Конт Отокар Чернин: ВО СВЕТСКАТА ВОЈНА

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.

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