ARCHDUKE FRANCIS FERDINAND
All Europe was asking one and the same question at this epoch: “What
kind of a man is the heir to the throne?”
They got the answer that he was “a little-known man,” and this was true
to a certain extent. The Emperor, an old autocrat, never allowed any
member of the Imperial family to take a leading part in public affairs.
They were expected to do their duty in opening charitable institutions,
presiding at _fêtes_ in provincial cities, but in both Vienna and
Budapesth they found it advisable to keep well in the background.
Whenever a young Archduke became too popular, even in the ballrooms
of Vienna, he was promptly banished to some out-of-the-way place,
ostensibly on a mission, but really as a punishment for presuming to
court popularity.
This was well understood among the Habsburgs, who, as a rule, did not
care for Court life. Most of the Archdukes lived on their country
estates, where they enjoyed almost regal power for nine months of the
year, merely coming to Court to pay their respects to the monarch at
the New Year.
Archduke Francis Ferdinand was very fond of power and very ambitious,
but he did not care for playing the _rôle_ of heir to the throne when
he had reached middle age and was at the height of his powers. He
therefore remained in the country for the greater part of the year.
This did not increase his popularity. People grumbled at the sadness
that hung like a pall over the Court. They said that it was merely a
resort for military men and officials, and wished that young life could
be introduced to restore Vienna and Budapesth to their former gaiety.
Archduke Francis Ferdinand had laboured under great disadvantages
since sudden and unexpected events had made him heir to the throne.
His attendants and the Court officials summed up the position in one
sentence: “He has never been trained for a throne.” He was entirely
lacking in tact--a quality which, if not a natural gift, must be
acquired by painful experience by personages who will one day occupy
a throne. He spoke no languages except his own. He had, of course,
some knowledge of French and Italian, and was learning Hungarian; but
he was not in a position to carry on delicate negotiations in French.
He had a bad record even for an Austrian Archduke. His youthful
career had been full of incident, and his doctors had been compelled
to put a sudden stop to a course of youthful dissipation by sending
him on a voyage round the world. He was reported to be suffering from
consumption in its preliminary stages, and it was said his only chance
of life was a complete change of climate. The Archduke, who was an
artist and well acquainted with ancient and modern culture, started
off on the Imperial yacht for the East with nothing but pleasurable
feelings. His favourite study was ethnology, and he made a collection
of objects of great interest during this voyage. They were to be seen
in one of the galleries of the Hofburg, which had recently been added
to the main block of the town palace. The Archduke converted the new
part into a museum, as the Emperor had forbidden the architect to fit
the new building with lifts or other modern appliances. Lifts he hated,
and firmly refused to enter one even when he was having his portrait
painted by an artist whose studio was on the sixth floor of a Vienna
house.
The Archduke, who was intensely modern, decided that a palace without
lifts and proper heating appliances was not fit to live in, and
promptly converted the new gallery into a picture gallery and museum
without waiting for the Emperor’s advice or permission.
The aged Emperor and his heir clashed in every direction; they were
diametrically opposed in all their tastes and convictions. Both were
pious to an exaggerated degree. The Emperor disliked the Jesuits; his
heir consorted with them constantly, and listened to their advice in
matters of State. This alone would have been sufficient to prevent the
Emperor from ever wishing him to succeed to the throne. The Archduke,
too, although so pious, had contrived to estrange both the Church
and the Emperor by one act of boyish folly. As a young officer he
was stationed at a depôt in the depths of the country to learn his
profession, far from critical crowds. One day he was riding across the
fields, when some peasants, carrying the mortal remains of one of their
fellows, crossed by the footpath. The Archduke, in a fit of youthful
exuberance, set his horse at the bier and cleared it at a jump. The
priest protested at the act of sacrilege. The story reached the ears
of the Emperor, who never forgave him. Although the Archduke was not
careful of the feelings of the Roman Catholics, the non-Catholics in
the country believed that he would be capable of persecuting them with
a rigour such as had been unknown since the Middle Ages. At the time of
the Emperor’s illness the Liberal papers prophesied in their leading
articles that he would build up martyr fires around the Cathedral
of St. Stefan, in the centre of Vienna. They said he would show the
utmost relentlessness in burning or hanging his Jewish, Protestant, and
Mahommedan subjects, all of whom were accustomed to a wide tolerance,
based on indifference to them and their doings. The Archduke was
bitterly hated in Hungary; it was commonly reported that his life was
not safe in that part of his future kingdom. He gave colour to these
reports by his strange conduct. When he went down to Budapesth he did
not put up at an hotel, as was customary. He remained all night in
the royal train, which was run up the line to a siding, no one being
aware of the exact spot at which it had drawn up. This confession
of fear and lack of confidence in the loyalty of his subjects did
the Archduke great harm. The alternative explanation, sometimes
advanced, that the Archduke, who was known as the meanest man in the
kingdom, merely wished to save an hotel bill, did not improve matters.
The hotel-keepers looked upon members of the Imperial House as most
desirable guests; they never overcharged them, for the advertisement
was worth a great deal to them. Archdukes who neither commanded a
palace to be prepared for their coming nor put up at an hotel were
naturally not popular with anyone. Archduke Francis Ferdinand crowned
all his other delinquencies by his marriage. Instead of contracting
an alliance with some powerful reigning house, he made a morganatic
marriage with a lady-in-waiting. Countess Chotek was a Bohemian
aristocrat, it is true, but she was not a peer of any member of the
House of Habsburg. The Emperor allowed the marriage to take place,
and when all the circumstances are taken into account, especially
the ease with which persons whose existence was disagreeable to the
Vienna Court were removed, it can only be concluded that the Emperor
approved of the marriage. He evidently did not wish the children of the
Archduke to come to the throne on account of their father’s tendency
to tuberculosis, which was reported to have gone to the brain. It was
common knowledge that the Archduke was accustomed to fly into fearful
rages. Whether this habit, which is common to all the Habsburgs, was
owing to epilepsy, or some obscure brain disease, it is difficult to
say; but the Emperor evidently shared the common feeling that it was
some obscure affection of the brain, and shared the doctors’ opinion
that the Archduke’s descendants ought not to come to the throne of
Austria-Hungary.
Archduke Francis Ferdinand, who was always short of money, tried to
engage in business, and, as usually happens with men of his position,
made a sad failure of it. Instead of leaving the management of his
estates to stewards, who would only take their customary perquisites,
he engaged in business transactions himself. He was badly swindled, and
gained a reputation for meanness which was richly deserved. His varied
excursions into the realms of speculative business were attended by no
better luck. He dared not associate himself with eminent business men,
so he summoned a number of companions to his side who were difficult to
shake off. With them he embarked upon business of an illegitimate kind.
His only excuse was his complete lack of understanding of all matters
relating to business.
[Illustration: THE DUCHESS HOHENBERG. WIFE OF THE ARCHDUKE.]
[Illustration: THE ARCHDUKE FRANCIS FERDINAND.]
Neither Archduke Francis Ferdinand nor his morganatic wife had the
tact or sense to hide the impatience with which they awaited the aged
Emperor’s death. The “parrot” story, as it was called, went the round
of the Vienna _cafés_ at this period. A bird of very rare plumage,
evidently the property of some aristocratic personage, was found
straying in the public gardens of Vienna. A gardener promptly caught it
and took it round to the police, where lost property of all kinds was
deposited, until its owner could be found. The sergeant in charge put
the bird in a cage and forgot all about it. Shortly afterwards he was
startled to hear the parrot begin to discourse with great fluency when
it had become used to its surroundings. It referred to various members
of the Imperial family in terms of the very scantiest respect. “That
old cat Valerie” was its delicate way of referring to the Emperor’s
younger and favourite daughter. “Peacocks, sluts” were terms of abuse
applied to Archduchesses who either overdressed or neglected their
toilettes. The sergeant became pale with fright. It was _lése-majesté_
to listen to such words, and the penalty might be death. When the
parrot broke into a steady stream of talk, with a kind of refrain,
“He’ll live to be a hundred, Sofie,” in an exact imitation of the
gruff tones of the heir to the throne, who was evidently referring to
the Emperor, the sergeant felt that any further eavesdropping would
be dangerous. He picked up a cloth, threw it over this utterer of
high treason, and carried the loquacious bird to the chief of the
police. The cloth was removed, and the indignant parrot, unused to such
treatment, began worse than before. The sergeant was dispatched in all
haste to find a very thick black cloth that might be calculated to damp
even the ardour of an Imperial parrot, and, carefully wrapped up, the
bird was sent to the Belvedere, where the Archduke and his wife were in
residence.