfall of Serbia, certain tendencies pointing
to a policy of delay became noticeable among the Roumanians. With the exception
of Carp and his little group all were more or less ready at the very first to
fling themselves upon us.
Like a rock standing in the angry sea of hatred,
poor old King Carol was alone with his German sympathies. I had been instructed
to read the ultimatum to him the moment it was
sent to Belgrade,
and never shall I forget the impression it made on the old King when he heard
it. He, wise old politician that he was, recognised at once the immeasurable
possibilities of such a step, and before I had finished reading the document he
interrupted me, exclaiming: "It will be a world war." It was long
before he could collect himself and begin to devise ways and means by which a
peaceful solution might still be found. I may mention here that a short time
previously the Tsar, with Sassonoff, had been in Constanza for a meeting with
the Roumanian royal family. The day after the Tsar left I went to Constanza
myself to thank the King for having conferred the Grand Cross of one of the
Roumanian orders on me, obviously as a proof that the Russian visit had not
made him forget our alliance, and he gave me some interesting details of the
said visit. Most interesting of all was his account of the conversations with
the Russian Minister for Foreign Affairs. On asking whether Sassonoff
considered the situation in Europe to be as
safe as he (the King) did, Sassonoff answered in the affirmative, "pourvu
que l'Autriche ne touche pas à la Serbie." I at once, of course,
reported this momentous statement to Vienna; but
neither by the King nor by myself, nor yet in Vienna, was the train of thought then fully
understood. The relations between Serbia and the Monarchy were at
that time no worse than usual; indeed, they were rather better, and there was
not the slightest intention on our part to injure the Serbians. But the
suspicion that Sassonoff already then was aware that the Serbians were planning
something against us cannot be got rid of.
When the King asked me whether I had reported
Sassonoff's important remark to Vienna,
I replied that I had done so, and added that this remark was another reason to
make me believe that the assassination was a crime long since prepared and
carried out under Russian patronage.
The crime that was enacted at Debruzin, which
made such a sensation at the time, gave rise to suspicions of a Russo-Roumanian
attempt at assassination.
On February 24, 1914, the Hungarian
Correspondence Bureau published the following piece of news:
A terrible explosion took place this
morning in the official premises of the newly-instituted Greek-Catholic
Hungarian bishopric, which are on the second floor of the Ministry of Trade and
Commerce in the Franz Deak Street.
It occurred in the office of the bishop's representative, the Vicar Michael
Jaczkovics, whose secretary, Johann Slapowszky, was also present in the room.
Both of them were blown to pieces. The Greek-Catholic bishop, Stephan Miklossy,
was in a neighbouring room, but had a most marvellous escape. Alexander Csatth,
advocate and solicitor to the bishopric, who was in another room, was mortally
wounded by the explosion. In a third room the bishop's servant with his wife
were both killed. All the walls in the office premises fell in, and the whole
building is very much damaged. The explosion caused such a panic in the house
that all the inhabitants took flight and vanished. All the windows of the
neighbouring Town Hall in the Verboczy
Street were shattered by the concussion. Loose tiles
were hurled into the street and many passers-by were injured. The four dead
bodies and the wounded were taken to the hospital. The bishop, greatly
distressed, left the building and went to a friend's house. The daughter of the
Vicar Jaczkovics went out of her mind on hearing of her father's tragic death.
The cause of the explosion has not yet been discovered.
I soon became involved in the affair when Hungary and
Roumania began mutually to blame one another as originators of the outrage.
This led to numerous interventions and adjustments, and my task was intensified
because a presumed accomplice of the murderer Catarau was arrested in Bucharest, and his extradition to Hungary had to
be effected by me. This man, of the name of Mandazescu, was accused of having
obtained a false passport for Catarau.
Catarau, who was a Roumanian Russian from Bessarabia, vanished completely after the murder and left
no trace. News came, now from Serbia,
then from Albania,
that he had been found, but the rumours were always false. I chanced to hear
something about the matter in this way. I was on board a Roumanian vessel bound
from Constanza to Constantinople, when I
accidentally overheard two Roumanian naval officers talking together. One of them said:
"That was on the day when the police brought Catarau on board to help him
to get away secretly."
Catarau was heard of later at Cairo, which he appears to have reached with
the aid of Roumanian friends.
It cannot be asserted that the Roumanian
Government was implicated in the plot—but the Roumanian authorities certainly
were, for in the Balkans, as in Russia, there are many bands like the Cerna Ruka, the Narodna Odbrana, etc., etc.,
who carry on their activities alongside the Government.
It was a crime committed by some Russian or Roumanian
secret society, and the Governments of both countries showed surprisingly
little interest in investigating the matter and delivering the culprits up to
justice.
On June 15 I heard from a reliable source that
Catarau had been seen in Bucharest.
He walked about the streets quite openly in broad daylight, and no one
interfered with him; then he disappeared.
To return, however, to my interview with the old
King. Filled with alarm, he dispatched that same evening two telegrams, one to Belgrade and one to Petersburg,
urging that the ultimatum be accepted without fail.
The terrible distress of mind felt by the King
when, like a sudden flash of lightning from the clouds, he saw before him a
picture of the world war may be accounted for because he felt certain that the
conflict between his personal convictions and his people's attitude would
suddenly be known to all. The poor old King fought the fight to the best of his
ability, but it killed him. King Carol's death was caused by the war. The last
weeks of his life were a torture to him; each message that I had to deliver he
felt as the lash of a whip. I was enjoined to do all I could to secure
Roumania's prompt co-operation, according to the terms of the Alliance, and I
was even obliged to go so far as to remind him that "a promise given
allows of no prevarication: that a treaty is a treaty, and his honourobliged him to
unsheathe his sword." I recollect one particularly painful scene, where
the King, weeping bitterly, flung
himself across his writing-table and with trembling hands tried to wrench from
his neck his order Pour le
Mérite. I can affirm without any exaggeration that I could see him wasting
away under the ceaseless moral blows dealt to him, and that the mental torment
he went through undoubtedly shortened his life.
Queen Elizabeth was well aware of all, but she
never took my action amiss; she understood that I had to deliver the messages,
but that it was not I who composed them.
Queen Elizabeth was a good, clever and
touchingly simple woman, not a poet
qui court après l'esprit, but a woman who looked at the world through
conciliatory and poetical glasses. She was a good conversationalist, and there
was always a poetic charm in all she did. There hung on the staircase a most
beautiful sea picture, which I greatly admired while the Queen talked to me
about the sea, about her little villa at Constanza, which, built on the extreme
end of the quay, seems almost to lie in the sea. She spoke, too, of her travels
and impressions when on the high seas, and as she spoke the great longing for
all that is good and beautiful made itself felt, and this is what she said to
me: "The sea lives. If there could be found any symbol of eternity it
would be the sea, endless in greatness and everlasting in movement. The day is
dull and stormy. One after another the glassy billows come rolling in and break
with a roar on the rocky shore. The small white crests of the waves look as if
covered with snow. And the sea breathes and draws its breath with the ebb and
flow of the tide. The tide is the driving power that forces the mighty waters
from Equator to North Pole. And thus it works, day and night, year by year,
century by century. It takes no heed of the perishable beings who call
themselves lords of the world, who live only for a day, coming and going and
vanishing almost as they come. The sea remains to work. It works for all, for
men, for animals, for plants, for without the sea there could be no organic
life in the world. The sea is like a great filter, which alone can produce the
change of matter that is necessary for life. In the course of a century
numberless rivers carry earth to
the sea. Each river carries without ceasing its burden of earth and sand to the
ocean; and the sea receives the load which is carried by the current far out to
sea, and slowly and by degrees in the course of time the sea dissolves or
crushes all it has received. No matter to the sea if the process lasts a
thousand years or more—it may even last for ages, who can tell?
"But one day, quite suddenly, the sea
begins to wander. Once there was sea everywhere, and all continents are born
from the sea. One day land arose out of the sea. The birth was of a
revolutionary nature, there were earthquakes, volcanic craters, falling cities
and dying men—but new land was there. Or else it moves slowly, invisibly, a
metre or two in a century, and returns to the land it used to possess. Thus it
restores the soil it stole from it, but cleaner, refined and full of vitality
to live and to create. Such is the sea and its work."
These are the words of the old half-blind Queen,
who can never look upon the beloved picture again, but she told me how she
always idolised the sea, and how her grand nephews and nieces shared her
feelings, and how she grew young again with them when she told them tales of
olden times.
One could listen to her for hours without
growing weary, and always there was some beautiful thought or word to carry
away and think over.
Doubtless such knowledge would be more correct
were it taken from some geological work. But Carmen Sylva's words invariably
seemed to strike some poetic chord; that is what made her so attractive.
She loved to discourse on politics, which for
her meant King Carol. He was her all in all. After his death, when it was said
that all states in the world were losing in the terrible war, she remarked:
"Roumania has already lost her most precious possession." She never
spoke of her own poems and writings. In politics her one thought besides King
Carol was Albania. She was deeply attached to the Princess of Wied, and showed her strong
interest in the country where she lived. Talking about the Wieds one day
afforded me an opportunity of seeing the King vexed with his wife; it was the
only time I ever noticed it. It was when we were at Sinaia, and I was, as often
occurred, sitting with the King. The Queen came into the room, which she was
otherwise not in the habit of entering, bringing with her a telegram from the
Princess of Wied in which she asked for something—I cannot now remember what—for
Albania. The King refused, but the Queen insisted, until he at last told her
very crossly to leave him in peace, as he had other things to think of than Albania.
After King Carol's death she lost all her vital
energy, and the change in the political situation troubled her. She was very
fond of her nephew Ferdinand—hers was a truly loving heart—and she trembled
lest he should commit some act of treachery. I remember once how, through her
tears, she said to me: "Calm my fears. Tell me that he will never be guilty
of such an act." I was unable to reassure her, but a kind Fate spared her
from hearing the declaration of war.
Later, not long before her death, the old Queen
was threatened with total blindness. She was anxious to put herself in the
hands of a French oculist for an operation for cataract, who would naturally be
obliged to travel through the Monarchy in order to reach Bucharest. At her desire I mentioned the
matter in Vienna,
and the Emperor Francis Joseph at once gave the requisite permission for the
journey.
After a successful operation, the Queen sent a
short autograph poem to one of my children, adding that it was her first letter on recovering her sight. At the
same time she was again very uneasy concerning politics.
I wrote her the following letter:
Your Majesty,—My warmest thanks for the
beautiful little poem you have sent to my boy. That it was granted to me to
contribute something towards the recovery of your sight is in itself a
sufficient reward, and no thanks are needed. That Your Majesty has addressed
the first written lines to my children delights and touches me.
Meanwhile Your Majesty must not be
troubled regarding politics. It is of no avail. For the moment Roumania will
retain the policy of the late
King, and God alone knows what the future will bring forth.
We are all like dust in this terrible
hurricane sweeping through the world. We are tossed helplessly hither and
thither and know not whether we are to face disaster or success. The point is
not whether we live or die, but how it is done. In that respect King Carol set
an example to us all.
I hope King Ferdinand may never forget
that, together with the throne, his uncle bequeathed to him a political creed,
a creed of honour and loyalty, and I am persuaded that Your Majesty is the best
guardian of the bequest.
Your Majesty's grateful and devoted
Czernin.
When I said that King Carol fought the fight to
the best of his ability, I intended to convey that no one could expect him to
be different from what he always was. The King never possessed in any special
degree either energy, strength of action, or adventurous courage, and at the
time I knew him, as an old man, he had none of those attributes. He was a
clever diplomat, a conciliatory power, a safe mediator, and one who avoided
trouble, but not of a nature to risk all and weather the storm. That was known
to all, and no one, therefore, could think that the King would try to put
himself on our side against the clearly expressed views of all Roumania. My
idea is that if he had been differently constituted he could successfully have
risked the experiment. The King possessed in Carp a man of quite unusual, even
reckless, activity and energy, and from the first moment he placed himself and
his activities at the King's disposal. If the King, without asking, had ordered
mobilisation, Carp's great energy would have certainly carried it through. But,
in the military situation as it was then, the Roumanian army would have been
forced to the rear of the Russian, and in all probability the first result of
the battlefields would have changed the situation entirely, and the blood that
was shed mutually in victorious battles would have brought forth the unity that
the spirit of our alliance never succeeded in evolving. But the King was not a
man of such calibre. He could not change his nature, and what he did do
entirely concurred with his methods from the time he ascended the throne.
As long as the King lived there was the positive
assurance that Roumania would not side against us, for he would have prevented
any mobilisation against us with the same firm wisdom which had always enabled
him to avert any agitation in the land. He would then have seen that the
Roumanians are not a warlike people like the Bulgarians, and that Roumania had
not the slightest intention of risking anything in the campaign. A policy of
procrastination in the wise hands of the King would have delayed hostilities
against us indefinitely.
Immediately after the outbreak of war Bratianu
began his game, which consisted of entrenching the Roumanian Government firmly
and willingly in a position between the two groups of Powers, and bandying
favours about from one to the other, reaping equal profits from each, until the
moment when the stronger of the two should be recognised as such and the weaker
then attacked.
Even from 1914-16 Roumania was never really
neutral. She always favoured our enemies, and as far as lay in her power
hindered all our actions.
The transport of horses and ammunition to Turkey in the
summer of 1915 that was exacted from us was an important episode. Turkey was then
in great danger, and was asking anxiously for munitions. Had the Roumanian
Government adopted the standpoint not to favour any of the belligerent Powers
it would have been a perfectly correct attitude, viewed from a neutral
standpoint, but she never did adopt such standpoint, as is shown by her
allowing the Serbians to receive transports of Russian ammunition via the Danube, thus showing great partiality. When all attempts
failed, the munitions were transmitted, partially at any rate, through other
means.
At that time, too, Russian soldiers were allowed
in Roumania and were not molested, whereas ours were invariably interned.
Two Austrian airmen once landed by mistake in
Roumania, and were, of course, interned immediately. The one was a cadet of the
name of Berthold and a pilot whose name I have forgotten. From their prison
they appealed to me to help them,
and I sent word that they must endeavour to obtain permission to pay me a
visit. A few days later the cadet appeared, escorted by a Roumanian officer as
guard. This officer, not being allowed without special permission to set foot
on Austro-Hungarian soil, was obliged to remain in the street outside the
house. I had the gates closed, put the cadet into one of my cars, sent him out
through the back entrance, and had him driven to Giurgui, where he got across
the Danube, and in two hours was again at
liberty. After a lengthy and futile wait the officer departed. His protests
came too late.
The unfortunate pilot who was left behind was
not allowed to come to the Embassy. One night, however, he made his escape
through the window and arrived. I kept him concealed for some time, and he
eventually crossed the frontier safely and got away by rail to Hungary.
Bratianu reproached me later for what I had
done, but I told him it was in consequence of his not having strictly adhered
to his neutrality. Had our soldiers been left unmolested, as in the case of the
Russians, I should not have been compelled to act as I had done.
Bratianu can never seriously have doubted that
the Central Powers would succumb, and his sympathies were always with the
Entente, not only on account of his bringing up, but also because of that
political speculation. During the course of subsequent events there were times
when Bratianu to a certain extent seemed to vacillate, especially at the time
of our great offensive against Russia.
The break through at Görlitz and the irresistible advance into the interior of Russia had an
astounding effect in Roumania. Bratianu, who obviously knew very little about
strategy, could simply not understand that the Russian millions, whom he
imagined to be in a fair way to Vienna and Berlin, should suddenly begin to
rush back and a fortress like Warsaw be demolished like a house of cards. He
was evidently very anxious then and must have had many a disturbed night. On
the other hand, those who to begin with, though not for, still were not against
Austria
began to raise their heads and breathe more freely. The victory of the Central Powers appeared on the horizon
like a fresh event. That was the historic moment when Roumania might have been
coerced into active co-operation, but not the Bratianu Ministry. Bratianu
himself would never in any case have ranged himself on our side, but if we
could have made up our minds then to instal a Majorescu or a Marghiloman
Ministry in office, we could have had the Roumanian army with us. In connection
with this were several concrete proposals. In order to carry out the plan we
should have been compelled to make territorial concessions in Hungary to a
Majorescu Ministry—Majorescu demanded it as a primary condition to his
undertaking the conduct of affairs, and this proposal failed owing to Hungary's
obstinate resistance. It is a terrible but a just punishment that poor Hungary,
who contributed so much to our definite defeat, should be the one to suffer the
most from the consequences thereof, and that the Roumanians, so despised and
persecuted by Hungary, should gain the greatest triumphs on her plains.
One of the many reproaches that have been
brought against me recently is to the effect that I, as ambassador at Bucharest, should have resigned if my proposals were not
accepted in Vienna.
These reproaches are dictated by quite mistaken ideas of competency and
responsibility. It is the duty of a subordinate official to describe the
situation as he sees it and to make such proposals as he considers right, but
the responsibility for the policy is with the Minister for Foreign Affairs, and
it would lead to the most impossible and absurd state of things if every
ambassador whose proposals were rejected were to draw the conclusion that his
resignation was a necessary consequence thereof. If officials were to resign
because they did not agree with the view of their chief, it would mean that
almost all of them would send in their resignations.
Espionage and counter-espionage have greatly
flourished during the war. In that connection Russia showed great activity in
Roumania.
In October, 1914, an event occurred which was
very unfortunate for me. I drove from Bucharest
to Sinaia, carrying certain
political documents with me in a dispatch-case, which, by mistake, was fastened
on behind instead of being laid in the car. On the way the case was unstrapped
and stolen. I made every effort to get it back, and eventually recovered it
after a search of three weeks, involving much expense. It was found at last in
some peasant's barn, but nothing had apparently been abstracted save the
cigarettes that were in it.
Nevertheless, after the occupation of Bucharest copies and
photographs of all my papers were found in Bratianu's house.
After the loss of the dispatch-case I at once
tendered my resignation in Vienna,
but it was not accepted by the Emperor.
The Red Book on Roumania, published by Burian,
which contains a summary of my most important reports, gives a very clear
picture of the several phases of that period and the approaching danger of war.
The several defeats that Roumania suffered justified the fears of all those who
warned her against premature intervention. In order to render the situation
quite clear, it must here be explained that during the time immediately
preceding Roumania's entry into war there were really only two parties in the
country: the one was hostile to us and wished for an immediate declaration of
war, and the other was the "friendly" one that did not consider the
situation ripe for action and advised waiting until we were weakened still
more. During the time of our successes the "friendly" party carried
the day. Queen Marie, I believe, belonged to the latter. From the beginning of
the war, she was always in favour of "fighting by the side of England,"
as she always looked upon herself as an Englishwoman, but, at the last moment
at any rate, she appears to have thought the time for action premature. A few
days before the declaration of war she invited me to a farewell lunch, which
was somewhat remarkable, as we both knew that in a very few days we should be
enemies. After lunch I took the opportunity of telling her that I likewise was aware of the situation, but that
"the Bulgarians would be in Bucharest
before the Roumanians reached Budapest."
She entered into the conversation very calmly, being of a very frank nature and
not afraid of hearing the truth.
A few days later a letter was opened at the censor's office from a
lady-in-waiting who had been present at the lunch. It was evidently not
intended for our eyes; it contained a description of the déjeuner fort embêtant,
with some unflattering remarks about me.
...
(изд. CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD London, New York,
Toronto and Melbourne)
