seurs, and asked him if he knew the true cause of the real trouble. He told me, sotto voce, that there was a secret committee of rascals, who evidently were receiving orders from some unknown organization, demoralizing the service as much as they could, and terrorizing those who attempted to resist. He said there were such committees in all the units of that vicinity, and mentioned to me two mysterious crimes of which I already knew, where old sergeants had been killed by 'spent bullets' in a tract of forest well behind the firing-line.

Soon a more serious case arose. I was in temporary command of the entire division, when I received from corps headquarters an order to make important changes in the sectors assigned to the division and its constituent regiments. Following a precedent which I had adopted in order to avoid any misunderstanding with the soldiers' councils, I immediately summoned the colonels of the division together with their soldiers' committees, as well as the general committee for the division. The latter consisted of two or three almost illiterate common soldiers, who had to pass upon the tactical orders given by the division commander. Meanwhile I prepared two orders, practically identical in effect, but one of them very simple and easy of execution, while the other was more complicated and involved several important changes of cantonments. When my people had gathered, the chief of the divisional general staff read the two proposed orders. I explained in a few words what it was proposed to do, and the advantage of each order. I then suggested to the colonels and the committees to choose the one they thought best. Naturally they unanimously selected the simplest, which was approved, signed, and countersigned, and telephoned to the different units by the divisional soldiers' council.

VOL. 310-NO. 4023

The order was to be executed at eight P.M., but at seven P.M. the president of the divisional council came to me in great agitation, to report that one battalion refused to obey, in spite of the urging of its soldiers' council and of the head of the Socialist political club. The latter was a lieutenant-colonel in command of a regiment. He begged his troops by telephone to obey the order in the name of party discipline.' Nothing happened. The companies refused to move. I said to the president of the divisional soldiers' council that since my order had been countersigned by the committee, it was the committee's duty to take action. However, I counseled its members to inform at once the soldiers' council for the army corps, stating that I would simultaneously report to the commanding general of the corps.

The soldiers' council of the army corps sent an investigating committee the next day, which discovered that two unknown soldiers from a neighboring regiment had brought orders not to execute the manœuvre in question; and the incident ended there. The regular committee proved powerless in face of the secret committee.

Pacifists and German agents used the Reichstag peace resolutions of July, 1917, to persuade the troops that we must have peace at the first possible moment. Our Russian soldiers argued that since Germany had thus solemnly promised not to make annexations or levy indemnities, and to allow every people the right to choose its own government, it was useless to continue a bloody war merely to gratify the imperialist ambitions of the Entente. Alsace-Lorraine, Serbia, and Poland, were to decide their destiny for themselves. When I tried to persuade my men that Germany would never give up the territories it had taken, I invariably was told: 'But, you see, the Reichstag

has passed a resolution in favor of peace.' This was the honest conviction of many and the bribed pretext of others.

The Bolshevist revolution in October completed the demoralization of the army. The persecution of officers reached a climax. All permanent rank was abolished, and officers were graded entirely by the positions they temporarily filled. Orders were issued to fraternize with the enemy; and not to attack him or resist his attacks. This paved the way for the armistice and peace. In order to rid the army of the 'old régime,' an order was issued that an election should be held on Decem

ber 18, to choose new officers for the entire army. As I had been eligible to retirement long before this, I resigned a few days before the election was held.

In conclusion, let me recite a single remark made to me by the unhappy Tsar. Tsar. One day, after his abdication, which he signed in the hope of preserving the unity of the army, which he loved and knew perfectly, he said to me: "The Russian forces have never been better equipped than at this moment. But I fear the simultaneous offensive arranged by the Allies for this spring on all the fronts, will never come off.' Unhappily he was only too right.

THERE were really three critical days during the week before the war - days that we may call tragic. During those three days, the 31st of July, and the 1st and 2d of August, 1914, I was exerting every effort to attain an all-important object, but was never certain of the outcome. I knew perfectly well that England would eventually be forced to intervene in any war between France and Germany. But if the intervention came too late, it would be useless, assuming that we were already crushed. That was why immediate intervention was all-important. Now, for three days

the decision upon which the safety of France and the destiny of the world depended hung in suspense. The scales of the balance alternately rose and fell, and no one could say which would outweigh the other. When I think back to those three days I feel as if they had lasted centuries.

You know how slowly public opinion crystallizes in England. They have a proverb in that country: John Bull must be kicked before he is roused.' It took more than one kick from Germany to awaken England. The ultimatum to Serbia came like a clap of thunder. For

a time the British people failed to appreciate the gravity of the crisis. Events followed each other so fast that the public could not keep up with them. A majority of the Cabinet opposed intervention. Asquith, the Premier, appreciated that England must not repeat the error of 1870, and let France fight alone at the risk of being crushed. But he was not positive enough in making his private opinion felt. He was an old parliamentary war-horse, who wanted first to feel the pulse of his Cabinet colleagues and of the members of Parliament.

That pulse, let me say, did not beat very strongly. Winston Churchill, a man of aggressive, energetic temper and quick resolution, was an urgent advocate of intervention. He did us a great service, a service for which we can never be sufficiently grateful, in ordering, on his own responsibility, that the British fleet, which had just completed its grand manoeuvres, should remain mobilized. He alone is to be credited with a measure which we now realize was of vital importance. When England, a little later, decided to act, her navy was ready to strike.

Sir Edward Grey, who was then Minister of Foreign Affairs, was a tragic figure. He has the soul of a philanthropist, of a pacifist. His generous, idealist disposition makes him attribute to others sentiments which he cherishes himself. During that terrible week two opposing impulses and convictions struggled for mastery in his heart. As Foreign Minister, receiving reports from all his ambassadors, he could not fail to see that we were drifting speedily toward war; as an idealist, he could not bring himself to speak a word or to do an act which might involve England in hostility. So there was a conflict in his own heart. He suffered acutely. He could not decide what course to take.

Lloyd George, at that time Chancel

lor of the Exchequer, was inclined from the first toward intervention. Several years before, when the Agadir incident was most acute, he delivered a vigorous address at the Mansion House, in which he served notice on Germany that her threats did not leave England indifferent. His bold declarations produced a salutary effect at that time in Berlin. But Lloyd George, with all his remarkable qualities, is temperamentally impressionable and mobile, very responsive to any influences brought to bear upon him. On July 30, an important deputation of city financiers called upon him at his office, and told him that England must not, under any circumstances, take part in the war which threatened. Such a war, no matter how brief, would inevitably plunge the world into financial chaos. The city men were right on that point. They insisted that the only way to save the world was for Great Britain to keep out of the conflict, and to become the great protector and economic savior of mankind. Thus the interests of the universe were discovered to harmonize remarkably with the private interests of England. Nothing pleases your typical Britisher more than to discover that kind of harmony; and he is inclined to find it even where it does not exist.

Lloyd George was deeply impressed by this visit and these arguments. His opinion veered around. During the two or three days that followed, the critical days I have just mentioned, he was not so strong a partisan of intervention; he hesitated, he shifted - and all this had its effect upon the Cabinet. The latter was meeting every day, without coming to a final decision, without saying the decisive word which might have halted the German government at the last moment in the course which it was taking.

We know now that war was decided upon at the famous council presided

over by the Kaiser at Potsdam, on the afternoon of Wednesday, July 29. Bethmann-Hollweg, the German Chancellor, had hardly got back from it when he hastened to call upon Sir Edmund Goschen, the British Ambassador, and to propose to him a most disgraceful trade. He assured the latter that, if England would remain neutral, Germany would not annex French territory. Sir Edmund Goschen then asked him what would become of our colonies; whereupon the Chancellor refused to make any engagement regarding them. He said: 'So far as Belgium is concerned, the German army may be obliged to invade that country to repel a French attack.'

That very day I had an interview with Sir Edward Grey at the Foreign Office. He told me the situation was very serious, of which I was equally aware. He added that he was about to inform the German Ambassador that he must not misunderstand the friendly tenor of their conversation. The imperial government will be at fault if it concludes from this that we shall keep aloof from the conflict in case our efforts to preserve peace fail. But I believe it necessary to let you know,' said Sir Edward to me, 'that public opinion does not regard the present crisis in the same way that it did the Morocco crisis a few years ago. In that case a dispute had arisen where France was the party directly interested, and where Germany, in order to crush you, seemed to seek a quarrel over a question which had been made the subject of a special agreement between yourselves and us. The present dispute is between Austria and Serbia. Even if Russia should be involved, we should have a war between the Teutons and Slavs for supremacy in the Balkans, which does not concern us. If Germany and France take part in that war, we have not yet decided what our attitude will be.'

I replied: "That is, you must confess, a very subtle distinction. Public opinion in France is calm, but determined. We expect hourly a demand from Germany that we remain neutral while she attacks Russia. We cannot make any such promise. We are obligated to help Russia in case she is attacked.'

The next day, July 30, I called again on Sir Edward Grey, and said to him: "The peace of Europe has never been so seriously threatened. I do not ask you to tell me positively that you will intervene, but merely to inform me how you will act if certain circumstances arise: for example, if Germany attacks us.'

At the same time I showed him a report from my government, proving that Germany's military preparations were far more advanced than our own. 'I expect,' I added, 'that German aggression will take the form of a summary demand that we cease our military preparations, or that we remain neutral in case of a war between Germany and Russia. We cannot possibly promise either of these things.'

Sir Edward Grey replied that the Cabinet would meet the following morning, and he would see me the next afternoon.

When I returned the next day, I showed him at once a telegram which my brother had sent from Berlin. It contained this statement: "The uncertainty here regarding England's action is encouraging the military party. If the British government is able to come out firmly in favor of Russia and France, Germany may decide not to make war.'

Sir Edward Grey replied: 'It is inexact to assume that we have left Germany under the impression that we will not intervene. I have refused any assurance to this effect.'

Naturally I asked him for a more categorical statement.

He replied: 'At the Cabinet meeting this morning we concluded that we could not give a formal assurance. We could

I continued to urge the point, and repeated again: 'Will England come to our assistance if Germany attacks us?' I got the same reply, or lack of reply: 'We cannot make a promise now.'

I then asked him if I could submit my question at a special Cabinet meeting.

He answered: "The Cabinet will have to meet as soon as something new occurs.'

The next morning, Saturday, August 1, the meeting was held. I saw Sir Edward Grey the moment it was over. He told me again that after a careful study of the European situation the government did not feel ready to decide on war. He communicated to me this decision with a gravity that was almost tragic.

I replied with equal seriousness: 'I absolutely refuse to transmit such a statement to my government. I ask you to reconsider the question. It is impossible for you to let me telegraph such a report to Paris. In any case, I shall not telegraph. Consider all that we have done, all the proofs of our pacific intentions that we have given. In spite of the opposition of our General Staff, which is very properly alarmed by such a measure, we have gone so far as to leave our frontier momentarily unguarded, and to withdraw our troops three kilometres to the rear in order to avoid a clash. We have thereby abandoned to the Germans a portion of our

territory where they can work their will. Our country is exposed to their incursions. The Channel and the Atlantic coast are in a still worse situation. The German fleet is liable to bombard them with impunity at any moment. A formal agreement between our General Staffs provides that, in order that Great Britain may concentrate its naval forces in the North Sea, France shall take over the protection of the Mediterranean. Our most powerful and modern war vessels are in those waters. We have no ships on the Atlantic coast and in the Channel capable of resisting the German fleet. Are you going to let Cherbourg and Brest be bombarded, when we have concentrated our navy at an inaccessible point in order to serve your interests as much as our own? And you tell me to-day that you cannot yet, in spite of the repeatedly proved provocations of Germany, in spite of that country's open preparations to violate the neutrality of Belgium and Luxemburg, give me the slightest assurance that you will intervene. I will not send such an answer to my people; for it will only fill them with rage and indignation. Although we have no formal alliance, are you not bound by moral obligations to support us, at least to lend us the protection of your fleet, since we have stationed ours at an inaccessible point at your advice?'

Our conversation ended with this. Evidently Sir Edward Grey was impressed by my words. My concluding argument, that it was a moral impossibility for England to refuse us the aid of her fleet, seemed to touch him particularly. But I knew that there was powerful opposition in the Cabinet.

These were the darkest hours of my official career. I multiplied my efforts. I insisted that naval coöperation at least was necessary. I realized that this was a weak point with England. But I was sure of nothing. I kept saying to