All language subtitles for WWI.Chronicles.Everything.Changed.2025

Before the world was shattered, before the soil

was stained with the blood of nations, before

the great empires bled dry and the very

earth trembled beneath the weight of human suffering,

there was an age of splendor, of certainty,

of illusions.

The year was 1913.

The world stood at the precipice of an era that believed itself eternal.

It was the twilight of an age gilded

in gold, its grandeur masking the deep fractures below.

This was the Belle Epoque, the beautiful era,

an age of opulence, of confidence, of an unshakable belief in progress.

The hum of industry, the glow of electric

light, the boundless ambition of science, humanity reached

higher, faster, further.

The cities of Europe pulsed with life.

London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, names that spoke of

civilization at its peak, of culture, of innovation.

It was an age of steam and steel,

of towering airships drifting like silent sentinels over

glittering capitals, of locomotives thundering across nations, binding

cities and people in a network of progress.

The future had never seemed so bright.

The motor car roared onto cobbled streets, the

aeroplane defied gravity, and Marconi's wireless messages whispered

across oceans.

A world once vast and unknowable was shrinking,

growing ever closer, ever more connected.

Yet beneath the elegance, beneath the laughter in

the grand halls and the smoke curling from

cafe terraces, the earth rumbled with something darker,

a force unseen, unheard, yet undeniable.

The world was not at peace, not truly.

Across the continent the empires of old stood

tall, their banners flying high, their rulers seated

upon thrones gilded with the weight of history.

The German Kaiser, restless and ambitious, cast long

glances beyond his borders.

In the halls of St. Petersburg, Tsar Nicholas

II clung to a brittle autocracy as the

murmur of revolution seeped through the streets.

In Vienna, an empire of many peoples but

one crown, fragile, fracturing on borrowed time.

And in Britain, the Lion of the Seas

watched, wary, as the world around it shifted.

The great powers walked a tightrope, stretched thin

between honour and ambition.

Alliances were forged in ink and sealed in

steel, promises of protection and vengeance whispered behind closed doors.

The world, whether it knew it or not, had become a powder keg, and then the

Balkans, a land soaked in history, in blood,

in restless dreams of freedom.

Here, in the shadows of empires, a single act would set the world ablaze.

June 28th, 1914.

Sarajevo.

A motorcade, an archduke, a bullet fired from

the trembling hands of a young assassin, a

single shot, then another, and the course of history was altered forever.

The streets of Sarajevo, once drowsy beneath the

summer sun, erupted in confusion.

The heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, Archduke

Franz Ferdinand, lay mortally wounded, his blood staining

the silk of his uniform.

His wife, Sophie, collapsed beside him, a final breath escaping her lips.

Their assassins, a band of young idealists, had

no idea that their gunfire had sounded the death knell of an entire age.

News spread like wildfire, carried by telegraph wires

that pulsed with the urgency of governments scrambling for control.

In Vienna, grief turned to fury.

In Berlin, war councils whispered behind closed doors.

In St. Petersburg, the Tsar readied his armies,

feeling the weight of duty and destiny.

And in London and Paris, uneasy diplomats watched

as the balance of peace swayed, a feather's breadth from collapse.

In the drawing rooms and lively taverns, in

bustling markets and industrious factories, the people of

Europe carried on with their daily lives, blissfully

unaware that they were teetering on the brink

of a catastrophic upheaval that would forever alter the course of history.

Some individuals leisurely perused newspapers, their pages filled

with reports of distant tensions and geopolitical disputes,

never imagining that within mere weeks, their own

sons, fathers and brothers would be compelled to

march toward a war that would be unlike

any conflict that had ever unfolded before in the annals of time.

The great wheels of power and influence began to turn with an ominous grace.

Austria-Hungary issued a stern ultimatum to Serbia,

harsh, demanding, and ultimately impossible to accept.

The world, with bated breath, held its collective

gaze upon the unfolding drama.

However, Serbia, emboldened and defiant, refused to bow to the pressure.

Russia, bound by ancient ties of blood and

dutiful loyalty, swore to protect its Slavic brethren

against any potential aggressor.

Germany, positioned like a coiled spring ready to

unleash its might, pledged unwavering solidarity to its ally Vienna.

France, forever vigilant and wary of its old

adversary, began to prepare for impending battle, grounding

its defenses with strategic precision.

Britain, still caught in a web of hesitation

and lingering hope, observed the storm clouds gathering

on the horizon with a heavy heart.

As the days of July began to fade into the heat of August, the tense atmosphere

became unbearable.

And finally, the fragile thread of peace snapped irreparably.

August 1914 arrived and with it, the world

descended into a swirling vortex of chaos and madness.

They called it the War to End All

Wars, a grand and imposing title that resonated

with claims of righteousness and necessity.

They labeled it a cause that had to be fought for, crucial and just in its

inception.

Yet in their hubris, none foresaw the unimaginable

horrors and profound suffering that were to follow

in the wake of this monumental conflict.

As darkness descended, it became clear that their

notions of honor and glory would become twisted

beyond recognition, setting the stage for a tragedy

of unimaginable proportions.

This was no war of swift victories, no

gallant charge upon open fields where honor and bravery could shine.

This was a war mechanized and industrialized to

an unprecedented degree, a brutal conflict fought without mercy or respite.

Men would march forward with the stirring songs

of their nations echoing in their hearts, driven

by a spirit of honor, by a sense of duty, only to be consumed utterly by

a horrifying nightmare of mud, choking gas, treacherous

barbed wire, and the unrelenting deafening cacophony of

endless ceaseless shellfire.

The earth itself became a graveyard, the trenches

yawning wounds across the land filled not with

glory, but with the dead and the dying.

The very air turned toxic, a silent specter that choked the breath from lungs.

And still, the war machine ground on, devouring

a generation, carving its scars not just into

the soil of Europe, but into the soul of humankind.

By Christmas of that first year, the illusions had crumbled.

The belief in a quick war, a righteous war, had drowned in the blood of the

Marne, been buried in the frozen earth of Flanders.

This is the story of World War I,

a conflict that reshaped history, shattered empires, and

left behind ghosts that whisper through the ages.

A war that saw the world burn, yet left the seeds of future battles sown deep

within the soil.

This was not the end.

This was merely the beginning of a century of conflict.

This is the story of how the world unraveled.

Welcome to the descent into the abyss, into the trenches, into the fire.

It was the final summer before the outbreak of World War I,

the last summer of the old world.

For the everyday men and women walking the

streets of the western world, especially those who

had lived through the lively early years of

the 20th century, war seemed like the farthest thing from their minds.

During those years, men who fantasized about the

thrill of battle would have struggled to find a conflict to join.

In 1901, and in the 13 years that

followed, the people of western Europe and the

English-speaking Americas were shifting from warriors to consumers.

Motor cars, motorcycles, airships, electric trains, and submarines

became novelties to fill the growing leisure time.

The emerging middle class looked forward to more

years of progress, prosperity, and peace.

There had been no war among the great powers for nearly half a century, and the

globalization of the world economy suggested that war was a relic of the past.

To many, that hot, sun-soaked, beautiful summer

of 1914, the most stunning in living memory,

Europe felt like an Eden.

Stefan Zweig captured the mood perfectly, writing that

he had rarely experienced a summer more luxuriant,

more beautiful, and, I'm tempted to say, more summery.

In particular, the middle and upper classes were not happy with the war.

The middle class Britons saw themselves living in

a perfect world, one in which economic forces

would prevent the European powers from waging war on each other.

For those with a comfortable income, the world

of their time felt freer than it does today.

Until 1914, the sensible, law-abiding Englishman could

go through life barely aware of the state's presence.

One could live wherever and however one pleased,

and travel almost anywhere in the world without needing anyone's permission.

For the most part, a passport wasn't required,

and many people didn't even have one.

The French geographer André Siegfried circled the globe

with nothing more than his visiting card as identification.

It was an era of free capital flow

and the unrestricted movement of people and goods.

In fact, there was more globalization before 1914

than there is today.

Much of the final quarter of the 20th

century was spent simply regaining the ground lost in the preceding 75 years.

Economic and financial interconnectedness were among the powerful

forces that made war among the major European

powers seem not just impractical, but obsolete.

In the Western world, ordinary people had no fear of an impending conflict.

While some leaders expressed concerns, even they did

not expect war to break out in the summer of 1914.

France had long desired to reclaim territories lost

to Germany decades earlier, but those in a

position to know were certain that France would

not initiate a war to recover them.

On December 13th, 1913, the Russian Prime Minister

informed the Tsar that all French statesmen sought

peace and were willing to cooperate with Germany.

By the end of 1913, it was clear that Franco-German relations were in a better

state than they had been in years.

Germany feared a future war with Russia.

By the winter of 1914, they knew the

Tsar's armies were in no condition to fight and wouldn't be for several years.

The glorious final days of June 1914 unfolded

under a summer sky and calm seas, until

they were suddenly struck by a shock they

mistakenly believed had come out of nowhere.

The path that led the major powers of Europe into war in 1914 was long and

winding, shaped by numerous factors that ultimately pushed

them toward armed conflict.

Perhaps the most significant and apparent factor was

the Franco-Prussian War of 1870.

This brief but decisive conflict resulted in France's

humiliating defeat and the unification of the German

states under Prussian leadership.

The creation of the German Empire, one of

the spoils of victory, saw the annexation of

Alsace and Lorraine from France, causing a major

shift in the European balance of power.

Germany's rapid rise to economic and military dominance

only heightened the anxieties of its neighboring countries.

By 1938, Germany was the world's second most

powerful industrial nation, behind only America.

For nearly two decades, between 1871 and 1890,

the new European balance of power remained unchallenged.

Thanks to the diplomatic skill and cunning of

Otto von Bismarck, the German Chancellor who successfully kept France isolated.

However, when Bismarck left office in 1890, it

didn't take long for a series of unpredictable

shifts to start undermining his carefully crafted continental system.

Relations between France and Germany rapidly worsened, and

Russia, under the Tsar, began to draw closer

to both France and Austria-Hungary.

In response, Germany worked to strengthen its alliance

with the Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy, ensuring an ally to the east.

Yet, this alliance would prove costly, as it

increasingly tied Germany to a crumbling empire struggling

to control the nationalist movements within its diverse population.

The volatile situation in the Balkans grew more

dangerous as Turkey's influence waned.

Austria and Russia, eager to exploit these opportunities,

each pursued paths that would inevitably lead to conflict.

The rise of Serbia further destabilized the region.

Serbia, angered by Austria's 1908 annexation of Bosnia

and Herzegovina, expanded its influence and territory following

the Balkan Wars of 1912 and 1913, which

only fueled Austria's growing irritation.

With Bismarck's departure, the bellicose and unpredictable Wilhelm

Wacht, who had become Kaiser in 1888, quickly

pushed Germany toward a more aggressive stance in international relations.

France, already eager to avenge its defeat in

1870 and reclaim the lost provinces, grew even

more alarmed by Germany's expanding industrial and military strength.

Russia, too, found reason for concern about the

Austro-German alliance, which not only cast a

menacing shadow over its western frontier, but also

threatened to undermine Russian interests in the Balkans.

The first significant crack in Bismarck's diplomatic framework

appeared in 1892, with the dismantling of its

cornerstone, the isolation of France.

That year, Russia and France signed a military

agreement, later bolstered by additional talks in 1893

and 1894, in which both nations pledged to

assist each other if either were attacked by Germany.

This shift from Bismarck's pragmatic Realpolitik to Wilhelm

II's more ambitious Weltpolitik ultimately forced Britain to

reassess its position in relation to the other major European powers.

For much of the late 19th century, Britain

had maintained a relatively friendly relationship with Germany,

in part because Queen Victoria's eldest daughter was

married to the German Crown Prince Frederick, who

ascended to the throne in March 1888.

However, after Frederick's death from cancer following a

mere three-month reign, his estranged son, Wilhelm

II, took the throne, heralding a new era

of competition with Britain for colonies and global markets.

Wilhelm's first public remarks as Kaiser were not

addressed to his people, but rather to his armies.

We belong to each other, I and the army.

We were born for each other and will indissolubly cleave to each other.

I promise ever to bear in mind that from the world above the eyes of my

forefathers look down on me, and that I

shall one day have to stand accountable to them for the glory and honor of the

army.

The German army, under Prussian leadership, was the

most formidable military force in the world, but

it was Germany's naval expansion that estranged Britain.

Our naval power involved British existence.

If our naval supremacy were to be impaired,

the whole fortunes of our race and empire

would perish and be swept utterly away.

Under the guidance of Rear Admiral Alfred von

Tirpitz, and with the Kaiser's backing, the Kriegsmarine

revealed its plan to build a fleet of 38 battleships over the next 20 years.

Viewing Britain as the greatest obstacle to Germany's

expansion, Tirpitz saw the German fleet as a

political tool that could enhance the country's influence in global affairs.

The launch of 14 battleships in Germany between

1900 and 1905 marked the beginning of a

naval arms race, which escalated further when Britain

introduced the revolutionary turbine-driven all-big-gun

battleship HMS Dreadnought in 1906.

Each new launch pushed Germany and Britain further apart.

I explained to him that the real ground

for the growing antagonism in this country towards

Germany was not jealousy of her rapidly expanding

commerce, but fear of her growing navy.

The Kaiser did not care.

I do not wish for a good understanding

with England at the expense of the extension of the German fleet.

Germany's support for the Boers during the South

African War of 1899 to 1902 accelerated the

end of Britain's previous policy of isolation.

In 1904, Britain signed the Entente Cordiale, significantly

strengthening its diplomatic and military ties with its

traditional rival, France.

A similar agreement was reached with Russia in 1907.

By the end of the 19th century, Britain

had clearly aligned itself with the Franco-Russian alliance.

Although these agreements were not formal treaties and

did not obligate Britain to go to war in support of France or Russia, they did

create a moral commitment to stand with both

nations against the central powers.

An unforeseen incident involving any of these countries

could easily spark a larger conflict, which, due

to the competing alliance systems, might quickly involve them all.

Sunday, 28th June, 1914.

Early in the morning, Archduke Franz Ferdinand and

his wife Sophie attended mass in a chapel set up for them at their hotel.

Afterward, they boarded a train bound for Sarajevo,

a journey lasting just under half an hour.

Upon reaching the railroad terminal on the outskirts

of the city, they transferred to a motorcade for the remainder of the trip.

The procession of chauffeur-driven cars entered Sarajevo

between 9.30 and 10 o'clock, heading towards the town hall.

The morning rain had ceased and the top of the car was lowered.

That morning, Gavrilo Princip, the Bosnian-Serb teenager

who aspired to be a martyr, had positioned

himself and his fellow conspirators along the embankment

at three locations where it was crossed by bridges.

As the Archduke's motorcade made its way along

the quay, it would be passing through a

deadly gauntlet of nationalist assassins.

As the Archduke's procession entered the first bridge,

it entered a kill zone.

Three conspirators lined the riverside of the quay,

with two more positioned on land.

The first attempt on the Archduke's life came

from the riverside, where Nijelko Kabrinovic, after asking

a nearby policeman to identify Franz Ferdinand's motorcar,

accidentally knocked the cap off his bomb while trying to detonate it.

He threw the bomb at the Archduke's car,

but it missed, bouncing off the folded-down

hood of the convertible and landing beneath the

car behind it, where it exploded.

The countess felt a slight graze on her neck from the blast, and those in the

following car sustained minor injuries.

Hearing the explosion and the crowd's shouts, Princip

quickly made his way to the scene where

it appeared that the attempt had failed.

The gendarme had Kabrinovic firmly in custody, and

were hauling him off to the police station.

None of the other conspirators was to be found.

Alone, Princip wandered back to what had been

his appointed station on the riverside of the

embankment at what was called the Latin Bridge.

He then crossed the street.

Of the others, one was so jammed in the crowd that he could not pull the

bomb out of his pocket.

A second saw policemen standing near him, and

then decided that any movement would be too risky.

A third felt sorry for the Archduke's wife, and did nothing.

A fourth lost his nerve and slipped home.

Franz Ferdinand decided to cancel existing plans, which

called for his motorcade to maneuver through winding

alleys on the way to the museum.

After the stop at the town hall for

a reception and speeches, he insisted on driving

to hospital to visit Colonel Medici, who'd been

likely wounded in the bombing attack.

The driver in the lead car was not told of the change in plans, and turned

off the main road toward the museum.

When the mistake was realized, the Archduke's driver

halted his car to consider how best to get back on the route to hospital.

Meanwhile, they sat motionless less than five feet from the dejected Princip.

He was astonished at his sudden good fortune.

He quickly seized his chance.

He reached for a bomb in his pocket,

but became aware that hemmed in by the crowd, he could not swing his arm to

toss it at his target, so he pulled out his pistol and fired two shots at

point-blank range.

His first shot hit the Archduke in the jugular.

His second caught the Duchess in the abdomen

as she was rising to her husband's aid.

Princip then turned the revolver on himself, but

was prevented from firing it by a bystander who hurled him to the ground.

Confusion erupted as the crowd and nearby police

battled one another to get the boyish assassin.

Princip tried once again to kill himself, reaching

into his pocket to remove the capsule and swallow.

The poison was old and only made the assassin vomit.

The mob closed in about him and began to beat him.

Eventually, the police wrestled him away from the crowd.

Meanwhile, the limousine sped off to seek help.

Sophie dear, Sophie dear, don't die, stay alive

for our children, Franz Ferdinand called out.

The first shot was fired around 10.30.

Sophie passed away at roughly 10.45, with

the Archduke following soon after around 11.

It was far from nothing.

If the murders in Sarajevo had occurred even

a century earlier, it would have taken weeks

or months for word to reach distant corners of the world.

The consequences could have been entirely different, but

technology had changed that.

Foreign officials around the globe learned of the shooting almost immediately.

In Germany, the Kaiser was informed of the

assassination while racing in a regatta aboard his yacht, Meteor.

Wilhelm decided to return to Berlin immediately.

In England, the outrage, as the assassinations were

called, dominated the foreign coverage in the morning

edition of the London Times.

In France, however, at the first cabinet meeting

following the murders, the killings were scarcely mentioned.

In fact, across Europe's capitals, the reaction to

the assassination of the heir to the Habsburg

throne was shockingly calm, even indifferent.

The truth was that few in Austria-Hungary mourned Franz Ferdinand's death.

While the leaders of the dual monarchy expressed

regret over the killing of royalty, they saw

the Archduke's removal as the least mourned choice among the royal family.

Of course, as heir to the throne, Franz

Ferdinand was second only to the Emperor in

importance within the Habsburg Empire.

But by murdering him, Serbian terrorists had issued

a direct challenge to the Empire's very existence.

If Austria-Hungary failed to respond, it would risk losing its authority.

Yet this was not the primary motivation for Austria's desire to destroy Serbia.

The Habsburgs had long sought to eliminate Serbia

as a threat and the killings merely provided the pretext.

Before the assassination, Austria had already been looking

for a reason to assert its dominance over Serbia.

The murders gave Vienna an excuse to act, not the cause.

Austria-Hungary saw the Austro-Serbian confrontation as

a golden opportunity to solidify its power in

Europe, achieve global status, weaken the Entente powers,

hinder Russian modernization, and eliminate the threat Serbia

posed to its authority in the Balkans.

The German ambassador to the dual monarchy reported to the Kaiser.

Canberto, the Austro-Hungarian foreign minister, told me

today that everything pointed to the fact that

the threads of the conspiracy to which the

Archduke fell a sacrifice together at Belgrade.

I frequently hear expressed in Vienna, even among

serious people, the wish that at last a

final and fundamental reckoning should be had with the Serbs.

The Kaiser wrote in the margin of his report, now or never.

Four days later, on July 6th, he sent a message to the Austrian emperor.

The emperor Franz Josef may rest assured that

his majesty will faithfully stand by Austria-Hungary

as is required by the obligations of his

alliance and of his ancient friendship.

And with that, on the very same day,

the Kaiser set off on a summer cruise

aboard the royal yacht in Scandinavian waters.

While Europe continued to enjoy its idyllic summer

vacation, Austria moved forward to cash in on

Germany's blank check for unconditional support against Serbia.

After securing Germany's backing 25 days after the

Archduke's assassination, Austria issued a 10-point ultimatum to Serbia.

Throughout July, Germany's top military leaders, along with

the Kaiser, Chancellor and Foreign Secretary, were all on leave.

Once the Austrians had set a firm date

for their ultimatum, Berlin discreetly called its leaders back.

They returned starting on July 23rd, one by one, to avoid drawing attention.

After their return, the debate over the next steps began.

Among those engaged in discussions on the fate

of war and peace were Germany's key military

figures, Chief of Staff von Moltke, War Minister

von Falkenhayn and Military Cabinet Chief von Linke,

along with several other important officials.

For Moltke, the debates were particularly frustrating, both

because civilian leaders did not share his perspective

or objectives, and because they lacked the knowledge he had.

A Saxon officer speaking with Moltke's deputy on

July 23rd noted that he got the sense

the General Staff would welcome the outbreak of war at this moment.

Moltke did not fear Russian mobilization.

He actively sought it.

He understood more than most that time was running out for Germany.

Germany was committed to following Moltke's grand strategy,

a plan that few were fully aware of.

The Kaiser, Falkenhayn, and until July 31st, the

German Chancellor Bethmann, were kept in the dark.

None of them knew that Moltke had already

set his plan for Germany's opening moves in the war into motion.

On July 25th, Serbia accepted nine of Austria's

ten points, but rejected in part the demand

that Austrian officials be involved in the investigation

of the assassination, seeing it as an infringement on its sovereignty.

On the same day, Serbia also mobilized its army.

Russia confirmed partial mobilization on July 26th, entering

a phase of preparation for war.

Austria responded by mobilizing that same day.

Then on July 28th, the dual monarchy declared war on Serbia.

Up to this point, it might still have

been possible to localize the conflict, but Germany

continued to take an uncompromising stance, escalating tensions

and internationalizing the crisis.

On July 29th, Germany demanded that Russia immediately

halt its preparations for war.

Failure to comply would result in Germany mobilizing its own army.

The German Imperial Chancellor, Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg,

instructed the ambassador in St. Petersburg to deliver this message.

Kindly call attention to the fact that further

confirmation of Russia's mobilization measures would force us to mobilize.

And in that case, a European war could scarcely be prevented.

Russia could not afford to passively accept the

erosion of Serbian sovereignty or the growing influence

of Austria in Eastern and Southeastern Europe.

As a result, on July 30th, Russia ordered

a general mobilization in support of Serbia.

Russian mobilization began the following day, but it

was not necessarily an immediate step towards war.

The Russian forces could, if needed, have remained

on their own territory for weeks while diplomatic negotiations continued.

Germany's actions escalated the tension.

At 1.45 p.m. on July 31st,

Germany issued a proclamation signaling the threat of war.

By 3.30 p.m., the German government

addressed both Russia and France, presenting Russia with an ultimatum.

Unless Russia demobilized within 12 hours, Germany would

fully mobilize its forces.

The German ambassador in Paris was instructed that

mobilization equated to war, and France was asked

to provide guarantees of neutrality.

Events were spiraling quickly beyond control.

When Russia did not respond, Germany ordered a full mobilization.

Time was running out.

In each country, mobilization marked the point at

which war plans were set into motion.

Nowhere was this more evident than in Germany,

where the nation had become a prisoner of its own military strategy.

The Schlieffen Plan, initially conceived in 1897 and

revised in 1905 by Count Alfred von Schlieffen,

then chief of the German general staff, was

designed to address the nightmare scenario of fighting

a two-front war against both Russia and France.

Schlieffen's primary goal had been to create a

strategy that allowed Germany to confront this challenge head-on.

While it offered a potential solution, the plan

inadvertently reduced the army's anxiety about a two

front war, thus emboldening its willingness to take

the risks associated with such a conflict.

Schlieffen calculated that in the event of a

war with both France and Russia, Russia would

take longer to mobilize, giving Germany a crucial

window of approximately six weeks to quickly defeat

France through a massive offensive.

Once France was subdued, Germany could then shift

the majority of its forces to the east to counter the Russian advance.

However, a significant concern was that the heavily

fortified defenses along France's northeastern border could delay

the rapid execution of the western campaign.

To overcome this, Schlieffen decided that German forces

must cross a small strip of Dutch territory

and then push through Belgium, disregarding its neutrality,

before driving into northwestern France.

The plan gave particular importance to five armies

positioned between Metz and Holland, comprising a total of 35 corps.

These forces, stationed on the far right of

the offensive, were tasked with executing a massive

encirclement, with one army maneuvering around Paris's western flank.

The aim was to trap the French armies

from behind, forcing them against their own frontier.

Colonel General Helmuth von Moltke, who succeeded Schlieffen,

made several significant adjustments to the original plan

between 1906 and 1914.

Though he was a meticulous and thorough officer,

Moltke was also introspective and struggled with periods

of low self-confidence.

His modifications included weakening the right flank and

abandoning the planned advance through Holland.

These changes, in hindsight, would prove to be critical missteps.

On the 1st of August 1914, Germany could

wait no longer for a response from Tsar Nicholas II and declared war on Russia.

In keeping with her alliance with Russia, France

mobilized her forces, triggering the complex web of European alliances.

On the 2nd of August, Germany presented Belgium

with an ultimatum, demanding the right to pass through her territory.

The Belgians quickly rejected the request.

The following day, Germany declared war on France,

and France reciprocated with her own declaration of war.

Early on the 4th of August, German forces crossed the Belgian frontier.

The strength of the German forces on this front was formidable.

Colonel General Alexander von Kluck's 1st Army, stationed

on the extreme right, numbered 320,000 troops.

The neighboring 2nd Army, under Colonel General Karl

von Bülow, and the 3rd Army, led by General Max von Hausen, counted 260,000 and

180,000 men, respectively.

The invasion of Belgium brought the final major

power into the conflict, Great Britain.

I ask the House, from the point of

view of British interests, to consider what may be at stake.

If France is beaten to her knees, if in a crisis like this we run away

from obligations of honor and interest as regards

the Belgian Treaty, we should, I believe, sacrifice

our respect and good name and reputation before

the world, and should not escape the most

serious and grave economic consequences.

God grant we may not have a European war thrust upon us, and for such a

stupid reason too.

No, I don't mean stupid, but to have to go to war on account of tiresome

Serbia beggars belief.

Britain had no formal military agreement with France

and Russia, but was bound by a treaty

from 1839 to guarantee Belgium's neutrality.

The moment had arrived.

At 11 p.m. on August 4th, 1914,

the last summer of the old world came to an end.

Standing on the balcony of his residence, British

Foreign Secretary Sir Edward Gray watched as the

lamplighters moved along the street below.

The lamps are going out all over Europe.

We shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.