*CHAPTER X*
*THE ENTANGLING OF ARCHDUKE FRANZ FERDINAND*
Discussing the Archduke--"Intoxicate with Promises"--A Look at
the Map--The War Lord's Miscalculation
"What do you think of number one?" asked the War Lord, when the door had
closed upon Bertha at the old Chancellor's Palace.
The diplomat performing the duties of deputy-head of the Empire is tall,
inclined to corpulence, grey moustached and bright eyed. He knocked his
heels together like a recruit trembling before the drill-ground bully.
"Majesty refers to Fraulein Krupp?"
"Quite correct."
"She has the benefit of Majesty's personal guidance--there's no more to
be said," declared von Buelow, with conviction. "But who may number two
be?"
"Not quite the figurehead of number one. I refer to the gentleman coming
to see you."
"The Archduke? I was going to beg your Majesty for instructions
concerning His Imperial Highness."
"Plain Franz Este, if you please; his incognito must be taken very
literally."
"At your Majesty's orders."
"He is number two," emphasised Wilhelm; and while pretending to look out
of the window replaced his left hand, which had slipped, upon the hilt
of his sword. Then, fully accoutred, he resumed: "Number one furnishes
my arms--
"And those of the world," put in the Chancellor.
"That's where you and _all_ of you are mistaken. _My_ gun works arming
_my_ enemies? As intimated, number one helps to _dis_arm my enemies."
When he saw blank amazement on the Chancellor's countenance, he added:
"Don't ask how, for in this case purpose sanctifies the means. Number
one, then, is my right arm, while number two I intend to make one of my
men-at-arms."
Another pause for effect.
"I am all ears, Your Majesty," said von Buelow.
"Well, then, bear this in mind: Franz Ferdinand has to be indulged
despite his marriage to the little school marm. He is a fool, of
course. Well, the Chotek being an encumbrance to Franz Ferdinand, we
must make her into a quarry for our own good. What do you think?"
"I am afraid I lack capacity to follow the trend of Your Majesty's grand
ideas this morning," replied the Chancellor, remembering that he had
been chosen, not to think, but to carry out orders.
"Well, as you know, I persuaded Francis Joseph to wink at the Chotek
indiscretion. The decree elevating the ex-governess, and making her
brats of princely estate, ought to have been dated from Berlin instead
of Ischl, for it was I who placed that plum in Her Ladyship's pie, the
Olympian Emperor notwithstanding. Hence Prince Hohenberg--for Franz
Ferdinand is more or less his wife's husband--is beholden to me for such
recognition as his marriage received, and Sophie will not let him forget
it either. Accordingly, I call him 'number two' in my combination."
"If the children of this union----"
"_Dis_union," interrupted the War Lord, applauding his irony with a loud
guffaw.
"Disunion," von Buelow obediently repeated, "lay claims to the throne,
is it Your Majesty's intention to support them?"
"All Archdukes look alike to me," replied the War Lord with fine
disdain; "all fools, bigots, or both. Rudolph was an exception. At all
events, it is to our interest to give Herr von Este to understand that,
if he is determined to make Sophie both Empress of Austria and Queen of
Hungary, Germany will support his mad scheme."
"Your Majesty thinks Hungary will accept her as Queen?"
"She has to, for a morganatic marriage is a real marriage according to
Hungarian law."
"Which suggests the possibility of grave internal dissensions," said the
Chancellor.
"Quite so; to Pan-Germanism this little governess is worth five army
corps. If her marriage causes a split in the Dual Monarchy, why, we
will annex German Austria and leave the Hungarians to die, if they
choose, '_pro Regi nostro, Sophia_.' But that's quite a long way off.
What concerns us at present is getting solid with that chap. I know
what you want to say: A brute, a beast. But so long as the Chotek is
satisfied, I am."
The latter in response to an indication on von Buelow's part that he
meant to put in a word or two.
"When I come to think of it," continued the War Lord, "neither
Alexander, nor Charlemagne, nor Napoleon were what you call gentlemen
overflowing with the milk of human kindness. As I see it now--my plans
are not quite matured, of course--but this is certainly beyond question
or dispute: As my ally in the conquest of the world, a namby-pamby
partner would be of confounded little use. Besides, for sentiment I
have Victor--darling fellow!"
Saying this, the War Lord gripped his sword so hard that the point of
the scabbard threw a statuette of the King of Italy off an _etagere_,
smashing it.
"There he goes," he sneered, kicking at the broken china; "uncertain
commodities at best, these Dagos. Always fishing outside the three-mile
limit, and everlastingly ogling with England and France."
"Majesty is pleased to under-estimate King Victor's devotion to German
interests," ventured von Buelow warmly.
"When you were in Rome you used to sing a different tune," said the War
Lord severely. "But _revenons a nos moutons_: Franz Este is a bit of a
mutton thief himself"--Wilhelm laughed heartily at his quibble--"very
fond of Hungary and Bohemia. We must intoxicate him with the promise of
great things to be accomplished by the union of German
arms--German-Austrian, of course."
"May I remind Your Majesty that Franz is rather a fanatic in religious
matters?" suggested the Chancellor.
"I was coming to that," snarled the War Lord--it simply maddens Wilhelm
to find that someone, beside himself, has an idea in his head. Whether
the religious aspect had occurred to him before we don't know, but he
pounced upon it with vulture-like gusto, adopting it _in toto_ as it
were.
"You will say to him: 'Brothers in arms and in faith--the Protestant and
the Catholic Church, or the Catholic and the Protestant,' I don't care.
Remind him that Prussia offered the Pope an asylum before the invasion
of Rome by the Italians.
"Yes," he continued, "curse the Italians as much as you like; promise
him Venice and the Balkans up to the gates of Constantinople."
The War Lord pressed a button underneath a large table fronting the
Chancellor's desk, whereupon the mahogany top disappeared and another
marked off in geographical divisions, representing the map of Europe and
part of Asia, replaced it--the _Kriegsspiel_; Europe in battle-array.
The _Kriegsspiel_--War Game--shows the military strength of each country
in plain, movable figures, horse, foot and artillery, navy and
aircraft--the figures liable to correction from time to time; the exact
location of the forces is apparent at a glance too.
The same applies to fortresses, letters designating the origin of the
artillery equipment.
Above each country wave its colours in the shape of a tiny silk flag,
fastened to bead-headed pins, easy to stick in anywhere.
The War Lord pulled out a drawer and took a handful of German flags, but
before using any a new thought struck him.
"Send for Kast," he commanded curtly.
Adjutant Baron Kast appeared as if catapulted into the room.
"I forget the lettering combination--I want 'k' for Belgium. You are
sure the other equipments are marked according to latest reports."
"At Your Majesty's service."
The adjutant fixed the 'k' as required and stood at attention.
"I will call in case I need you further."
The officer was drawing backwards towards the door when the War Lord
stopped him.
"One second. I want a cross fixed to letter 'k.'"
Kast, a martinet without ideas of his own, a mere _mannequin_ moving on
the strings of discipline, looked blank astonishment.
"If it can't be done, send for the mechanic; he shall fix the new
combination overnight."
"May I try, Your Majesty?"
Kast succeeded in quick order.
"Why did you hesitate, if it's so easy?" demanded the War Lord.
"With Your Majesty's permission, I was wondering whether it was your
pleasure to have a cross placed against all the 'k's' on the map."
The War Lord looked at von Buelow, who dismissed Kast by a look.
"Out of the mouths of fools and sucklings," misquoted Wilhelm under his
breath, while a cruel sneer played about his lips. Then, to the
Chancellor, aloud: "Inborn stupidity or low cunning?"--referring to
Kast.
"The first, Your Majesty, the first. Your Majesty will agree, when I
say that I myself do not see the significance of the cross."
"You will--in time," said the War Lord brusquely. "But to continue."
He took a German flag and placed it on the spot marked Rome. "The Holy
Roman Empire of German nationality," he said.
"Which Voltaire designated as neither holy, nor Roman, nor an Empire,"
remarked von Buelow drily.
"Time's passed, time was, time is," quoted the War Lord, "or rather will
be." For awhile he remained in silent reverie, then turned upon the
Chancellor suddenly. "You asked the other day how to mark the English
Channel. _Gott!_ it's worth five million men to Edward. No, don't mark
it at all; for if the distance between Calais and Dover can be bridged
only half-way by our guns--no impossibility, you know--that strip of
water won't amount to more than a few army corps."
Again the War Lord remained in deep thought. "Noah's ark," he demanded
after a while.
The Chancellor pulled out a drawer at the side of the _Kriegsspiel_
table. "At Your Majesty's service." The War Lord picked figure after
figure, dropping them on the floor, until he got hold of a small white
object.
He held it between two fingers, eyeing it curiously; then moved it
deliberately across the Channel, holding it aloft, and planted it on the
spot marked "London."
"The Dove of Peace," he said; "for in London we will dictate peace to
the world. Tell Franz."
*CHAPTER XI*
*THE CROWN PRINCE ON A LARK*