“I’ve been summoned by Sir Edward Grey. You can come with me and make notes, if you’ve got a different coat.”
Walter was elated. The British foreign secretary was one of the most powerful men on earth. Walter had met him, of course, in the small world of London diplomacy, but had never exchanged more than a few words with him. Now, at Lichnowsky’s characteristically casual invitation, Walter was to be present at an informal meeting of two men who were deciding the fate of Europe. Gottfried von Kessel would be sick with envy, he thought.
He reproved himself for being petty. This could be a critical meeting. Unlike the Austrian emperor, Grey might not want war. Would this be about preventing it? Grey was hard to predict. Which way would he jump? If he was against war, Walter would seize any chance to help him.
He kept a frock coat on a hook behind his door for just such emergencies as this. He pulled off his evening tailcoat and buttoned the daytime coat over his white waistcoat. He picked up a notebook and left the building with the ambassador.
The two men walked across St. James’s Park in the cool of the early morning. Walter told his boss the rumor about the Serbian reply. The ambassador had a rumor of his own to report. “Albert Ballin dined with Winston Churchill last night,” he said. Ballin, a German shipping magnate, was close to the kaiser, despite being Jewish. Churchill was in charge of the Royal Navy. “I’d love to know what was said,” Lichnowsky finished.
He obviously feared the kaiser was bypassing him and sending messages to the British via Ballin. “I’ll try to find out,” said Walter, pleased at the opportunity.
They entered the Foreign Office, a neoclassical building that made Walter think of a wedding cake. They were shown to the foreign secretary’s opulent room overlooking the park. The British are the richest people on earth, the building seemed to say, and we can do anything we like to the rest of you.
Sir Edward Grey was a thin man with a face like a skull. He disliked foreigners and almost never traveled abroad: in British eyes, that made him the perfect foreign secretary. “Thank you so much for coming,” he said politely. He was alone but for an aide with a notebook. As soon as they were seated he got down to business. “We must do what we can to calm the situation in the Balkans.”
Walter’s hopes rose. That sounded pacific. Grey did not want war.
Lichnowsky nodded. The prince was part of the peace faction in the German government. He had sent a sharp telegram to Berlin urging that Austria be restrained. He disagreed with Walter’s father and others who believed that war now was better, for Germany, than war later when Russia and France might be stronger.
Grey went on: “Whatever the Austrians do, it must not be so threatening to Russia as to provoke a military response from the tsar.”
Exactly, Walter thought excitedly.
Lichnowsky obviously shared his view. “If I may say so, Foreign Secretary, you have hit the nail on the head.”
Grey was oblivious to compliments. “My suggestion is that you and we, that is to say Germany and Britain, should together ask the Austrians to extend their deadline.” He glanced reflexively at the clock on the wall: it was a little after six A.M. “They have demanded an answer by six tonight, Belgrade time. They could hardly refuse to give the Serbians another day.”
Walter was disappointed. He had been hoping Grey had a plan to save the world. This postponement was such a small thing. It might make no difference. And in Walter’s view the Austrians were so belligerent they easily could refuse the request, petty though it was. However, no one asked his opinion, and in this stratospherically elevated company he was not going to speak unless spoken to.
“A splendid idea,” said Lichnowsky. “I will pass it to Berlin with my endorsement.”
“Thank you,” said Grey. “But, failing that, I have another proposal.”
So, Walter thought, Grey was not really confident the Austrians would give Serbia more time.
Grey went on: “I propose that Britain, Germany, Italy, and France should together act as mediators, meeting at a four-power conference to produce a solution that would satisfy Austria without menacing Russia.”
That was more like it, Walter thought excitedly.
“Austria would not agree in advance to be bound by the conference decision, of course,” Grey continued. “But that’s not necessary. We could ask the Austrian emperor at least to take no further action until he hears what the conference has to say.”
Walter was delighted. It would be hard for Austria to refuse a plan that came from its allies as well as its rivals.
Lichnowsky looked pleased too. “I will recommend this to Berlin most strongly.”
Grey said: “It’s good of you to come to see me so early in the morning.”
Lichnowsky took that as dismissal and stood up. “Not at all,” he said. “Will you get down to Hampshire today?”
Grey’s hobbies were fly-fishing and bird-watching, and he was happiest at his cottage on the river Itchen in Hampshire.
“Tonight, I hope,” said Grey. “This is wonderful fishing weather.”
“I trust you will have a restful Sunday,” said Lichnowsky, and they left.
Walking back across the park, Lichnowsky said: “The English are amazing. Europe is on the brink of war, and the foreign secretary is going fishing.”
Walter felt elated. Grey might seem to lack a sense of urgency, but he was the first person to come up with a workable solution. Walter was grateful. I’ll invite him to my wedding, he thought, and thank him in my speech.
When they got back to the embassy he was startled to find his father there.
Otto beckoned Walter into his office. Gottfried von Kessel was standing by the desk. Walter was bursting to confront his father about Maud, but he was not going to speak of such things in front of von Kessel, so he said: “When did you get here?”
“A few minutes ago. I came overnight on the boat train from Paris. What were you doing with the ambassador?”
“We were summoned to see Sir Edward Grey.” Walter was gratified to see a look of envy cross von Kessel’s face.
Otto said: “And what did he have to say?”
“He proposed a four-power conference to mediate between Austria and Serbia.”
Von Kessel said: “Waste of time.”
Walter ignored him and asked his father: “What do you think?”
Otto narrowed his eyes. “Interesting,” he said. “Grey is crafty.”
Walter could not hide his enthusiasm. “Do you think the Austrian emperor might agree?”
“Absolutely not.”
Von Kessel snickered.
Walter was crushed. “But why?”
Otto said: “Suppose the conference proposes a solution and Austria rejects it?”
“Grey mentioned that. He said Austria would not be obliged to accept the conference recommendation.”
Otto shook his head. “Of course not-but what then? If Germany is part of a conference that makes a peace proposal, and Austria rejects our proposal, how could we then back the Austrians when they go to war?”
“We could not.”
“So Grey’s purpose in making this suggestion is to drive a wedge between Austria and Germany.”
“Oh.” Walter felt foolish. He had seen none of this. His optimism was punctured. Dismally, he said: “So we won’t support Grey’s peace plan?”
“Not a chance,” said his father.
Sir Edward Grey’s proposal came to nothing, and Walter and Maud watched, hour by hour, as the world lurched closer to disaster.
The next day was Sunday, and Walter met with Anton. Once again everyone was desperate to know what the Russians would do. The Serbians had given in to almost every Austrian demand, only asking for more time to discuss the two harshest clauses; but the Austrians had announced that this was unacceptable, and Serbia had
