PRINCE EGON FÜRSTENBERG AND COUNT TCHIRSKY. HOW THE KAISER “WORKED”
VIENNA
Kaiser Wilhelm had the good sense to keep away from Vienna during
the time of the annexation crisis. Very few knew the extent of his
influence in the Austrian capital, nor had they any idea how it was
exercised. The Kaiser was always well informed of everything that
was happening in Austria, and obtained his knowledge by attaching
personages like Max Egon Fürstenberg to his person. The Kaiser never
selected a friend except for the advancement of his own ends. Prince
Max, who had the position of a reigning sovereign, without the work
or responsibilities that were formerly attached to the title and
possessions, had the _entrée_ to all the most exclusive houses in
Germany and Austria-Hungary. Here he shared State secrets that it was
given only to very few to know. Kaiser Wilhelm was quick to see the
advantage of attaching such a man to his side. The Prince was flattered
by the monarch’s notice, and never thought that casual remarks that he
let fall were treasured up by his Royal host. The German Kaiser and
the Prince even speculated in stocks and shares together, financed
companies, and indulged in business that was quite legitimate for the
wealthy Prince, who could afford to lose heavily, but very dangerous
for a monarch whose purse was always exhausted.
Prince Max, who is easy-going and good-humoured, cared little for his
failures, but Kaiser Wilhelm lost prestige with his people through his
financial transactions. Prince Max was very irresponsible in many ways.
Like many other Austrians, he failed to see that his country was on the
edge of a volcano. Things had always settled themselves before, and
they would again, he thought. It is doubtful whether he realised that
he was a mere tool in the hands of the Kaiser, and even if he did so,
his sardonic contempt of life made him indifferent to the unpatriotic
_rôle_ that he was playing in giving away his country’s secrets to
her worst enemy. Intelligent and well-versed in the traditions of
his family that has produced so many famous men, it is probable that
Prince Max could have saved Austria from falling into the hands of
the Germans had he realised what was happening. Unfortunately, he was
too much occupied in pursuing the latest craze of the moment to think
of serious matters. Under his charming manners he possessed a certain
acumen, but was inclined to think the Germans were guided by the same
motives as he was himself. The over-civilised, over-polished man of the
world fell an easy prey to the cold, calculating monarch on the other
side of the frontier.
[Illustration: PRINCE MAX EGON FÜRSTENBERG.]
Prince Max Egon Fürstenberg was one type of the Kaiser’s familiars.
Count Tchirsky, the German Ambassador at Vienna, was the prototype of
the others. The German Ambassador in Vienna was the _doyen_ of the
Diplomatic Corps. Cold-blooded, calculating, deep, he was the very
embodiment of the Kaiser’s ideal politician. Tchirsky did not know
what scruples meant, and his many years’ experience of the Court of
Vienna enabled him to put his fingers upon every weakness there. He
saw only the defects and missed much that was fine in the character
of the men with whom he had to deal. They spoke of him as the “Old
Spider” of the Metternichgasse, where he had his palace. He did not
play a leading _rôle_ in society; visitors to Vienna knew but little
about him, if indeed they realised his existence at all. He carried
on a bitter warfare against the members of the diplomatic body who
tried to oppose the Triple Alliance. His machinations were less openly,
but none the less fiercely, directed against Italy, the nominal, but
unwilling, ally of the Central Empires. Tchirsky, a man of dark plots,
contrived to acquire interest in one of the leading Vienna papers. This
interest developed into the effective control of the organ. He was
able, thus, under the guise of a newspaper attack, to render Vienna
almost intolerable for any diplomatist whose presence he considered
detrimental to the welfare of Germany. When the Emperor “conspicuously
turned his back upon the Russian military attaché” at a Court ball, the
fact was recorded with great gusto in Tchirsky’s paper. The attaché,
who was compromised in a spy case, would have left Vienna by the first
train on the morrow in any case. Emperor Francis Joseph was a soldier
and no courtier, and when he turned his back upon a foreigner there was
no mistaking the action. It was done squarely and openly. The record of
the German-owned Press did not improve the strained relations between
Russia and Austria-Hungary, for the fact that Germany directed the
paper’s policy was an open secret. A pro-English American Ambassador
was subjected to attacks of a kind that could only be conceived by the
fertile brain of Count Tchirsky. The Ambassador was accused of being
parsimonious, and his personal habits were described with an acrimony
that showed he had a powerful enemy. The coarseness of the language
used, too, exposed the source; only a Prussian could employ such
machinations against an enemy. How the Austrians, who prided themselves
on their hospitality and their courtesy to strangers, could allow such
an attack to appear can only be explained by the growing helplessness
of their statesmen when confronted by the powerful German. Tchirsky
further distinguished himself by making an attack through the Press
upon the wife of the British Ambassador. How far he was responsible for
the famous Cartwright interview it is difficult to say. The blow, it
was known at the time, came from Germany. Austrians might have listened
to a private conversation at a table in Marienbad, and put the words
uttered by various members of the British Colony into shape as their
views upon the Morocco question, but it needed the unscrupulousness
of a German to conceive the plan of putting the pronouncements into
the mouth of the British Ambassador. The latter was too astonished
by the impertinence of the act to realise what it meant. Indeed, it
is possible that the Ambassador’s indignant denials of ever having
entered into any discussion with the man who claimed to have obtained
the interview were suppressed like many other items of news and facts.
The only denial that did appear was late and inadequate. The British,
bound by traditions, never even suspected that German diplomacy could
resort to such means for gaining an advantage. No one realised their
absolute deadness to all sense of morality. When Count Tchirsky did
sally forth from his chilly palace in Vienna, it was to compass the
undoing of the frivolous Austrians. He would exact the payment of a
pledge, given over wine. Bargains, made in the ball-room, were reduced
next morning to writing, then stored away among the archives at Berlin,
and the carrying out of the conditions--conditions favourable to
Germany and disastrous to Austria--would be exacted with the cruelty
and callousness of a Prussian politician. Had Tchirsky himself hung
back, there were others to egg him on. The ideal condition of a
Europe in which Germany was supreme must be realised. Any remnants of
conscience that Tchirsky might have possessed had long been stifled by
intercourse with his Imperial master, who regarded himself as far above
all moral law. He was the supreme War Lord. His word had established a
new morality quite different from that generally accepted. The military
training enjoyed by almost all Germans made them the more ready to
accept this point of view. Discipline, enforced until the power of
independent reflection has been lost through want of use, relieved
them of the necessity of considering the morality of their acts. The
hymns of praise of Germany’s successful policy, sung by philosophers
and by the pastors of religion, who were foremost, as usual, in
advocating the policy of expediency that Germany might be exalted,
lulled any scruples felt by Tchirsky’s subordinates. He, himself a
survival of a former age, was incapable of imagining anything of the
kind. Truth was what the supreme lord decreed to be truth. Honesty was
merely another word for expediency. The Ambassador was surrounded by
a number of men, with no reputation to lose, who brought him news of
every fresh turn of events in Austria-Hungary. They cared little that
they were betraying their country to a hard taskmaster. The present
benefits of a flourishing banking account were ample compensation
for their treachery. These causes all combined to render Tchirsky
the least popular man in Vienna. When his name was mentioned, every
tongue was suddenly frozen into silence. Was the inquirer a spy? Did
he wish to sound the secret feelings of someone present? The Viennese
felt a distrust that was rather instinctive than realised. It was the
premonition of the closing of the brutal hand of German power upon the
crowd of gay butterflies on the banks of the Danube.