Fall of Giants

“And what is, pray?” Fitz said frostily.

“I think Asquith and Grey are simply trying to frighten the French with a dose of reality. France cannot defeat Germany without our help. If they think they might have to go it alone, perhaps the French will become peacemakers, and pressure their Russian allies to back off from war with Germany.”

“And what about Serbia?”

Maud said: “Even at this stage, it’s not too late for Russia and Austria to sit down at a table and work out a solution for the Balkans that both can live with.”

There was a silence that lasted for a few seconds, then Fitz said: “I doubt very much that anything like that will happen.”

“But surely,” said Maud, and even as she spoke she could hear the desperation in her own voice, “surely we must keep hope alive?”

{IV}

Maud sat in her room and could not summon the energy to change her clothes for dinner. Her maid had laid out a gown and some jewelry, but Maud just stared at them.

She went to parties almost every night during the London season, because much of the politics and diplomacy that fascinated her was done at social occasions. But tonight she felt she could not do it-could not be glamorous and charming, could not entice powerful men to tell her what they were thinking, could not play the game of changing their minds without their even suspecting that they were being persuaded.

Walter was going to war. He would put on a uniform and carry a gun, and enemy troops would fire shells and mortars and machine-gun rounds at him and try to kill him, or wound him so badly that he was no longer able to stand up. She found it hard to think about anything else, and she was constantly on the edge of tears. She had even had harsh words with her beloved brother.

There was a tap at the door. Grout stood outside. “Herr von Ulrich is here, my lady,” he said.

Maud was shocked. She had not been expecting Walter. Why had he come?

Noticing her surprise, Grout added: “When I said my master was not at home, he asked for you.”

“Thank you,” said Maud, and she pushed past Grout and headed down the stairs.

Grout called after her: “Herr von Ulrich is in the drawing room. I will ask Lady Hermia to join you.” Even Grout knew that Maud was not supposed to be left alone with a young man. But Aunt Herm did not move fast, and it would be several minutes before she arrived.

Maud rushed into the drawing room and threw herself into Walter’s arms. “What are we going to do?” she wailed. “Walter, what are we going to do?”

He hugged her hard, then gazed at her gravely. His face was gray and drawn. He looked as if he had been told of a death. He said: “France has not replied to the German ultimatum.”

“Have they said nothing at all?” she cried.

“Our ambassador in Paris insisted on a response. The message from Premier Viviani was: ‘France will have regard to her own interests.’ They will not promise neutrality.”

“But there may still be time-”

“No. They have decided to mobilize. Joffre won the argument-as the military have in every country. The telegrams were sent at four o’clock this afternoon, Paris time.”

“There must be something you can do!”

“Germany has run out of choices,” he said. “We cannot fight Russia with a hostile France at our backs, armed and eager to win back Alsace-Lorraine. So we must attack France. The Schlieffen Plan has already been set in motion. In Berlin, the crowds are singing the ‘Kaiserhymne’ in the streets.”

“You’ll have to join your regiment,” she said, and she could not hold back the tears.

“Of course.”

She wiped her face. Her handkerchief was too small, a stupid scrap of embroidered lawn. She used her sleeve instead. “When?” she said. “When will you have to leave London?”

“Not for a few days.” He was fighting back tears himself, she saw. He said: “Is there any chance at all that Britain can be kept out of the war? Then at least I wouldn’t be fighting against your country.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Tomorrow will tell.” She pulled him close. “Please hold me tight.” She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

{V}

Fitz was angered to see an antiwar demonstration in Trafalgar Square on Sunday afternoon. Keir Hardie, the Labour M.P., was speaking, dressed in a tweed suit-like a gamekeeper, Fitz thought. He stood on the plinth of Nelson’s Column, shouting hoarsely in his Scots accent, desecrating the memory of the hero who died for Britain at the Battle of Trafalgar.

Hardie said that the coming war would be the greatest catastrophe the world had ever seen. He represented a mining constituency-Merthyr, near Aberowen. He was the illegitimate son of a maidservant, and had been a coal miner until he went into politics. What did he know about war?