Autumn in the Balkans was warm and quiet. After months of fighting, the roads slowly became empty again. Where columns of infantry had marched and artillery had thundered only weeks earlier, there were now abandoned trenches and broken fortifications. The fields were gradually returning to silence.
But the war had not truly ended yet.
Now its fate was being decided at negotiating tables.
In a large hall stood a long table. A map of the Balkan Peninsula lay across it, covered with pencil lines. Some borders had already been erased and redrawn several times.
Diplomats sat in silence, studying the map.
The Serbian representative spoke first.
—"Our army now occupies most of these territories. We see no reason to question their future administration."
He lightly touched the region of Macedonia with his finger.
The Bulgarian diplomat remained silent for a moment before answering.
—"Before this war began, agreements existed regarding the division of these lands."
The Greek representative replied calmly.
—"Wars rarely leave old agreements unchanged."
Silence returned to the room.
The Romanian diplomat, who had been listening carefully, finally spoke.
—"Romania believes that the northern border must also be reconsidered."
The Bulgarian representative looked at him.
—"You are referring to Southern Dobruja."
—"Naturally."
For several seconds no one spoke.
The Bulgarian diplomat studied the map.
—"If Bulgaria accepts all of these conditions…"
He paused.
—"What exactly will remain of Bulgaria?"
The Serbian representative answered quietly.
—"What is necessary to preserve peace."
The words hung heavily in the air.
No one argued.
Because everyone understood the same truth — Bulgaria could no longer continue the war.
Across Europe, governments watched the negotiations carefully.
In foreign ministries in Vienna, St. Petersburg, Paris, and London, maps of the Balkans lay beside stacks of telegrams. New reports arrived every day describing the movements of armies and the progress of the peace talks.
In one office several diplomats stood around a large map of Europe.
One of them said quietly:
—"Serbia has emerged from this war much stronger."
Another diplomat replied:
—"Which is precisely what concerns Vienna."
A third added:
—"And Russia continues to support Serbia. That complicates matters further."
For a moment the room fell silent.
Finally one diplomat spoke.
—"The Balkans have once again altered the balance of power in Europe."
No one disagreed.
History had already shown that conflicts in the Balkans rarely remained confined to the Balkans.
Several days later the peace treaty was signed.
The same hall was now quieter.
A thick document lay on the table.
One by one the representatives stepped forward and signed.
The scratching of pens across paper was the only sound in the room.
When the Bulgarian representative placed his signature on the document, he paused for a moment before setting down the pen.
—"It seems this war has truly ended."
The Serbian diplomat replied calmly.
—"Wars may end on paper."
He looked toward the map.
—"But their consequences remain."
No one argued.
Late that evening the Russian mission in Belgrade was still lit.
Skoropadsky stood beside a table covered with telegrams and maps.
He was reading the latest reports when the door opened quietly.
A diplomat from the mission entered.
—"News from the negotiations."
He placed a telegram on the table.
Skoropadsky read it carefully.
—"The treaty has been signed."
The diplomat nodded.
—"The Balkan Wars are officially over."
Skoropadsky remained silent for a moment.
Then he walked to the map of Europe.
—"Sometimes the end of a war only opens the door to new problems."
The diplomat looked at the map.
—"You mean Serbia?"
—"And those who are concerned about its growth."
His finger moved north across the map.
—"Austria-Hungary is watching closely."
The diplomat said:
—"Vienna has always watched the Balkans."
Skoropadsky replied calmly.
—"Yes. But now they have far stronger reasons."
For a moment both men studied the map in silence.
A few days later, early in the morning, a train waited at the Belgrade station.
Steam drifted from the locomotive while passengers boarded the carriages.
Skoropadsky stood on the platform beside a diplomat from the mission.
—"You are returning to Russia?"
—"Yes."
He looked back toward the city.
—"My work here is finished."
The diplomat said:
—"The Balkans have changed greatly."
Skoropadsky nodded.
—"And they will change again."
The locomotive gave a short whistle.
A conductor walked along the platform.
—"Final boarding!"
The diplomat asked quietly:
—"Do you believe Europe will manage to keep the peace after this?"
Skoropadsky looked down at the map he held in his hands.
—"History rarely moves so calmly."
He folded the map.
—"The Balkans have already begun great events more than once."
The train slowly began to move.
The diplomat said:
—"Do you believe another war is coming?"
Skoropadsky answered quietly:
—"I believe Europe has not yet seen the consequences of what happened here."
The train gathered speed.
The platform slowly disappeared behind the windows.
Belgrade faded into the distance.
The Balkan Wars were over.
But the tension they had created was only beginning to spread across Europe.