THE EMPEROR’S ILLNESS
The Austrian Court returned to Vienna as soon as the first snows on
the mountains round Ischl gave warning that the summer season was at
an end. Emperor Francis Joseph, who is a strenuous worker, and carries
on the business of State daily, whether in residence in Vienna or in
the country, began his life as usual. On certain days of the week he
held general audiences, and received anyone, high or low, aristocrat
or peasant, who wished to present a petition. He was always up at 4
a.m., and had got through most of his State duties by 8 a.m., when
he began to receive Ministers and others. In the month of October
it was suddenly announced that the Emperor was ill. The news caused
great consternation, as the monarch had never been ill in his life.
He had been confined to his room for some time as a young man after
an attempt made on his life, when he was stabbed in the neck, but he
had never had the slightest ailment since. His life was carefully
regulated by the Court physician, Doctor Kerzl, a military surgeon, a
rough doctor of the old school, who had grown old with the Emperor.
Members of the Imperial family frequently tried to have a younger and
more up-to-date man appointed as Court physician. They considered
that the Emperor’s health was so precious that its care ought not to
be confided to a man who had gained his experience with the Army. The
Emperor, however, stood firm, and the results of the somewhat draconic
treatment have certainly justified his decision. The Emperor sleeps
on a camp-bed, eats the heavy Vienna food with relish, and is always
accustomed to drive in an open carriage without his military cloak. It
is probable that he took the chill during the drive.
Specialists were summoned to the Emperor’s bedside, and they found
that the Royal patient was suffering from inflammation of the lungs.
He, however, refused to go to bed. Crowds of people went out to the
summer palace of Schönbrunn, where he was staying, and waited under
his window until he appeared to reassure them, when cheers rang out
and echoed along the arched corridors beneath the palace. The anxiety
felt by the common people was shared by everyone in Austria-Hungary,
and the one hope of high and low was that the Emperor might live.
This was not so much on account of his personal popularity, although
this was great, as because of the dread of the future. The heir to
the throne, Archduke Francis Ferdinand, was the most hated man in
Austria-Hungary. The Emperor’s death meant that he would succeed to
the throne. The Emperor himself felt a profound hatred for his heir,
and it was a matter of common knowledge that he was filled with a firm
determination not only to recover from his illness, but to outlive his
heir. Day after day the struggle went on within the white walls of
Schönbrunn Palace; the daily papers spoke of the Emperor’s illness as
a slight cold, for the monarch was not satisfied with reading extracts
from the official organs, as was his ordinary custom, but insisted
upon having all the papers, opposition organs as well as bounty-fed
periodicals, brought to his room. He wished to find out whether the
doctors were telling the truth about his illness. The three specialists
came to the conclusion that he could not recover; Doctor Kerzl alone
stood firm and said that he would get well again. The Emperor refused
to take to his bed, having a superstitious horror of lying down in the
daytime. Kerzl supported him in this, and it is probable that he owed
his recovery to it. The disputes among the doctors were unseemly, and
the specialists insisted on calling the family to Vienna. Archduchess
Gisela, the Emperor’s elder daughter, arrived in great haste, and his
younger daughter, Valerie, also appeared on the scene. Both women
are very pious, and they immediately wished the Emperor to receive
Extreme Unction. The Archbishop of Vienna, with a retinue of priests,
actually came out to Schönbrunn to administer it, but they were met
downstairs by Frau Catherina Schraatt, who told them that it would
frighten him to death, and induced them to return without carrying out
their mission. Archduke Francis Ferdinand arrived at the capital. He
and his morganatic wife, Duchess Hohenberg, established themselves at
the Belvedere Palace for the season. The Archduke, a man who lacked
refinement and who was utterly devoid of tact, immediately began to act
as if he had already succeeded to the throne. Statesmen, fearing that
the Emperor would never recover, were afraid to oppose him, and he got
an insight into affairs of State during the Emperor’s illness that
enabled him to assume a position that he never gave up afterwards. The
Habsburgs were obliged to look on while Duchess Hohenberg, then merely
Countess Chotek, took a position that would never have been conceded
to her had the Emperor been in his usual health. Kaiser Wilhelm, ever
watchful, began to count on the possibility of the Emperor’s death,
and the friendship between him and the Archduke dates from this epoch.
Kaiser Wilhelm did not like the heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary;
he recognised the fact that he would have to deal with a determined
man, who knew exactly what he wanted and would refuse to believe
the flattering assurances that satisfied Emperor Francis Joseph,
who, although still in full command of his mental faculties, was
beginning to feel the weight of years. The Emperor was never so acute
a man as his heir; the Archduke, too, had a wife whose intelligence
was remarkable. Countess Chotek was ambitious, and her husband was
accustomed to following her advice in State affairs. Kaiser Wilhelm
therefore shared the wish of the Austrian people, that the aged Emperor
might long be spared to them. Week after week went by. People from all
parts of the monarchy sent the Emperor quaint remedies, charms, and
specifics of all kinds to cure his illness; several officials were
engaged all day in writing to thank the senders, who were not even
aware of what ailed the Emperor. When it was finally announced that
he was out of danger there was great jubilation throughout the realm;
the people poured scorn upon the specialists, and acclaimed Dr. Kerzl
as the saviour of the country whenever they could catch sight of his
rough, honest face, bronzed by exposure upon many a battlefield. The
Emperor had given his attendants great trouble during his illness and
convalescence, as he had refused to allow anyone to enter his rooms
except Dr. Kerzl, his soldier-valet, who slept upon a rug in the
antechamber of his bedroom, and the sentry, who always paced to and
fro outside the Emperor’s bedchamber, and watched through a spyhole,
cunningly made in the door, for any change. No woman was allowed to
enter the suite of rooms during the night hours, the patient saying he
preferred an orderly to nurse him.
Gradually the Emperor recovered his powers. He was never the same man
again; his vigour was gone, and, although he was little changed in
appearance, his grasp upon affairs had weakened. The Archduke, who
disliked Vienna cordially, remained in town, a thorn in the Emperor’s
side. The latter, however, could find no pretext for dismissing him to
the country. Councillors, already anticipating the probable demise of
the reigning monarch at no distant date, advised the Emperor to consult
with his heir and to try to inculcate the inexperienced man with some
of his statecraft. The Emperor was induced to bestow some powers upon
the Archduke, although much against his will, and a new era in the
history of the country began.