KONOPISCHT
1
Konopischt has become the cradle of manifold legends. The lord of the
castle was the first victim of the terrible world conflagration, and
the part that he played before the war has been the subject of much
and partly erroneous commentary.
The Archduke and heir to the throne was a man of a very peculiar
nature. The main feature of his character was a great lack of balance.
He knew no middle course and was just as eager to hate as to love. He
was unbalanced in everything; he did nothing like other people, and
what he did was done in superhuman dimensions. His passion for buying
and collecting antiquities was proverbial and fabulous. A first-rate
shot, sport was for him a question of murdering _en masse_, and the
number of game shot by him reached hundreds of thousands. A few years
before his death he shot his 5,000th stag.
His ability as a good shot was phenomenal. When in India, during his
voyage round the world, and while staying with a certain Maharajah, an
Indian marksman gave an exhibition of his skill. Coins were thrown
into the air which the man hit with bullets. The Archduke tried the
same and beat the Indian. Once when I was staying with him at
Eckartsau he made a _coup double_ at a stag and a hare as they ran; he
had knocked over a fleeing stag, and when, startled by the shot, a
hare jumped up, he killed it with the second bullet. He scorned all
modern appliances for shooting, such as telescopic sights or automatic
rifles; he invariably used a short double-barrelled rifle, and his
exceptionally keen sight rendered glasses unnecessary.
The artistic work of laying out parks and gardens became in latter
years his dominating passion. He knew every tree and every bush at
Konopischt, and loved his flowers above everything. He was his own
gardener. Every bed and every group was designed according to his
exact orders. He knew the conditions essential to the life of each
individual plant, the quality of the soil required; and even the
smallest spot to be laid out or altered was done according to his
minute instructions. But here, too, everything was carried out on the
same gigantic lines, and the sums spent on that park must have been
enormous. Few people had the varied artistic knowledge possessed by
the Archduke; no dealer could palm off on him any modern article as an
antique, and he had just as good taste as understanding. On the other
hand, music to him was simply a disagreeable noise, and he had an
unspeakable contempt for poets. He could not bear Wagner, and Goethe
left him quite cold. His lack of any talent for languages was
peculiar. He spoke French tolerably, but otherwise no other language,
though he had a smattering of Italian and Czech. For years--indeed, to
the end of his life--he struggled with the greatest energy to learn
Hungarian. He had a priest living permanently in the house to give him
Hungarian lessons. This priest accompanied him on his travels, and at
St. Moritz, for instance, Franz Ferdinand had a Hungarian lesson every
day; but, in spite of this, he continued to suffer from the feeling
that he would never be able to learn the language, and he vented his
annoyance at this on the entire Hungarian people. "Their very language
makes me feel antipathy for them," was a remark I constantly heard him
make. His judgment of people was not a well-balanced one; he could
either love or hate, and unfortunately the number of those included in
the latter category was considerably the greater.
There is no doubt about it that there was a very hard strain in Franz
Ferdinand's mentality, and those who only knew him slightly felt that
this hardness of character was the most notable feature in him and his
great unpopularity can doubtless be attributed to this cause. The
public never knew the splendid qualities of the Archduke, and
misjudged him accordingly.
Apparently he was not always like that. He suffered in his youth from
severe lung trouble, and for long was given up by the doctors. He
often spoke to me of that time and all that he had gone through, and
referred with intense bitterness to the people who were only waiting
day by day to put him altogether on one side. As long as he was looked
upon as the heir to the throne, and people reckoned on him for the
future, he was the centre of all possible attention; but when he fell
ill and his case was considered hopeless, the world fluctuated from
hour to hour and paid homage to his younger brother Otto. I do not for
a moment doubt that there was a great deal of truth in what the late
Archduke told me; and no one knowing the ways of the world can deny
the wretched, servile egotism that is almost always at the bottom of
the homage paid to those in high places. More deeply than in the
hearts of others was this resentment implanted in the heart of Franz
Ferdinand, and he never forgave the world what he suffered and went
through in those distressful months. It was chiefly the ostensible
vacillation of the then Minister for Foreign Affairs, Count
Goluchowski, that had so deeply hurt the Archduke, who had always
imagined that Goluchowski was deeply attached to him. According to
Franz Ferdinand's account, Goluchowski is supposed to have said to the
Emperor Francis Joseph that the Archduke Otto ought now to be given
the retinue and household suitable for the heir to the throne as
he--Franz Ferdinand--"was in any case lost." It was not so much the
fact as the manner in which Goluchowski tried "to bury him while still
living" that vexed and hurt him whom a long illness had made
irritable. But besides Goluchowski, there were numberless others whose
behaviour at that time he took greatly amiss, and his unparalleled
contempt of the world which, when I knew him, was one of his most
characteristic features, appears--partly, at any rate--to date from
his experiences during that illness.
In connection with politics, too, this bitterness exercised a lasting
influence on his entire mental outlook. I have been told by an
authentic witness that the Archduke, when suffering and combating his
terrible disease, saw one day an article in a Hungarian paper which,
in brutal and derisive tones, spoke of the Archduke's expectations of
future government as laid aside, and gloated openly, with malicious
delight, over the probable event. The Archduke, who while reading the
article had turned ashen grey with rage and indignation, remained
silent for a moment and then made the following characteristic remark:
"Now I must get better. I shall live from now only for my health. I
must get better in order to show them that their joy is premature."
And though this may not have been the only reason for his violent
antipathy to everything Hungarian, there is no doubt that the episode
influenced his mind considerably. The Archduke was a "good hater"; he
did not easily forget, and woe betide those upon whom he vented his
hatred. On the other hand, though but few knew it, he had an
uncommonly warm corner in his heart; he was an ideal husband, the best
of fathers, and a faithful friend. But the number of those he despised
was incomparably greater than those who gained his affection, and he
himself was in no doubt whatever as to his being the most unpopular
person in the Monarchy. But there was a certain grandeur in this very
contempt of popularity. He never could bring himself to make any
advances to newspapers or other organs that are in the habit of
influencing public opinion either favourably or unfavourably. He was
too proud to sue for popularity, and too great a despiser of men to
attach any importance to their judgment.
The Archduke's antipathy to Hungary runs like a scarlet thread through
the political chain of his thoughts. I have been told that at the time
when the Crown Prince Rudolf was frequently in Hungary shooting, the
Archduke was often with him, and that the Hungarian gentlemen took a
pleasure in teasing and ridiculing the young Archduke in the presence
and to the delight of the considerably older Crown Prince. Ready as I
am to believe that the Crown Prince Rudolf enjoyed the jokes--and
little do I doubt that there were men there who would act in such
fashion so as to curry favour with the Crown Prince--I still think
that these unpleasant incidents in his youth weighed less in the
balance with Franz Ferdinand than the already-mentioned occurrences
during his illness.
Apart from his personal antipathies, which he transferred from a few
Hungarians to the entire nation, there were also various far-reaching
and well-founded political reasons which strengthened the Archduke in
his antagonistic relations with Hungary. Franz Ferdinand possessed an
exceptionally fine political _flair_, and this enabled him to see that
Hungarian policy was a vital danger to the existence of the whole
Habsburg Empire. His desire to overthrow the predominance of the
Magyars and to help the nationalities to obtain their rights was
always in his thoughts, and influenced his judgment on all political
questions. He was the steady representative of the Roumanians, the
Slovaks, and other nationalities living in Hungary, and went so far in
that respect that he would have treated every question at once from an
anti-Magyar point of view without inquiring into it in an objective
and expert manner. These tendencies of his were no secret in Hungary,
and the result was a strong reaction among the Magyar magnates, which
he again took as purely personal antagonism to himself, and as the
years went on existing differences increased automatically, until
finally, under the Tisza régime, they led to direct hostility.
The Archduke's antipathy to party leaders in Hungary was even stronger
than that he felt for Tisza, and he showed it particularly to one of
the most prominent figures of that time. I do not know for certain
what took place between them; I only know that several years before
the catastrophe the gentleman in question was received in audience at
the Belvedere, and that the interview came to a very unsatisfactory
end. The Archduke told me that his visitor arrived bringing a whole
library with him in order to put forward legal proofs that the
Magyar's standpoint was the right one. He, the Archduke, snapped his
fingers at their laws, and said so. It came to a violent scene, and
the gentleman, pale as death, tottered from the room.
Certain it is that Ministers and other officials rarely waited on the
Archduke without beating hearts. He was capable of flying out at
people and terrifying them to such a degree that they lost their heads
completely. He often took their fright to be obstinacy and passive
resistance, and it irritated him all the more.
On the other hand, it was extremely easy to get on with him if one
knew him well and did not stand in awe of him. I had many scenes with
him and often lost my temper, too; but there was never any lasting
ill-feeling. Once when at Konopischt we had a scene one evening after
dinner because, he said, I always worked in opposition to him and
rewarded his friendship by treachery. I broke off the conversation,
remarking that, if he could say such things, any further serious
conversation would be impossible, and I also stated my intention of
leaving the next morning. We separated without saying good night to
each other. Quite early next morning--I was still in bed--he appeared
in my room and asked me to forget what he had said the previous
evening, that he had not meant it seriously, and thus completely
disarmed my still prevailing vexation.
A despiser of men, with his wits sharpened by his own experiences, he
never allowed himself to be fooled by servile cringing and flattery.
He listened to people, but how often have I heard him say: "He is no
good; he is a toady." Such people never found favour with him, as he
always mistrusted them at the outset. He was protected more than
others in such high spheres from the poison of servility that attacks
all monarchs.
His two best friends, and the men to whom--after his own nearest
relations--he was most attached, were his brother-in-law Albrecht von
Würtemberg and the Prince Karl of Schwarzenberg.
The former, a man of charming personality, great intelligence, and
equally efficient in political as in military matters, lived on a
footing of true brotherly unity with Franz Ferdinand, and also,
naturally, on terms of perfect equality.
Karl of Schwarzenberg was the most sincere, honourable and
straightforward character I have ever encountered; a man who concealed
the truth from no one. Rich, independent, and devoid of personal
ambition, it was quite immaterial to him whether the Archduke was
pleased with what he asserted or no. He was his _friend_, and
considered it his duty to be honest and open--and if necessary,
disagreeable. The Archduke understood, appreciated, and valued this
attitude. I do not think there are many monarchs or heirs to the
throne who would have suffered, as the Archduke did, Schwarzenberg's
sayings and doings.
Franz Ferdinand was on very bad terms with Aehrenthal, who easily
became abrupt and repellent. Still, there was another reason why two
such hard millstones could not grind together. I do not believe that
the many reproaches launched against Aehrenthal by the Archduke were
consequent on political differences; it was more Aehrenthal's manner
that invariably irritated the Archduke. I had occasion to read some of
Aehrenthal's letters to Franz Ferdinand which, perhaps unintentionally,
had a slight ironical flavour which made the Archduke feel he was not
being taken seriously. He was particularly sensitive in this respect.
When Aehrenthal fell ill the Archduke made unkind remarks about the
dying man, and there was great and general indignation at the want of
feeling shown by him. He represented the Emperor at the first part of
the funeral service, and afterwards received me at the Belvedere. We
were standing in the courtyard when the procession, with the hearse,
passed on the way to the station. The Archduke disappeared quickly
into a cottage close by, the windows of which looked on to the road,
and there, concealed behind the window curtain, he watched the
procession pass. He said not a word, but his eyes were full of tears.
When he saw that I noticed his emotion he turned away angrily, vexed
at having given proof of his weakness. It was just like him. He would
rather be considered hard and heartless than soft and weak, and
nothing was more repugnant to him than the idea that he had aroused
suspicion of striving to enact a touching scene. I have no doubt that
at that moment he was suffering the torture of self-reproach, and
probably suffered the more through being so reserved and unable to
give free play to his feelings.
The Archduke could be extremely gay, and possessed an exceptionally
strong sense of humour. In his happiest years he could laugh like any
youth, and carried his audience with him by his unaffected merriment.
Some years ago a German prince, who was unable to distinguish between
the numerous archdukes, came to Vienna. A dinner was given in his
honour at the Hofburg, where he was seated next to Franz Ferdinand.
Part of the programme was that he was to have gone the next morning
with the Archduke to shoot in the neighbourhood. The German prince,
who mistook the Archduke Franz Ferdinand for someone else, said to him
during dinner: "I am to go out shooting to-morrow, and I hear it is to
be with that tiresome Franz Ferdinand; I hope the plan will be
changed." As far as I know, the expedition did not take place; but I
never heard whether the prince discovered his mistake. The Archduke,
however, laughed heartily for days at the episode.
The Archduke invariably spoke of his nephew, the present Emperor
Charles, with great affection. The relations between the two were,
however, always marked by the absolute subordination of the nephew to
the uncle. In all political discussions, too, the Archduke Charles was
always the listener, absorbing the precepts expounded by Franz
Ferdinand.
Charles's marriage met with the full approval of his uncle. The
Duchess of Hohenberg, too, entertained the warmest affection for the
young couple.
The Archduke was a firm partisan of the Great-Austria programme. His
idea was to convert the Monarchy into numerous more or less
independent National States, having in Vienna a common central
organisation for all important and absolutely necessary affairs--in
other words to substitute Federalisation for Dualism. Now that, after
terrible military and revolutionary struggles, the development of the
former Monarchy has been accomplished in a national spirit, there
cannot be many to contend that the plan is Utopian. At that time,
however, it had many opponents who strongly advised against dissecting
the State in order to erect in its place something new and "presumably
better," and the Emperor Francis Joseph was far too conservative and
far too old to agree to his nephew's plans. This direct refusal of the
idea cherished by the Archduke offended him greatly, and he complained
often in bitter terms that the Emperor turned a deaf ear to him as
though he were the "lowest serving man at Schönbrunn."
The Archduke lacked the knowledge of how to deal with people. He
neither could nor would control himself, and, charming though he could
be when his natural heartiness was allowed free scope, just as little
could he conceal his anger and ill-humour. Thus it came about that the
relations between him and the aged Emperor grew more and more
strained. There were doubtless faults on both sides. The standpoint of
the old Emperor, that as long as he lived no one else should
interfere, was in direct opposition to that of the Archduke, who held
that he would one day have to suffer for the present faults in the
administration, and anyone acquainted with life at court will know
that such differences between the highest individuals are quickly
raked together and exaggerated. At every court there are men who seek
to gain their master's favour by pouring oil on the flames, and who,
by gossip and stories of all kinds, add to the antipathy that
prevails. Thus it was in this case, and, instead of being drawn closer
together, the two became more and more estranged.
The Archduke had but few friends, and under the old monarch
practically none at all. That was one of the reasons for the advances
he made to the Emperor William. In reality, they were men of such a
different type that there could be no question of friendship in the
true sense of the word, or any real understanding between him and the
Emperor William, and the question was never mooted practically. The
only point common to both their characters was a strongly defined
autocratic trait. The Archduke had no sympathy with the speeches of
the Emperor William, nor yet with his obvious desire for popularity,
which the Archduke could not understand. The Emperor William, on his
part, undoubtedly grew more attached to the Archduke during his latter
years than he had been originally. Franz Ferdinand was not on such
good terms with the Crown Prince of Germany. They spent some weeks
together at St. Moritz in Switzerland, without learning to know each
other any better; but this can readily be explained by the difference
in age and also by the much more serious views of life held by the
Archduke.
The isolation and retirement in which the Archduke lived, and the
regrettably restricted intercourse he had with other circles, gave
rise to the circulation of some true, besides numerous false, rumours.
One of these rumours, which is still obstinately kept up, was to the
effect that the Archduke was a fanatic for war and looked upon war as
a necessary aid to the realisation of his plans for the future.
Nothing could be more untrue, and, although the Archduke never openly
admitted it to me, I am convinced that he had an instinctive feeling
that the Monarchy would never be able to bear the terrible test of
strength of a war, and the fact is that, instead of working to
encourage war, his activities lay all in the opposite direction. I
recollect an extremely symptomatic episode: I do not remember the
exact date, but it was some time before the death of the Archduke. One
of the well-known Balkan turmoils threw the Monarchy into a state of
agitation, and the question whether to mobilise or not became the
order of the day. I chanced to be in Vienna, where I had an interview
with Berchtold who spoke of the situation with much concern and
complained that the Archduke was acting in a warlike spirit. I offered
to draw the Archduke's attention to the danger of the proceeding, and
put myself in telegraphic communication with him. I arranged to join
his train that same day when he passed through Wessely on his way to
Konopischt. I only had the short time between the two stations for my
conversation. I therefore at once took the bull by the horns and told
him of the rumours current about him in Vienna and of the danger of
promoting a conflict with Russia by too strong action in the Balkans.
I did not meet with the slightest opposition from the Archduke, and in
his usual expeditious way he wrote, while still in the train, a
telegram to Berchtold in which he expressed his perfect agreement in
maintaining a friendly attitude and repudiated all the reports of his
having been opposed to it. It is a fact that certain of the military
party, who were anxious for war, made use of the Archduke, or rather
misused him, in order to carry on a military propaganda in his name
and thus gave rise to so wrongful an estimate of him. Several of these
men died a hero's death in the war; others have disappeared and are
forgotten. Conrad, Chief of the General Staff, was never among those
who misused the Archduke. He could never have done such a thing. He
carried out himself what he considered necessary and did it openly and
in face of everybody.
In connection with these reports about the Archduke there is one
remarkable detail that is worthy of note. He told me himself how a
fortune-teller once predicted that "he would one day let loose a world
war." Although to a certain extent this prophecy flattered him,
containing as it did the unspoken recognition that the world would
have to reckon on him as a powerful factor, still he emphatically
pointed out how mad such a prophecy was. It was fulfilled, however,
later, though very differently from what was meant originally, and
never was prince more innocent of causing blood to flow than the
unhappy victim of Sarajevo.
The Archduke suffered most terribly under the conditions resulting
from his unequal marriage. The sincere and true love he felt for his
wife kept alive in him the wish to raise her to his rank and
privileges, and the constant obstacles that he encountered at all
court ceremonies embittered and angered him inexpressibly. The
Archduke was firmly resolved that when he came to the throne he would
give to his wife, not the title of Empress, but a position which,
though without the title, would bestow upon her the highest rank. His
argument was that wherever he was she would be the mistress of the
house, and as such was entitled to the highest position, "therefore
she will take precedence of all the archduchesses." Never did the
Archduke show the slightest wish to alter the succession and put his
son in place of the Archduke Charles. On the contrary, he was resolved
that his first official act on coming to the throne would be to
publish a solemn declaration containing his intention, in order to
counteract the ever-recurring false and biassed statements. As regards
his children, for whom he did everything that a loving father's heart
could devise, his greatest wish was to see them become wealthy,
independent private individuals, and able to enjoy life without any
material cares. His plan was to secure the title of Duke of Hohenberg
for his eldest son. It was, therefore, in harmony with this intention
that the Emperor Charles conferred the title on the youth.
One fine quality in the Archduke was his fearlessness. He was quite
clear that the danger of an attempt to take his life would always be
present, and he often spoke quite simply and openly of such a
possibility. A year before the outbreak of war he informed me that the
Freemasons had resolved to kill him. He even gave me the name of the
town where the resolution was passed--it has escaped my memory
now--and mentioned the names of several Austrian and Hungarian
politicians who must have been in the secret. He also told me that
when he went to the coronation in Spain he was to have made the
journey with a Russian Grand Duke, but shortly before the train
started the news came that the Grand Duke had been murdered on the
way. He did not deny that it was with mixed feelings that he stepped
into his compartment. When at St. Moritz news was sent him that two
Turkish anarchists had arrived in Switzerland intending to murder him,
that every effort was being made to capture them, but that so far no
trace of them had been discovered, and he was advised to be on his
guard. The Archduke showed me the telegram at the time. He laid it
aside without the slightest sign of fear, saying that such events,
when announced beforehand, seldom were carried out. The Duchess
suffered all the more in her fears for his life, and I think that in
imagination the poor lady often went through the catastrophe of which
she and her husband were the victims. Another praiseworthy feature in
the Archduke was that, out of consideration for his wife's anxiety, he
tolerated the constant presence of a detective, which not only bored
him terribly but in his opinion was absurd. He was afraid that if the
fact became known it would be imputed to timidity on his part, and he
conceded the point solely with the view of calming his wife's fears.
But he anxiously concealed all his good qualities and took an
obstinate pleasure in being hard and disagreeable. I will not
endeavour here to excuse certain traits in his character. His strongly
pronounced egotism cannot be denied any more than the hardness of
character, which made him insensible to the sufferings of all who were
not closely connected with him. He also made himself hated by his
severe financial proceedings and his inexorable judgment on any
subordinate whom he suspected of the slightest dishonesty. In this
connection there are hundreds of anecdotes, some true, some false.
These petty traits in his character injured him in the eyes of the
great public, while the really great and manly qualities he possessed
were unknown to them, and were not weighed in the balance in his
favour. For those who knew him well his great and good qualities
outweighed the bad ones a hundredfold.
The Emperor was always very perturbed concerning the Archduke's plans
for the future. There was a stern trait also in the old monarch's
character, and in the interests of the Monarchy he feared the
impetuosity and obstinacy of his nephew. Nevertheless, he often took a
very magnanimous view of the matter. For instance, Count Stürgkh, the
murdered Prime Minister, gave me details respecting my nomination to
the Herrenhaus which are very characteristic of the old monarch. It
was Franz Ferdinand's wish that I should be in the Herrenhaus, as he
was anxious for me to be one of a delegation and also to profit by my
extensive training in the province of foreign policy. I must mention
here that it had been impressed on the Emperor on all sides that the
Archduke's friends and trusted men were working against him; a version
of affairs which to a certain degree he obviously believed, owing to
his numerous disputes with Franz Ferdinand. On Stürgkh mentioning my
name as a candidate for the Herrenhaus, the Emperor hesitated a moment
and then said: "Ah, yes. That is the man who is to be Minister for
Foreign Affairs when I am dead. Let him go to the Herrenhaus that he
may learn a little more."
Political discussions with the Emperor Francis Joseph were often very
difficult, as he kept strictly to the Government department in
question and only discussed what referred thereto. While I was
ambassador the Emperor would discourse to me on Roumania and the
Balkans, but on nothing else. Meanwhile, the different questions were
often so closely interwoven that it was impossible to separate them. I
remember at one audience where I submitted to the Emperor the
Roumanian plans for a closer connection with the Monarchy--plans which
I shall allude to in a later chapter--and in doing so I was naturally
bound to state what the Roumanians proposed respecting the closer
connection with Hungary, and also what changes would be necessitated
thereby in the Hungarian administration. The Emperor at once broke off
the conversation, saying that it was a matter of Hungarian internal
policy.
The old Emperor was almost invariably kind and friendly, and to the
very last his knowledge of the smallest details was astonishing. He
never spoke of the different Roumanian Ministers as the Minister of
Agriculture, of Trade, or whatever it might be, but mentioned them all
by name and never made a mistake.
I saw him for the last time in October, 1916, after my definite return
from Roumania, and found him then quite clear and sound mentally,
though failing in bodily health.
The Emperor Francis Joseph was a "Grand Seigneur" in the true sense of
the word. He was an Emperor and remained always unapproachable.
Everyone left his presence feeling he had stood before an Emperor. His
dignity in representing the monarchical idea was unsurpassed by any
sovereign in Europe.
He was borne to his grave at a time of great military successes for
the Central Powers. He lies now in the Imperial vault, and a century
seems to have elapsed since his death; the world is changed.
Day by day streams of people pass by the little church, but no one
probably gives a thought to him who lies in peace and forgotten, and
yet he, through many long years, embodied Austria, and his person was
a common centre for the State that so rapidly was falling asunder.
He is now at rest, free from all care and sorrow; he saw his wife, his
son, his friends all die, but Fate spared him the sight of his
expiring Empire.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE ARCHDUKE FRANZ FERDINAND _Photo: Pietzner, Vienna._]
Franz Ferdinand's character held many sharply defined corners and
edges; judging him objectively, no one can deny his great faults.
Though the circumstances of his death were so tragic, it may well be
that for him it was a blessing. It is hardly conceivable that, once on
the throne, the Archduke would have been able to carry out his plans.
The structure of the Monarchy which he was so anxious to strengthen
and support was already so rotten that it could not have stood any
great innovations, and if not the war, then probably the Revolution,
would have shattered it. On the other hand, there seems to be no doubt
that the Archduke, with all the vehemence and impulsiveness of his
character, would have made the attempt to rebuild the entire structure
of the Monarchy. It is futile to comment on the chances of his
success, but according to human foresight the experiment would not
have succeeded, and he would have succumbed beneath the ruins of the
falling Monarchy.
It is also futile to conjecture how the Archduke would have acted had
he lived to see the war and the upheaval. I think that in two respects
his attitude would have differed from that taken. In the first place,
he never would have agreed to our army being under German control. It
would not have been consistent with his strongly developed autocratic
tendencies, and he was too clever politically not to see that we
should thereby lose all political freedom of action. In the second
place, he would not, like the Emperor Charles, have yielded to
revolution. He would have gathered his faithful followers round him
and would have fallen fighting, sword in hand. He would have fallen as
did his greatest and most dangerous enemy, Stephen Tisza.
But he died the death of a hero on the field of honour, valiantly and
in harness. The golden rays of the martyr's crown surrounded his dying
head. Many there were who breathed more freely on hearing the news of
his death. At the court in Vienna and in society at Budapest there was
more joy than sorrow, the former having rightly foreseen that he would
have dealt hardly with them. None of them could guess that the fall of
the strong man would carry them all with it and engulf them in a world
catastrophe.
Franz Ferdinand will remain portrayed in history as a man who either
loved or hated. But his tragic end at the side of his wife, who would
not allow death to separate them, throws a mild and conciliatory light
on the whole life of this extraordinary man, whose warm heart to the
very last was devoted to his Fatherland and duty.
2
There was a widely-spread but entirely wrongful idea in the Monarchy
that the Archduke had drawn up a programme of his future activities.
This was not the case. He had very definite and pronounced ideas for
the reorganisation of the Monarchy, but the ideas never developed into
a concrete plan--they were more like the outline of a programme that
never was completed in detail. The Archduke was in touch with experts
from the different departments; he expounded the fundamental views of
his future programme to prominent military and political officials,
receiving from them hints on how to materialise these views; but a
really finished and thought-out programme was never actually produced.
The ground lines of his programme were, as already mentioned, the
abolition of the dualism and the reorganisation of the Monarchy to
form a federative state. He was not clear himself into how many states
the Habsburg Monarchy should be converted, but the principle was the
rebuilding of the Monarchy on a national basis. Having always in view
that prosperity depended on the weakening of the Magyar influence, the
Archduke was in favour of a strong preference for the different
nationalities living in Hungary, the Roumanians in particular. Not
until my return to Bucharest and following on my reports did the
Archduke conceive the plan of ceding Transylvania to Roumania and thus
adding Greater Roumania to the Habsburg Empire.
His idea was to make of Austria separate German, Czech, Southern Slav
and Polish states, which in some respects would be autonomous; in
others, would be dependent on Vienna as the centre. But, so far as I
know, his programme was never quite clearly defined, and was subject
to various modifications.
The Archduke had a great dislike for the Germans, especially the
northern Bohemians, who were partisans of the Pan-Germanic tendencies,
and he never forgave the attitude of the Deputy Schönerer. He had a
decided preference for all Germans in the Alpine countries, and
generally his views were very similar to those of the Christian
Socialists. His political ideal was Lueger. When Lueger was lying ill
the Archduke said to me: "If God will only spare this man, no better
Prime Minister could be found." Franz Ferdinand had a keen desire for
a more centralised army. He was a violent opponent of the endeavours
of the Magyars whose aim was an independent Hungarian army, and the
question of rank, word of command, and other incidental matters could
never be settled as long as he lived, because he violently resisted
all Hungarian advances.
The Archduke had a special fondness for the navy. His frequent visits
to Brioni brought him into close touch with our navy. He was always
anxious to transform the Austrian Navy into one worthy of a Great
Power. In regard to foreign policy, the Archduke was always in favour
of a Triple Alliance of the three Emperors. The chief motive of this
idea must have been that, in the three then apparently so powerful
monarchs at Petersburg, Berlin and Vienna, he saw the strongest
support against revolution, and wished thereby to build up a strong
barrier against disorganisation. He saw great danger to the friendly
relations between Russia and ourselves in the rivalry between Vienna
and Petersburg in the Balkans, and contrary to the reports that have
been spread about him, he was rather a partisan than an opposer of
Serbia. He was in favour of the Serbians because he felt assured that
the petty agrarian policy of the Magyars was responsible for the
constant annoyance of the Serbians. He favoured meeting Serbia
half-way, because he considered that the Serbian question was a source
of discord between Vienna and Petersburg. Another reason was that he
was no friend of King Ferdinand of Bulgaria, who constantly pursued an
anti-Serbian policy. I believe that if those who were responsible for
the organisation of the assassination of the Archduke had known what
little justification there was for supposing him to be the man they
thought him, they would have desisted.
Franz Ferdinand had a very pronounced feeling that in spite of all
alliances the Monarchy must remain independent. He was opposed to any
closer combine with Germany, not wishing to be bound to Germany more
than to Russia, and the plan that was formulated later as "Central
Europe" was always far removed from his wishes and endeavours.
His plans for the future were not worked out, not complete, but they
were sound. This, however, is not sufficient to enable one to say that
they could have been successfully carried out. In certain
circumstances more harm than good will result from energy devoid of
the necessary calm prudence, wisdom and, above all, patience.