*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69834 ***

                         SEVEN YEARS IN VIENNA




[Illustration: THE GERMAN EMPEROR AND THE EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA, DRIVING
IN VIENNA, IN 1908.]




                              SEVEN YEARS
                                   IN
                                 VIENNA

                     (_August, 1907-August, 1914_)

                         _A RECORD OF INTRIGUE_

                          BOSTON AND NEW YORK
                        HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
                                  1917




                      _Printed in Great Britain._




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER I.
                                                                    PAGE
  KING EDWARD AT ISCHL--THE PARTING OF THE WAYS                        1


  CHAPTER II.

  THE EMPEROR’S ILLNESS                                               11


  CHAPTER III.

  ARCHDUKE FRANCIS FERDINAND                                          18


  CHAPTER IV.

  COUNTESS CHOTEK                                                     27


  CHAPTER V.

  VIENNA                                                              37


  CHAPTER VI.

  SALONICA                                                            44


  CHAPTER VII.

  KAISER WILHELM IN VIENNA                                            53


  CHAPTER VIII.

  AFFAIRS IN TURKEY                                                   61


  CHAPTER IX.

  THE ANNEXATION                                                      67


  CHAPTER X.

  PRINCE EGON FÜRSTENBERG AND COUNT TCHIRSKY: HOW THE KAISER
      “WORKED” VIENNA                                                 76


  CHAPTER XI.

  THE “GREAT SERVIA” IDEA--SERVIAN ORGANISATION                       84


  CHAPTER XII.

  ALBANIA AND MACEDONIA                                               92


  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE BALKAN WAR                                                     101


  CHAPTER XIV.

  KING FERDINAND OF BULGARIA, THE VAINEST MAN IN EUROPE              111


  CHAPTER XV.

  THE PRINCE OF WIED                                                 120


  CHAPTER XVI.

  THE KING OF THE BLACK MOUNTAINS                                    132


  CHAPTER XVII.

  EMIGRATION PROMOTED BY GERMANY--SOCIAL QUESTIONS IN THE DUAL
      MONARCHY                                                       139


  CHAPTER XVIII.

  THE AGRARIANS AND THE SHORTAGE OF FOOD                             147


  CHAPTER XIX.

  COUNT LEOPOLD BERCHTOLD AND COUNT STEPAN TISZA, THE MEN WHO
      DECIDED ON WAR                                                 157


  CHAPTER XX.

  AUSTRIA-HUNGARY AS A MILITARY AND NAVAL POWER                      171


  CHAPTER XXI.

  ARCHDUKE CARL FRANCIS JOSEPH                                       180


  CHAPTER XXII.

  AUSTRIA-HUNGARY FACED BY REVOLUTION OR WAR--THE FINANCIAL
      FACTOR                                                         192


  CHAPTER XXIII.

  THE AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN CONSTITUTION                                  203


  CHAPTER XXIV.

  WHO MURDERED THE ARCHDUKE?                                         211


  CHAPTER XXV.

  WHY GERMANY DECIDED UPON WAR                                       222


  CHAPTER XXVI.

  DIPLOMATIC METHODS: A COMPARISON                                   231


  CHAPTER XXVII.

  PUNITIVE EXPEDITION OR WORLD-WAR?                                  244


  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  WHAT WOULD ENGLAND SAY?                                            255


  CHAPTER XXIX.

  AUSTRIA’S AWAKENING                                                263




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  _From Photographs supplied by Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd._

  The German Emperor and the Emperor of Austria
      driving in Vienna in 1908                           _Frontispiece_

                                                           _facing page_
  The Duchess Hohenberg                                               24

  The Archduke Francis Ferdinand                                      24

  Baron Aehrenthal                                                    46

  Prince Max Egon Fürstenberg                                         78

  King Ferdinand of Bulgaria                                         114

  King Nikita of Montenegro                                          114

  The Prince of Wied                                                 126

  Count Berchtold                                                    168

  Count Tisza                                                        168

  Archduke Carl Francis Joseph                                       184

  Princess Zita of Parma                                             184




SEVEN YEARS IN VIENNA




CHAPTER I

KING EDWARD AT ISCHL--THE PARTING OF THE WAYS


It was mid-August in 1907. King Edward of England, who had been
undergoing a “cure” at Marienbad, was expected at Ischl, where the
Austrian Court was in residence. The whole place was hung with
flags that were put up at the last moment, as the “Gem of the
Salzkammergut,” as Ischl is often called, is one of the wettest spots
in the country. The local trains brought large numbers of peasants,
in their picturesque costume, who wanted to take advantage of the
opportunity of seeing the King of England. Other “peasants,” in
badly-fitting costumes, also came down in the Vienna night express.
Their white knees, left bare beneath the short leather breeches,
plainly showed that they were not accustomed to wearing the Styrian
costume. The peasant girls eyed them dubiously; one suggested that a
little walnut-juice would improve matters, while their little brothers
whispered “police.” The real peasants crowded around the station,
and watched the red carpet being laid, ready for royalty. They then
turned to see Emperor Francis Joseph drive up to the gates. He arrived
twenty minutes before the train was expected, as usual, for being
a great stickler for etiquette he always feared that some accident
or _contretemps_ might delay him, and the visitor reach the station
before the host. He dreaded nothing so much as a breach of etiquette
or good manners, and was willing to take any trouble to avoid even the
possibility of such a thing. The train from Marienbad steamed into the
station, the monarchs embraced; their intercourse had always been most
cordial. The King respected the simple old man, who had until then
guided the destinies of his country with great astuteness; while the
Emperor of Austria esteemed the statesman, for in Austria-Hungary and
the Balkans King Edward was reckoned as the most skilful diplomatist
of his time. As the Imperial carriage, with the gilt wheels, drove
through the streets, the people cheered heartily. King Edward was
the most popular of foreign monarchs in Austria, and the minimum of
precautions were taken for his safety. In spite of this the Austrian
police, ever watchful, took stock of every fresh arrival in the place
for days before the King appeared. On the morning of the visit they
ascertained what persons would be seated in windows commanding the line
of route, and carefully watched the houses that might harbour anarchist
or other assassins. The uninitiated suspected nothing of all this. The
long line of firemen that lined the streets looked like members of the
local brigade. It was not suspected that they were specially trained
men, who knew how to act and to co-operate at the right moment with
the “peasants,” also members of the same highly-organised force. They
all stood apparently careless and inattentive. Presently a carriage,
in which a spare, tall, pock-marked man was seated, drove through the
street. He was the Emperor’s private detective. His appearance always
heralded that of the monarchs, and the firemen braced themselves for a
combined movement, either to the right or left, forwards or backwards,
as previously arranged. The police behind helped with the work, and
just as the Imperial carriage flashed by, everyone in the crowd pushed
forward, sideways, or backwards, as though by accident. Any intending
assassin would have lost his place at the front, and have missed the
golden opportunity, through this clever manœuvre of the police. These
precautions were always taken for every Royal visitor, for although
Emperor Francis Joseph himself was accustomed to stroll about the Ischl
woods, and went hunting in the forests quite unattended, he took care
that his guests were exposed to no risks.

Everything went off as arranged, although there was a strained feeling
in the air, partly due to the thundery weather. It was known, too, that
King Edward was on a diplomatic tour throughout Europe, and the people
knew that meetings of monarchs in summer are often of great importance,
even when they are unaccompanied by their Ministers. Emperor Francis
Joseph is practically a despotic monarch, for the Austro-Hungarian
Constitution exists merely on paper. He alone decides the foreign
policy of the country, and determines whether there shall be peace
or war. Thus he is in a position to make decisions for his country,
without consulting his Ministers. Austria-Hungary had long been quiet,
almost to the point of stagnation. Her statesmen had been fully
occupied in paying off the burdens incurred during the last war, and
were now delighted that, after a succession of deficits, they could at
length turn out Budgets with surpluses at the end of the financial year.

There was trouble with Servia, it is true, Austrian machinations had
deprived Servia of an outlet to the sea. Servia, being a pastoral and
agricultural country, wished to sell her products, and Austria, the
natural market, was closed to her.

The Austrians, who were very short of meat, promised to take over
Servian meat, but the Hungarian agrarians, or large land-owners, who
wanted to keep up the prices of their own products, managed to prevent
this. They appointed veterinary surgeons to examine imported meat; and
by unjustly condemning the Servian meat at the frontier, they succeeded
in preventing its import. This line of conduct caused much greater
discontent among the Servs than a downright refusal to admit their
products would have done. They naturally objected to being cheated by
their powerful and unscrupulous neighbours, and the friction caused
by the “Servian Pig” question was continual. Otherwise the Balkans
were strangely, almost uncannily, quiet. There were no massacres to
report, no bands who roamed the country and committed depredations.
It seemed that the two monarchs could have nothing to discuss. As the
Emperor brought the King back to the Hotel Elisabeth in the afternoon,
the faces of both monarchs could be seen very plainly in the blaze of
the sun that was pouring down with great fierceness. Emperor Francis
Joseph looked much older than he had done that morning. His face was
drawn, the fine lines on the parchment-like skin were deepened. It did
not need any unusual acuteness to see that something had gone wrong.
King Edward walked up to his suite of rooms with something weary in his
step. The Emperor, freed from the restraint of the King’s presence,
returned to the Imperial villa, his slight frame shrunken to half its
usual size, his soldierly bearing gone.

All Ischl went home to dress for the gala performance at the tiny Court
theatre. It was always difficult to get tickets at the bijou theatre
when members of the Imperial family were expected; on the night of King
Edward’s visit it was impossible to obtain them. The police excluded
all foreigners by careful manipulation. By evening it was already
known in Ischl that the Emperor and the King had quarrelled violently.
Attendants, posted behind doors, ready to spring to attention,
overhear many things. They could give no details of what the subject
under discussion had been, but they said that Emperor Francis Joseph
had lost his temper in the presence of a foreign King, and although
outbursts of this kind were common enough within the family, it was an
unprecedented thing in the presence of a stranger. They knew that the
occasion had been no ordinary one, and that the future policy of the
country had been under consideration.

Just as the curtain went up for the performance of some light musical
comedy, the sort of play that is at its very best in Vienna, the
thunderstorm that had been threatening all day long, broke outside.
The rain rattled down on the roof of the theatre. The real heroine of
the piece, who had been brought down from the capital on purpose, was
a dazzlingly beautiful woman; she laughed, danced, and pirouetted all
over the stage. She was the very embodiment of Vienna “cheek.” Just
at the end of the first act--royalty never sees a piece through when
on State visits--she abruptly turned her back towards the Imperial
box. She was lightly clad, even for the Austrian stage, as she tripped
laughingly to the front, and carried out her instructions. A thrill
went through the audience. Would the King understand? His British
phlegm stood him in good stead. He remained in his seat, although
he was sufficiently acquainted with Austrian manners and customs to
comprehend the somewhat heavy witticism. Only when the curtain fell did
he rise and leave the theatre. “What was the meaning of the insult?”
asked all Ischl. “What did it portend?” They learnt the answer just
seven years later to the very day.

The people about the palace discussed the incident at the theatre. They
understood that it was meant as a hint to the King that his presence in
Austria was not desired, if he came to discuss politics. As a private
friend and a brother monarch he was always welcome. He had attempted
to show the Emperor that the close alliance with Germany was not for
the good of Europe. Not merely that, but Austria-Hungary herself would
imperil her existence as a great Power if she allowed herself to become
merged in Germany. The aged Emperor, who had long been accustomed to
depend upon Germany for assistance against the Slavs, would not listen
to the King. He was perhaps aware that his policy was wrong, but being
obstinate, like all the Habsburgs, he would not acknowledge it. He did
not intend to alter his policy at the eleventh hour, in any case. If
there must be a change let his successor see to it. King Edward made
due allowance for the Emperor’s age, but it is doubtful whether he ever
again made any direct effort to turn Austria from her fatal path. She
stood at the parting of the ways. Her Emperor chose her destiny that
summer day in Ischl. Diplomatists and Ambassadors took up the King’s
task; they repeatedly pointed out the disastrous consequences of the
close alliance with Germany. Instead of discussing the situation with
Italy, Austria-Hungary informed Germany of what was happening. Instead
of keeping the balance equal between Italy and Germany, Austria-Hungary
really concluded a partnership with Germany; the Triple Alliance
degenerated into a Dual Alliance that kept up an understanding with
the third partner. Italy was quick to realise this. So long as Russia
and France were allied, and occupied a position that was a set-off to
that held by Germany and an Austria that had not given up her liberty
of action, European peace was assured. Great Britain and Italy were not
bound to their Allies to any great extent.

The result of the meeting at Ischl soon made itself felt. Italian
diplomatists began to back out of their obligations towards Germany
and Austria-Hungary. Their policy of “cooling down,” at first barely
perceptible, took form somewhat later, at the renewal of the Triple
Alliance, when Italy promised very little in return for the many
“benefits” heaped upon her by Germany. Great Britain, aware of the
danger of the centre of the European chessboard being occupied by one
vast State, stretching from the North Sea and Baltic to the Adriatic,
was more inclined to listen to advances from France and Russia, and
to deliberate upon the advantages of a closer contact with Germany’s
enemies. The suggestion made by France, that Great Britain should
introduce conscription, prevented the understanding becoming anything
more. France pointed out the necessity of preparing for an aggressive
move on the part of Germany, but Great Britain would not even
consider a proposition so far from her theories of government as was
conscription.




CHAPTER II

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.




CHAPTER III

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.




CHAPTER IV

COUNTESS CHOTEK


Countess Chotek, afterwards Duchess Hohenberg, the morganatic wife of
the late Francis Ferdinand, the heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary,
was a most remarkable woman, and her history is perhaps the most
romantic that was ever written. She belonged to an impoverished
Bohemian family, which ranked high among the ancient aristocracy of
that nation. She was brought up very quietly and was accustomed, as a
girl, to ride in the tramway in Dresden, where her father held a post
in the Diplomatic Service. Her dresses were very plain, even for an
aristocrat. The peculiar charm that she possessed, however, made her
an object of much attention. She was a big blonde, as stately as an
empress, and at the same time a woman who knew how to make herself
agreeable in conversation, as her life had given her an intimate
knowledge of men and things that was unusual in a woman belonging to
a noble family, in Austria-Hungary, where the little aristocrats are
convent-bred, and never encouraged to form opinions of their own upon
the current topics of the hour. She was very ambitious, and intelligent
to an extraordinary degree. She was a woman who knew just what she
wanted, and who would not have hesitated to use any means that were
necessary for the attainment of her object. She made her entrance
into the Austrian Imperial family in a very subordinate position.
She became lady-in-waiting to the beautiful daughters of Archduke
Frederick, the richest of all the Archdukes. Her life in his family
was probably not disagreeable, but decidedly monotonous, as the family
spent most of the time on lonely country estates in Hungary. Archduke
Francis Ferdinand frequented the Vienna palace, on the Albrecht Platz,
where Archduke Frederick lived when in residence at Court. Everyone
believed that he was about to marry one of the Archduke’s daughters,
and the match was regarded as a good one. The girls had large dowries,
and relationship between the heir to the throne and the branch of the
family to which they belonged was very distant. It is probable that
the Archduke had some such arrangement in his mind when he visited
the house. He, however, fell violently and irretrievably in love with
the lady-in-waiting, a woman in the early thirties, and regarded as
long past marriageable age in Court circles. The romantic story of the
marriage is well known, but the fact that the Archduke, in marrying
the lady-in-waiting, made an inveterate enemy of Archduke Frederick
was never appreciated at its proper value abroad. In Vienna itself
the gravity of the position was well understood. No better-class
tradesman in Austria would allow such an insult to his daughters to go
unrevenged, for the Austrian father is very jealous of his daughters’
reputation. No young man is permitted to visit at a house regularly
without having the clearest “intentions.” At the Court this unwritten
law is much stricter than among the people. The Archduke, in selecting
the lady-in-waiting, was casting a slur upon the Archduchesses she
attended. Fortunately, there were several girls, and as he had never
singled out any one of them for particular attention, there was no
open rupture. It is certain, however, that the Archduke behaved in a
very ungentlemanly way, and that his conduct was totally lacking in
delicacy. Archduke Frederick never forgave the insult, and the other
members of the House of Habsburg sympathised with him in his wrath
at the incident. Indeed, the outraged father had plenty of occasion
to remember it. His daughter, Archduchess Isabella, who had hoped to
become the future Empress of Austria, made an unfortunate marriage
later on. Her parents, by way of settling the incident of the heir to
the throne, and laying the ghosts of rumours that still hung round
the girl’s name, arranged a match with Prince George of Bavaria.
The Archduchess, who hated the young man, actually set fire to her
wedding-dress on the eve of the marriage, hoping that it would be put
off, as she had nothing suitable to wear.

Incidentally, she set fire to the palace, and a valuable collection
of pictures in the adjacent museum was threatened. The marriage took
place on the morrow, a dress having been hurriedly contrived for the
occasion. The girl fled from her husband on the wedding journey, and
afterwards became a Red Cross nurse. For these misfortunes the Archduke
was regarded as primarily responsible and they served to make Countess
Chotek still more detestable to the Imperial family.

On his marriage Archduke Francis Ferdinand renounced all rights to
the throne and to any dignities or privileges belonging to members
of the House of Habsburg for his heirs. He and his wife withdrew into
obscurity, where a family of beautiful children was born to them.
This led Countess Chotek to dream of altering the laws of succession
and securing the throne for her eldest son. With this ulterior object
in view she came to Vienna at the time of the Emperor’s illness, and
tried to force her way into Court society. Her rank entitled her to
be received at Court, but not to be admitted into the magic circle of
the Austrian Imperial family as one of themselves. The etiquette of
the Vienna Court is the strictest in Europe, and is based upon that
ruling at the Spanish Court. The members of the Habsburg family are
all extremely simple, but they permit no liberties to be taken either
with themselves or the family. Countess Chotek, as she was then,
appeared at the Court ball unannounced. She intended to surprise the
Master of the Ceremonies, and force him to allow her to enter with
the Archduchesses. The old man did not lose his presence of mind. He
met the difficulty in a very clever way. The married Archduchesses
walked in first, each with her cavalier, selected especially for the
honour. After the long procession of handsome, stately dames with
flowing trains had passed into the brilliantly-lighted room, the young
Archduchesses who were presented at Court for the first time were led
into the hall, each on the arm of a handsome young officer. Eight
girls, dressed in simple muslin gowns that barely reached to their
ankles, and looking very childish, as none was more than eighteen years
of age, came next in the long procession. The Master of the Ceremonies,
who had detained Countess Chotek, found her a place, on the left arm
of the last cavalier, the youngest of the Archduchesses occupying the
post of honour on the right. Countess Chotek entered the ball-room
inwardly raging. Everyone noticed the insult, as the other ladies all
had a cavalier to themselves. The next morning the Vienna newspapers
alluded to the slight which had been put upon the wife of the heir to
the throne, and said that the Master of the Ceremonies should have
remembered that the Countess was a woman, and have refrained from so
pointed an insult. Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife left Vienna
the next day as a protest, and this was the last occasion upon which he
tried to force his wife upon the Court.

Kaiser Wilhelm, whose emissaries always kept him well informed of every
event, big or little, in Vienna, heard of the incident. Now was the
time for him to interfere. The Archduke, who had always turned a deaf
ear to blandishments from Berlin, would now be accessible. The man
who was too strong to care to hear flattery of himself would lend a
willing ear to any defence of his beautiful wife, who had been grossly
insulted. The Archduke became more deeply attached to his wife every
year; the inconveniences to which he was subjected for her sake only
strengthened his affection. When, therefore, an invitation for the
Archduke and his wife came from Berlin it was gratefully accepted.
Kaiser Wilhelm, whose wife, the Empress, has never been allowed to have
much voice in things, placed Countess Chotek in the place of honour,
and, what is vastly more important, caused the fact to be chronicled
in the German and Austrian papers. The Archduchesses in Vienna raged
inwardly, for Countess Chotek, the “scullery-maid,” as they were in the
habit of calling her, was being received with Royal honours, and the
rank accorded to her in Berlin was such as would be given to a future
Empress. Kaiser Wilhelm won a warm friend by this clever manœuvre,
which incidentally cost him nothing.

The Archduke did not come to Vienna on representative occasions after
this episode, but he kept in close touch with the Foreign Minister,
Count Aehrenthal, who looked to him for guidance instead of to the
Emperor. The War Minister went to the Archduke’s Bohemian palace when
he wanted large estimates passed, and induced the Archduke to exert his
influence in this direction. Meanwhile the favourite occupation of the
Archduke continued to be gardening, and this taste took him all over
Europe. The Court Chronicle never spoke of the Archduke. An accidental
paragraph in some foreign paper would reveal the fact that he and the
Countess were in Holland, attending sales of bulbs. He even went to
England incognito on several occasions to visit far-famed gardens. It
is doubtful, in the light of later events, whether all these journeys
were connected solely with gardening, although the Archduke was a
passionate horticulturist. Countess Chotek always accompanied her
husband, and when, in the early spring, he went to Miramare, near
Trieste, or to the fairy-like island of Brioni, she and the children
went too. The Archduke spent his time in superintending the building of
small swift cruisers, in inspecting wireless telegraphic installations
on the coast, and in keeping the naval experts employed at high
pressure. He was the first Archduke who was interested in the sea, the
aged Emperor caring so little for marine affairs that he did not even
possess a naval uniform among the large and miscellaneous collection in
his wardrobe.

Countess Chotek, like many not born to the purple, made mistakes of
a kind that did not add to her popularity. Her husband had great
possessions, and owned art treasures of inestimable worth, but they
were far from being a source of revenue. In fact his income was not
sufficient to keep them up properly. His wife had brought him no
dowry. His growing family was a source of expense. Thus ready money
was a scarcity in the family. Countess Chotek tried to economise on
her personal expenses, instead of leaving it to her stewards, who
understood where a woman of that rank can be mean and where she must
be munificent. She became involved in many discreditable _affaires_
through her stinginess. One of these was a dispute with a cabby at
Salzburg. The Countess committed an unheard-of indiscretion--she took
a one-horsed cab. No lady, _en toilette_, can ride in a one-horsed
cab in Austria. If really poor she can ride in the electric tramway,
but for some occult reason the cab is taboo. She must either take
a fiacre with a pair of dashing steeds, or a motor-car. Countess
Chotek not only hailed a one-horsed cab, when a row of handsome and
well-fitted fiacres stood by, but refused to pay the fare the cabby
demanded. He had recognised the lady, and naturally thought that she
would stand imposition, as ladies of the Imperial family never go
about unattended, and the only explanation to his unsophisticated mind
was that the Countess was on clandestine business of some kind, and
should be blackmailed for it. To his astonishment she marched him off
to the police-station herself. The police condemned the unfortunate
cabby to a fine, but the Countess Sofia was felt to be in the wrong.
What had possessed her to ride in an “Einspanner”? An elopement with
the groom or automobile chauffeur was quite an ordinary incident among
the aristocracy and speedily forgotten, but such a mistake as going in
the wrong kind of cab was more than a misdemeanour, it was a lack of
_savoir vivre_ that the country could never forgive.




CHAPTER V

VIENNA


If you ask an educated, reflecting Austrian under what form of
Government he lives, he will reply, “The Emperor of Austria and King
of Hungary is an absolute monarch; we live under a despotism tempered
by carelessness.” And he will laugh flippantly. “So long as one man,
the Emperor, has the right to decide whether there will be peace or
war, without appealing to his Ministers, the Constitution is a mere
mockery. We owe the only liberties we enjoy to the slackness in the
administration of the laws of the realm; we have no rights.” “How is
it that the country has never demanded its rights?” “Those who ask
awkward questions in this country are hanged or exiled.... Those who
wish to remain here keep a still tongue in their heads.... We are
talking treason now, and there are spies everywhere.” Other Austrians
belonging to the intellectual class explain that the men in power
encourage frivolity systematically, and provide amusement for the
people to prevent their thinking or reflecting. Certain it is that
Vienna before the war was the chief centre of gaiety in Europe.

In spite of the sombre shadow cast over the Court, the city lived for
amusement. It was the only thing that the Viennese really understood.
In Advent things are relatively quiet; there is the same round of
gaiety as later in the year, but the toilettes are sombre, and
everything is on a less magnificent scale than in Fasching, the time
between the Court Ball--when the Emperor opens the real season--and the
beginning of Lent. The winter of 1908 was particularly gay. There was
skating all day and dancing all night. Light sleds carried the girls to
balls when the snow had frozen hard and horses, in their spiked shoes,
could not get any grip on the slippery paving-stones. Others went in
the electric tramway, which ran even when the temperature was far below
freezing-point, and the drivers were provided with astrachan masks and
goggles, to prevent their eyelids freezing to their cheeks. There were
balls every night given by different societies and corporations of all
grades and degrees, from the artists’ ball to the chimney-sweeps’
dance. No one ever dreamt of staying at home during Fasching. Such
details as lack of dress, money or chaperones made no difference. If
you had no dress you borrowed a domino and went to a masked ball. The
balls often lasted far into the next day, sometimes only closing at
four in the afternoon. Everyone can dance, and did dance through the
festive season, except small children, who were learning their steps
at the dancing-school. Many began to dance and skate before they were
firm on their feet, their parents so dreaded their not being skilled
in the things that “really mattered.” Old men did not stay at home;
they sat in a favourite café, where a table was reserved for them, ever
since they had been saluted as “Herr Doctor” for the first time by the
waiter who judged that they had reached manhood. The rule universally
accepted, and put into practice by rich and poor alike, was: “Enjoy
yourself while you can, you never know what the morrow may bring.” In
the case of the Viennese it only brought new varieties of enjoyment.
No considerate employer expected his staff to turn up in full numbers
after a _redoute_. Sleep was rare in the season. Many young men never
went to bed at all night after night; they left the ball-room at dawn,
took an ice-cold dip, and repaired to the next café, where they drank
cup after cup of strong black coffee, to enable them to keep awake
during office hours. The employer said nothing so long as the work was
done.

After the ball it was the rule to visit the music-halls and night
cafés, and this continual gaiety left no time or inclination to discuss
politics or criticise rulers. Everyone was contented and satisfied
with things as they were. They made no excuse for their frivolity. In
fact a man who showed no disposition to join in the round of gaiety
immediately became “suspect.” An officer had more chances of making a
career for himself if he were a good dancer and could pirouette his
way into the good graces of the commander’s aged wife than if he spent
hours over maps and plans. His brother officers wondered why he wished
to investigate things.... Was he selling information to Russia?

At this epoch winter sports were beginning to become a factor in the
life of the Austrians. Some girls asked their fathers to give them the
money ear-marked for balls to spend on ski and a winter outfit. In
the middle classes the innovation was not regarded as an advantage.
Winter sports cost more than balls. The girls were inclined to become
too emancipated, and their mothers spent anxious hours wondering
whether they had not taken cold or met with accidents. In the upper
classes winter sports and dancing were combined. The Austro-Hungarian
aristocrat is accustomed to an outdoor life, and the lower classes,
too, went ski-ing in the mountains just outside Vienna. The Government,
quick to see that it would be an advantage to have soldiers trained to
use skis for the army, encouraged winter sports, put on cheap trains
and extra trams to enable the people to go in for it thoroughly.

The army of dressmakers, shoemakers, florists, and others who live by
manufacturing articles for the ball season naturally disapproved of
winter sports; but it is doubtful whether the new fashion really made
much difference to them, for the ball-rooms seemed as full as ever.

There were large numbers of strangers in both Vienna and Budapesth;
curiously enough they were almost without exception people from within
the Empire or from the Balkans. Vienna was always the capital of the
Balkans. The women came to shop there, girls were sent to finishing
schools in the capital, and it was a kind of Mecca to which men from
far-off places in Rumania dreamed of coming once in their lives. The
Balkan kings visited Vienna, and reaped credit with their peoples
from having sat side by side with the Emperor, the great stickler for
etiquette, the arbiter of rank for the East.

Such was Vienna, and such were to a lesser degree the provincial cities
of Austria-Hungary, which all modelled themselves on the capital, when
Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany and the heir to the throne, Archduke Francis
Ferdinand, decided to embark upon an aggressive policy. The Archduke
fondly believed that the idea originated with himself, and that he was
right in taking advantage of the temporary disablement of the aged
Emperor to strike a blow for his country’s aggrandisement. He did not
see that he was doing an unwise thing in listening to the counsels of
a neighbouring monarch, whose interests were by no means identical
with those of his own country, and acting on these promptings, without
consulting the Emperor. Count Aehrenthal, the Foreign Minister, was
a creature of the new _régime_, and he took his instructions from
the coming man. Changes of policy for the Dual Monarchy are usually
announced at the meeting of the Delegations, an assembly of members
of the Austrian and of the Hungarian Parliaments, who are delegated
by their fellows to represent them at the meeting. The Delegations,
which sit in Vienna and in Budapesth alternatively, vote supplies for
all objects common to the two countries, such as the army and navy.
The small check that the Austrian and Hungarian Parliaments can put on
their rulers lies here. The members of the Delegations, however, were
men who had axes to grind and seldom interfered with the programme
announced by the Foreign Minister.

It was at a meeting of the Delegations in Vienna, in the winter of
1908, that Baron Aehrenthal announced the fact that Austria-Hungary had
embarked upon an aggressive policy. The days of quiet and tranquillity
were over; the country intended to join in the march forward. It only
sought commercial expansion, it is true, but it was prepared to face
all and any consequences.




CHAPTER VI

SALONICA


Aehrenthal sketched a programme of commercial extension in the Near
East. The first step to be taken was the building of the Sanjak
railway. The Sanjak is a narrow strip of barren land which was at that
period occupied by Austrian troops. Aehrenthal now proposed to build
a railway through the Sanjak, with the terminus at Salonica. This
railway would give Austria-Hungary the control of the Balkans as far
as trade questions were concerned. Salonica would virtually become
Austrian property, not by the force of conquest, but by the natural
sequence of events. It had long been plain that the Turkish Empire was
crumbling. None knew better than the Austrians that the hour for the
final dissolution of the Turkish Empire had come. It therefore behoved
Austria-Hungary to anticipate her rivals and to secure the most
important port--Salonica. The building of the Sanjak railway would
have shortened the route to the East by many hours. Many statesmen in
Austria-Hungary did not approve of the Sanjak project. There was an
alternative and much quicker route over Albania. If a railway could be
built from Durazzo or Vallona across to Salonica, two days could be
saved on the route to the East. Many statesmen favoured this plan. The
Sanjak was a death-trap, they said; the line would run through gullies
among mountains where enemies could command it. Besides the danger of
enemy forces in case of war, the wild bands of half-civilised folk
in the Balkans must be considered too. They might plunder the train
at any time; it would be very easy to hold it up between the steep
defiles. In Albania there was flat, fertile country that would be
vastly more suited for railway building; it could, besides, be opened
up with advantage. The only trouble with regard to Albania was that
there was a treaty between Austria and Italy regarding any occupation
of that country. If Austria took northern Albania, as she hoped to do,
Italy was to have the southern part. Vallona, the best harbour on the
Adriatic, lay in the part claimed by Italy.

Thus Austria-Hungary hesitated between two alternative schemes. The
German element in Austria was for pushing towards Salonica over the
Sanjak. The idea had come from Berlin, and had been carefully suggested
to Austrian diplomatists by the Emperor’s advisers. Aehrenthal
announced it publicly at the Delegations, and waited to see what effect
his audacious move would have upon Europe. The Greeks sitting in the
café in the Fleischmarkt in Vienna were the first on that memorable
night of the Delegations’ meeting to catch up the words, “To Salonica.”
“Salonica is Greek,” they said. “If it is wrested from the Turks, it
must fall to Greece.” Twenty-four hours later Europe said what it
thought of Austria’s plans of expansion. The old Emperor, Francis
Joseph, who had probably listened in a semi-comatose condition, as
he frequently did, to the report made by his Foreign Minister on the
Sanjak railway, summoned him to Schönbrunn in haste. There, in his
characteristic way, in language so plain that there was no mistaking
it, and that would have done credit to a Vienna cabby, the Emperor
forbade any thoughts of a forward policy. He had had misfortunes enough
in his long reign, he said. If any innovation was to be made it could
be undertaken by his successor; for the rest of his life there would
be quiet. He understood that Russia was aghast at Austria’s plans of
aggression, England was furious, and France asking what it all meant.
The announcement made at the Delegations might be regarded as unspoken.

[Illustration: BARON AEHRENTHAL.]

Strange to say, Archduke Francis Ferdinand, the heir to the throne,
agreed with the Emperor. He considered that the forward movement in
the Balkans planned by Aehrenthal was ill-judged. He was aware that
Kaiser Wilhelm and the “German” party in Austria desired to open the
road to the East. The Archduke, however, took a much clearer view of
the political situation than the Kaiser and his advisers. He grasped
the very obvious fact that Italy was not a willing member of the Triple
Alliance. She was only waiting for an excuse that would sound at all
plausible to break loose from her bonds. Why the Archduke should be
keenly aware of a fact that was never even suspected by Kaiser Wilhelm
is not easy to say. Perhaps the intensity of his hatred enabled him to
read the national character aright, for the Archduke hated Italy with
a bitter hatred. He possessed estates in Italy, and considered that
the Italian Courts of Justice had treated him unfairly in a series of
law suits he had had about his property there. Moreover, there were
differences of temperament between the Austrians and Italians. Francis
Ferdinand was essentially a “German” Austrian--that is to say, an
Austrian with leanings towards Prussian methods, who wished to have
the Austrian army reorganised on Prussian methods. There was something
in the Italian character that roused the Archduke’s anger; both he and
Kaiser Wilhelm felt the rage, often manifested by the savage for things
he cannot understand, at Italy and Italy’s methods. This common dislike
for Italy which possessed both men was doubtless due to a remarkable
and startling change in the Italian character. During the last twenty
years the Italians have organised themselves on German lines; the
Italian of to-day has all the efficiency of the Prussian without his
cumbersome methods. When Kaiser Wilhelm went to Italy unexpectedly
to visit his friends there, he found hydroplanes that excelled those
at home moving about in the limpid waters of the Adriatic. He went
to Miramare, swelling with anger. Both he and Francis Ferdinand were
sufficiently intelligent to take in the position at a glance. Italy
was like a child that had stolen a march upon the world in a night by
attaining to her full stature while the others slept. Both raged at the
unexpected turn things had taken. While Kaiser Wilhelm was anxious
to keep Italy as an ally, because Germany and Austria-Hungary had so
small a coast-line, Francis Ferdinand, with much truer insight into
the interests of his country, said, “Fall upon Italy unexpectedly and
crush her.” Kaiser Wilhelm realised that the Austro-Hungarian fleet
would only be of use if it could emerge from the Adriatic. Bottled up
in the inland sea by the Italian fleet it was a negligible quantity.
He did not comprehend the bitter hatred felt by every Italian for the
ancient oppressor, the Austrian. He probably knew little of the ways in
which Italians in Austria were persecuted, in spite of the existence
of the Triple Alliance. The Government went about its work in a very
wary manner, and incidents which would have opened his eyes were
carefully hushed up. It is probable, too, that the Austrians deceived
the Kaiser as to the attitude of the Italians. Every Austrian knew in
his heart that there could never be anything but war between the two
countries. The manner in which they habitually alluded to the Italians
was sufficient to prove their intense hate. The Italian subjects living
in Austria reciprocated this sentiment in full. Whenever they found an
opportunity of paying back some of the Austrian hate for them, they
availed themselves of the chance. Archduke Francis Ferdinand always
used his influence to prevent Austro-Italians rising to power. He had
officials in Trieste removed from their posts merely because they were
“Italians.” Their places were taken by Slavs, who regarded the Archduke
as their protector. As a matter of fact, the Slavs were the only people
in Austria-Hungary who respected and liked the heir to the throne.
The Germans despised him. The Hungarians frankly detested him, and
the Italians execrated him. The Bohemians, the Croats, and the Serbs,
all Slav races, regarded him as their representative. In the racial
contests for place and power in Dalmatia, in Istria, the Slavs who
wished to oust the Italians from their places appealed to the Archduke,
and immediately got what they wanted, while the Czechs, who were in
deadly antagonism with the Germans in Bohemia, had a powerful advocate
in Countess Chotek. When the German officials tried to introduce the
teaching in German instead of the Czech language into elementary
schools in Bohemia in Czech districts, the Archduke stood by them and
prevented any encroachment by the German element.

Thus Emperor Francis Joseph and his heir agreed, although from
different motives, in preventing the plan of the building of the
Sanjak railway being pursued. Kaiser Wilhelm, who had taken no part
in the disputes that were raging in Vienna, was glad that the idea
of Austria-Hungary’s embarking on an aggressive policy should be
ventilated, but did not wish her to take any course that might lead to
war either in the Balkans or with Italy. Neither country was prepared
to embark on an aggressive world-war. Kaiser Wilhelm encouraged
Austro-Hungarian statesmen to contemplate a series of wars with poor
and helpless neighbours, such as Italy, Montenegro, and Servia, but
he was really thinking of executing his projects, of placing Germany
“über alles!” He knew that this idea of aggressive warfare would render
it easier for the German party to obtain the armaments required for
the coming struggle, while public opinion in the country would become
accustomed to the idea of a policy of expansion. He cared little
that the Archduke was preparing for a _coup_ upon Italy when he was
contemplating a blow in the opposite direction. The necessity for
realising his plans made Kaiser Wilhelm regard all means justifiable,
even the deception of his allies.

The storm raised by the Sanjak railway project gradually calmed down,
and Count Aehrenthal, baulked in his plans, retired to the background
to work out fresh plans for Austro-Hungarian aggrandisement; while
Archduke Francis Ferdinand, still sore at the Court Ball incident,
sulked upon his magnificent estate at Konospischt, in Bohemia, where he
superintended his wonderful collection of exotic plants and tried to
forget Vienna the dusty, that was so bad for his lungs.

Kaiser Wilhelm became increasingly aware that the immediate necessities
of the situation rendered it important to gain Archduke Francis
Ferdinand to his side. The Kaiser was painfully conscious that neither
the aged Emperor nor his heir had any real regard for him. They were
inclined to look upon him as an upstart in many ways. The Kaiser’s
sudden excursions into realms that they regarded as distinctly not
regal annoyed them. What need had the Emperor of Germany to seek
distinction as a writer of plays? By such tricks he brought down the
whole level of royalty. All the Habsburgs are eminently dignified, and
Kaiser Wilhelm always seemed something of a royal mountebank to them,
with his strange longings after artistic fame, his childish wish for
popularity--a matter of the most complete indifference to his brother
monarch in Vienna.




CHAPTER VII

KAISER WILHELM IN VIENNA


Vienna, startled for an instant by the events connected with the
meeting of the Austro-Hungarian Delegations, soon sank back again
into complete apathy as regards foreign politics. The Sanjak railway
was forgotten and everyone was thinking of how the short time between
Easter and the “Derby,” the final event of the Vienna summer season,
was to be spent, when news came that Kaiser Wilhelm was about to visit
Vienna. He proposed to come to celebrate the aged Emperor’s jubilee
and to bring his whole family with him. The Viennese considered this
most tactless. Emperor Francis Joseph had lost his only son in a
drunken brawl, and now his professed friend wished to remind him of
the fact by bringing a family of handsome young men to accentuate the
contrast between the lonely old man and the Kaiser in the prime of
life, surrounded by his six sons. The Kaiser secretly planned another
“honour” for the Emperor. All the Federal Princes were to arrive in
Vienna before the Kaiser and to await him on the platform. The Kaiser
arranged for them and their retinue to reach Vienna separately and
almost in secrecy. No receptions were to be given them on arrival. He
only broke the news to the Emperor privately when all the arrangements
were complete and some of the Princes already on their way to Vienna.
The Emperor thereupon lost his temper, which had already been sorely
tried by the proposal to bring so many Imperial Princes. He sent a
message to say that his health would not allow of him receiving anyone
excepting the Kaiser. The Kaiser had to abandon his plan, which was
to have the Emperor of Austria and the German Federal Princes grouped
together on the little platform at Penzing, awaiting his arrival “like
the rising sun,” as the Vienna papers put it, and allow the Emperor to
do homage to him among his vassals, thus recognising him as overlord of
all the German-speaking peoples.

The Press said what it thought of the Kaiser’s overweening ambition,
and he was very surprised. The Austrians were not so stupid as he had
thought. They had grasped his plan to make himself the man of the hour
instead of leaving the first place to the monarch whose jubilee was
being celebrated.

Wilhelm’s fertile, restless brain had hardly abandoned one project
before it conceived another. He left his bevy of handsome sons at
home, but took his only daughter with him to Vienna. The heir to the
Austrian throne, Archduke Francis Ferdinand, had made a morganatic
marriage; his children could not succeed. Archduke Carl Francis Joseph,
the son of Archduke Otto, who had lately died a horrible death, would
be the next heir. Why should Princess Louise not become Empress of
Austria and Queen of Hungary? There was the little difficulty about
religion, but that could be managed. Louise and her mother, the
Empress, were informed that they would be allowed to accompany the
Kaiser. It is likely that the ladies had but small notice, for Princess
Louise wore skirts that were perfectly appropriate to the palace at
Potsdam, where she ranked as the greatest tomboy of the family, but
they were decidedly too short and too tight for the Austrian Court,
where ample petticoats are _de rigueur_. A tall, thin girl, looking
absolutely irrepressive, stalked up the platform by her mother’s side.
Distracted ladies-in-waiting had attempted to teach her the Austrian
Court curtsey--a most complicated manœuvre that takes years to learn.
They also tried to instil some ideas of the strictness of the Austrian
Court etiquette into her mind. She was the terror of the palace at
home; the ladies-in-waiting stood in great awe of the spoilt child.
They trembled when their turn to attend upon Her Royal Highness came
round. They feared what would happen when she got to Vienna. The change
from the free and easy manners of the Berlin Court to the unchangeable
rules and regulations of Vienna was enough to upset a more placid girl.
All the bowing and smiling upset Princess Louise, whose education had
been very “Protestant.” She put out her tongue at one of the stately
Archduchesses--behind her back, it is true, but the incident did not go
unnoticed. She dropped a bouquet that had been presented to her because
the weight annoyed her. The Empress of Germany looked dismayed at the
dismal failure. She had some idea of the Kaiser’s plans, and was aware
five minutes after the special train had pulled up on the platform
that the project had fallen through. Wilhelm, who is not by any means
sensitive, had not marked the by-play. The look on the horrified
face of the Empress should have warned him from committing a further
error; but he was always quite oblivious to atmospheres. He turned
round and, with a rough shoulder movement that was visible to everyone
on the platform, he actually “shoved”--no other word can describe the
movement--the Princess towards the young Archduke. The Princess, well
used to her father’s abrupt manners, smiled at the young Archduke,
who rose to the occasion in a manner worthy of the traditions of his
family, which is celebrated for its fine manners. But Kaiser Wilhelm’s
matrimonial plans had failed before they were really made. All the
women were against it. The Habsburgs objected to the presence of a
Protestant in their midst even though she might forsake her religion.
They knew that anything so foreign to themselves could never preside at
the Court of Vienna. Their opinion was shared by their guest, who hated
the gloomy Hofburg, and cared but little for Schönbrunn, where the
strict etiquette rendered the mother of the future heir to the throne a
mere puppet in the hands of attendants, who would not even allow her to
educate or control the destinies of her children. Princess Louise put a
final seal upon any possibility of negotiations being renewed by her
very decided conduct during the subsequent proceedings. Vienna was full
of stories of the strong-mindedness of the Kaiser’s only daughter. It
had had experience of strong-minded Princesses in the past. It wished
for nothing more of the same kind. Kaiser Wilhelm had lost.

Baulked in his matrimonial schemes, he now turned to the political
situation. Emperor Francis Joseph was irritable. The visit, although on
a much smaller scale than had been originally planned, cost him much
money, and, though he had been extremely generous in his youth, the
Emperor had become strangely parsimonious in his old age. He grudged
the great expense that was invariably entailed by the Kaiser’s State
visits. The programme usually included some expensive outing. Sometimes
five miles of road had to be improved up to the royal automobile
standard. At another time Wilhelm would take a fancy to go shooting
after his stay in Vienna, and could not be induced to accept the
simple life that was the joy of the Emperor of Austria when among the
peasants. The hunting-box, the whole forest, had to be brought up to
the standard of an American millionaire. The Habsburgs, whose claim
to rank was too ancient and too secure to need any artificial pomp
to keep it up, rode through the deep forests on small, hardy ponies.
The Emperor of Germany required a road, and insisted upon its being
cut right through the forest. He was never secure of his position.
Beyond all these minor inconveniences he expected to be treated with
the utmost ceremony, and considered that it was incumbent upon the
frail old monarch in Schönbrunn to fetch him at the railway station,
to take him to his rooms along the chilly corridors of Schönbrunn
Palace, and to expose himself, in season and out of season, in order
to magnify the importance of his guest. It was further reported in
Vienna that Kaiser Wilhelm, ever penurious, had come to borrow money
from the aged Emperor--one of the richest sovereigns in Europe, if,
indeed, not the richest of all. All these things did not endear
Emperor Wilhelm to the Viennese. They showed their feelings by
refusing to get out the best bunting and by cheering their Emperor
frantically when alone, and pointedly refraining from any exhibition
of enthusiasm when the visitors passed. The people, too, perhaps, had
a true perception of what Kaiser Wilhelm sought, and recognised that
he was really patronising the old Emperor, suggesting that it was
time he took a back seat in a dozen insidious ways. Kaiser Wilhelm
hoped Archduke Francis Ferdinand would be easy to manage, but was not
convinced of this. Emperor Francis Joseph watched the growing intimacy
between his heir and the Kaiser with great misgivings. He knew that
toils were being wound round the Archduke, who believed that he could
accept obligations and not be called upon to pay for them. The aged
diplomatist at his side knew better. The experience of three-quarters
of a century had taught him the true inwardness of things. It was vain,
however, to utter warnings. He was not even discreet. When in a fit of
rage--such as attacks all the Habsburgs who are epileptic--nothing was
sacred. A man who was not able to control himself could not be trusted
with secrets that might imperil Austria’s relations with Germany. Thus
things drifted. Germany obtained increasing power in Austrian councils;
the only man who could lay a restraining hand upon his heir was old and
weary and unwilling for anything that spelt change or unrest.




CHAPTER VIII

AFFAIRS IN TURKEY


It was clear to everyone who followed the course of events in the
Near East that the dissolution of the Turkish Empire was at hand. The
race towards ruin, that had gone on slowly before the introduction
of the telegraph and telephone, now began to suit its pace to the
times. Corruption of every kind was the order of the day in Turkey.
Nothing could be obtained without bribery. Every kind of enterprise
was stopped by the extortions of the tax-gatherer. Any man who was
known to possess ready money was plundered by corrupt officials. The
system of land-tenure prevented the peasants from putting any money
into improvements. The great mineral wealth in Turkey and the subject
lands could not be touched, for the law said that only the surface of
the land belonged to the proprietor; all mining rights remained the
property of the State. Mining engineers who came to search for hidden
wealth were murdered by the peasants, who feared that the Government
would confiscate their land. Men who went down to Turkey to do business
always spoke of the necessity of adopting quite other methods than
elsewhere. Money, even in the case of respectable firms, was not kept
in the bank, where it would fetch interest, but distributed among a
number of more or less distant relatives. Thus the stranger had no
means of discovering whether his customer could pay or could not pay.
The latter always had a clear case for the Courts, and could prove
absolute penury whether the necessity arose in connection with taxation
or with a tiresome customer. At the same time all business there was
done on the credit system. The European agent, therefore, never dealt
direct, but depended upon the local agent, who had a profound and
up-to-date knowledge of his customer’s financial standing. The fact
that no man could be forced to pay made tradesmen very honest, and
the Turk, even before the revolution, had an excellent reputation for
uprightness throughout South-Eastern Europe. “The Turk is a gentleman;
he always pays,” they said in Austria and in Hungary. Just as large
transactions were carried out in the latter countries without the
interposition of any legal man, and sums running into thousands passed
from hand to hand in small notes to avoid the heavy stamp duty, so
the Turk transacted business without documents, always keeping to his
word. The Austrian and German agent who overran Turkey and dumped his
least marketable goods upon the people, felt he was dealing with a
kindred soul, but, to avoid all risks, he fixed his prices to allow
for long waiting, and also to cover any unavoidable bad debts. He had
a serious competitor in business in the Balkans, and was gradually
being routed from his long-established haunts by the Italian “drummer.”
The Bohemian textile manufacturers had been accustomed to regard
Turkey and the Balkans as a kind of dumping-ground for bales of goods
that had not “taken” colour properly and for wares that showed some
deficiency. The arrival of cases of excellent wares from Milan at about
two-thirds of the price of the Austrian article naturally damaged their
market very considerably. It is certain that much of the friction
between Austria-Hungary and Italy was due to the growing keenness of
competition in trade upon the Balkans, and just at this period it was
getting very active.

Turkey hung thus, like an over-ripe pear, the wasps swarming around
her, her Sultan Abdul Hamid committing crimes that cried to heaven,
when the news reached Vienna that the Third Army Corps at Salonica
was marching upon Constantinople. The revolution and the deposition
of Abdul Hamid were accomplished with a celerity that gave rise to
the suspicion that Austria knew more of the whole affair than she
chose to admit. The Austrian Government made desperate efforts to
keep the news from getting out until everything was accomplished, and
it is more than probable that the Young Turks were financed by the
Austrian Government. It is equally certain, however, that the Young
Turks chose a moment that suited themselves, and had not consulted
Austria as to details such as dates. Austria had set a vast machine
in motion, and could only stand aghast at the completeness of the
success of the rebels. It was not what she intended. With the opening
of a Turkish Parliament many questions that might have drifted
indefinitely became pressing. The chief of these was the future of
Bosnia and Herzegowina. Austria-Hungary had occupied these lands. For
many years she had carried on a rule that was not pleasing to the
population, formed almost exclusively of Serbo-Croats, who wished
to join their Servian neighbours across the frontier. With what the
Austro-Hungarian administrators regarded as singular blindness, they
felt that they would prefer the very progressive rule of King Peter to
the retrogressive government of subject-nations by the Central Power.
The few Mohammedan Albanians in Bosnia were content with the existing
state of affairs, which differed little from that under Turkish rule.
As they were merely 3 per cent. of the population, however, they were
of minor importance, although men of prominent position in most cases.

The establishment of the Turkish Constitution changed the whole aspect
of affairs as regards Bosnia and Herzegowina. The countries, although
occupied by Austria-Hungary, were still under the suzerainty of Turkey.
They would have the right to send deputies to represent them at the new
Turkish National Assembly. If this were permitted, Austria felt that it
would be only a question of time before she was called upon to evacuate
the annexed lands. Turkey might become regenerate. She would, then
exercise the leading _rôle_ in the Balkans that Austria had reserved
for herself.

Austria-Hungary decided that it was the moment for action. Only
one course was open to her. She must proclaim the annexation of
Bosnia-Herzegowina. Kaiser Wilhelm was consulted upon the advisability
of this step. He said that the step must be taken without warning. It
must come upon Europe as a surprise. Other countries had proclaimed
annexations--why not Austria-Hungary?

Archduke Francis Ferdinand bitterly disapproved of Austria’s attention
being turned to the East instead of to Italy. His influence was at
a very low ebb at this particular time. Emperor Francis Joseph had
regained his health. It was even thought that the robust old man might
outlive the heir to the throne.




CHAPTER IX

THE ANNEXATION


The proclamation of the Annexation of Bosnia and Herzegowina in 1908,
with the evacuation of the Sanjak as a compensation to Turkey, took
Europe by surprise. The general feeling was one of utter astonishment,
that Austria-Hungary, herself far along the road to bankruptcy, should
presume to annex anything. It is doubtful whether any one realised that
Germany stood firm behind her in her high-handed action. Even if this
were known vaguely, no one was aware that Germany had been consulted,
had fathered the plan, and perhaps even conceived it in all its naked
unscrupulousness. When the spasm of astonishment was over there was
a loud outcry. Austria-Hungary had “torn up” the Treaty of Berlin in
violating Article 29. An army, that was ready for the eventualities
that the country shrewdly suspected might ensue, was hastily thrown
upon the Bosnian frontier, another was pushed up towards Russia.
Germany also despatched a large force to the Russian front. The country
resounded with the noise and confusion of a mobilisation, for, strange
to say, Austria-Hungary, although aware her troops would be required,
had made no definite preparations. Stories of Bohemian regiments,
driven into troop trains covered by their officers’ revolvers, ran
like wildfire through the country. Further reports soon proved that
the mobilisation was simply organised confusion. Germany heard and
marked. There could be no war under such conditions. Meanwhile, the
Austro-Hungarian mobilisation was followed by rapid action on the
other frontiers. Russia put troops on her frontiers. Servia, feeling
concerned for her safety, increased her frontier forces. Count
Aehrenthal, besides promising to evacuate the Sanjak, undertook to
compensate Turkey financially for the loss of her provinces. In all
these arrangements it must be noted that Turkey was never consulted.
She had to look on while her territory was taken away, powerless to
defend her interests. This was a matter of quite secondary interest to
the Great Powers, who simply demanded to know what were the intentions
of Austria-Hungary. The winter of 1908–09 was spent in negotiation. The
soldiers, carefully provided with winter clothing, spent the months on
the chilly frontiers, and pitiful letters of complaint of the severity
of the Galician and Servian climates reached Vienna. These were from
the common soldiers, whose lot has always been a hard one. They were
subjected to the severe discipline that prevails in the Prussian army,
but whereas the Prussian gets his full allowance of food-stuff and
has the proper clothing for the climate at the end of October, the
Austrian trooper is, as often as not, supplied with ice-making machines
in December and woollen sleeping-sacks in July. New needs that cropped
up at the front were only met long after the cold that made them
indispensable had changed to spring-like warmth and the armies felt the
inconveniences of an inefficient officialdom very severely.

The young officers at the front, who were well provided with money,
spent a healthy winter. Ski-ing was one of the chief amusements;
they brought the sport back to Vienna, where it had previously been
something of a novelty. Otherwise the social life of the people was
but little affected by the diplomatic trouble that was causing such
perturbation at the Ballplatz. There was some complaining at the
scarcity of men. Vienna hostesses had always counted on providing each
girl with a choice of partners; this year the available men were either
getting on in life or unduly young, as the mobilisation had swept up
the rest. Those who remained at home, too, were overworked, and could
not spend their days in semi-somnolence in the office and their nights
in the whirling activity of the ball-room. It was only a year later,
on returning from the annual holiday, that people began to notice
that prices had gone up. The explanation was simple enough. The army,
after the unsuccessful mobilisation which had revealed all kinds of
deficiencies, began to make numerous demands. The guns they had tested
during the very frequent frontier skirmishes whose history has never
been written were useless. Much of the ammunition was counterfeit.
Stories of corruption touching even the highest officials were current.
Some great personages were dismissed without the customary decoration,
the Emperor plainly saying that he would show no mercy to those who had
betrayed their country. The excuse that they had no idea that a war
was perhaps pending did not palliate their crime in the eyes of the
aged Emperor, who is a soldier _par excellence_ in all that concerns
discipline and order.

The discovery of many lacunae and “discrepancies” in the service made
Austria-Hungary herself chary of going to war. When the chance of a
compromise came she was ready to take it. This was the easier for
her, as Germany, who was prepared for a world-war in the month of
October, absolutely refused to back Austria-Hungary in an adventurous
policy in December. The reason was plain. Germany and her Emperor had
believed all the reports they had received of Austria’s readiness;
it was only when they saw how the mobilisation hung fire, and
realised how unwilling her men--especially those belonging to the
subject races--were to fight, that they saw they had been deceived,
not intentionally, but by the difference between what the Austrians
believed and the actual state of affairs. Kaiser Wilhelm began to
see for the first time that he could not take the Emperor’s word for
things; not that the aged man had the faintest intent to deceive
him, but simply that he lived in a world created by his courtiers,
and existed in the atmosphere prevalent at Courts a century ago. His
councillors, old men like himself, never told the Emperor anything
unpleasant. If they believed that he did not wish to hear it, the
truth was carefully concealed. It is doubtful whether the Emperor ever
knew of the discontent in the ranks of the army.

Kaiser Wilhelm had but small difficulty in holding back the politicians
who sat in Vienna and appreciated his arguments. Modern wars, said the
Kaiser, cannot be waged without munitions and money. Austria-Hungary
had numbers of men, but her munitions were of ancient pattern; her guns
were not fit for active service. Wealth she possessed in plenty, as
Austria-Hungary is a rich country, but it was not realised. It was all
invested in lands, machinery, and other plant. Her subjects were not
accustomed to direct taxation to any extent. The military party could
not grasp these arguments.

A great nation ought not to stoop to negotiate, it said. Why should
they hesitate when their army was over two millions strong?

It is a curious fact that during the negotiations no one mentioned the
really salient point in so many words, nor asked, “By what right had
Germany, through Austria, arrogated to herself the power to disturb the
peace of Europe and to steal a march upon her neighbours in the night?”
Neither country has ever advanced a reason to excuse this action.
The first cause was doubtless Kaiser Wilhelm. In the plenitude of his
arrogance, which made him consider himself beyond all human laws,
he regarded the rights and wishes of others as entirely negligible
quantities where the greatness of the German Empire, which meant his
greatness, was concerned. Every German child was taught that Germany
should be supreme over all. In the schools they learnt that nothing,
not even truth or justice, could be allowed to interfere with Germany’s
commercial progress. The young men who stole into Italy or Bohemia as
clerks and took copies of the names of customers for the use of their
countrymen, were not considered thieves in the usual sense. They were
simply German patriots; men who had been reared from childhood to
consider that the old standards had fallen, and a new German philosophy
had taken its place. This teaching had one object, and one only, the
aggrandisement of Germany. Kaiser Wilhelm was at the head of this
movement. He regarded the other nations as effete and degenerate.
They had no right to block the way of the Prussians, who were a
reincarnation of the Goths of old, and who would sweep everything
before them. Prussians of high standing were not backward in expounding
this theory. The other German races murmured at the “unscrupulousness”
of the Prussian. They felt that men of this character were dangerous,
and that they ought not to be entrusted with the supreme command in
the Empire. Austria-Hungary, meanwhile, chafed at the bit that she was
beginning to feel. After all the delicate questions had been settled
and the terms of the agreement arranged, her statesmen sighed and said:
“This has been a mistake, we ought to have gone to war.”

Statesmen saw that they had placed themselves too unreservedly in
Germany’s hands. Peace, too, had been preserved by unusual means. When
things had reached a very critical stage, the aged Emperor Francis
Joseph stemmed the current that was carrying the country towards
war. He let it be known that he objected to the peace being broken.
He wished to end his days in tranquillity. Such respect was felt for
the Emperor that this was sufficient to turn the scale in favour of
peace. Austrian statesmen, however, were encouraged in an irresponsible
feeling that they might go to great lengths in threatening war
without being called upon to back up their threats by action. The
Austro-Hungarian supreme War Lord could save the situation by a word.
Germany could prevent things reaching a climax if the Emperor’s
petition for peace were not sufficient.

These ideas were radically wrong. The Emperor tacitly undertook not to
break the peace again when he made his appeal. It is certain that he
never intended to do so. But this should have hampered his statesmen.
It did not. Instead of feeling that the Emperor’s pledge to Europe laid
a responsibility upon them, they, on the contrary, felt that their acts
were always liable to be disavowed by the monarch, and that they were
not forced to show the same caution as they would if their decisions
were final. In the same way, they failed to realise that Germany would
inevitably demand compensation for her protection. The noblemen who
held the helm in Vienna were not a match for the calculating business
men who were pursuing a “real” policy at Berlin, and who had little to
do with ideals.




CHAPTER X

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.




CHAPTER XI

THE “GREAT SERVIA” IDEA--SERVIAN ORGANISATION


While Austria-Hungary, with Germany behind her, was discussing the
tearing up of the Treaty of Berlin with the rest of Europe, both Powers
failed to observe developments that were taking place under their very
eyes. The Austro-Hungarian official sent off to Bosnia or Croatia cared
very little about the people entrusted to him. His one and only idea
was to scheme and plan until he obtained his move to Vienna. He took no
means to detect and watch the conspiracies against the Government that
were being constantly hatched in the cafés of the town where he lived.
In a fit of sudden and uncalled-for energy, he would make a search for
cups and saucers decorated with the Serb colours or vindictively punish
the parents of a small child for permitting her to wear a Serb sash
round her waist, instead of a simple piece of ribbon. This unexpected
activity naturally raised the wrath of the Serbo-Croats, the more so
because really seditious acts frequently escaped notice, or, if the
administrators knew about them, they avoided taking cognisance of them,
as it meant the opening up of large questions and much trouble with the
central authorities in Vienna. Thus the Serbs, who lived under Austrian
or Hungarian rule, were often permitted to go to great lengths without
any interference. The sudden swoops of an enraged magistrate, who took
action rather because the plotters had interfered with his personal
convenience than because it was really incumbent upon him to do so,
produced a feeling of insecurity among the subject races. They regarded
the local governor somewhat in the light of a dangerous but slumbering
beast, and they prayed that his slumber might continue undisturbed.
Some, however, went the length of trying to twist his tail, when
they knew that he had been sent to the provinces in disgrace, as was
generally the case. If a man had been exiled for more serious offences
than uncouthness of manner, or a failure to respond to the friendly
advances of the chief’s elderly wife, and her invitation to shine at
her somewhat monotonous afternoon teas, the Serbs, who were always
well-posted in the reasons that led to an official being sent to the
provinces, felt that he was not in a position to injure them without
damaging himself, and behaved accordingly. The eight million Young
Slavs, as they call themselves, under the dominion of Austria or of
Hungary have always been well organised. When one of their number
arrives at either Vienna or Budapesth he calls round at his Union.
Although he may not know a single word of German or Hungarian, the
society find him a job. Accustomed to heavy labour, the Serb or Croat
is much sought after, especially in the lower ranks of service. Time
goes by, the man-servant or maid-servant has learnt the language and
is firmly established in the household. There is trouble in the home
because of the failure of a German tailor to keep his word. The Slav
servant has a relative who is willing to undertake the job, although
it is nearly midnight. He is hastily fetched, and by the advice of his
friend within the camp fixes his charges a trifle below those asked
by the German. He remains master of the situation, the German being
ousted. Gradually the household needs are supplied by Slavs, who carry
out orders promptly and carefully, and have none of the supercilious
“take it or leave it” manner of the German purveyor. The Austrians
always say “Let one Slav into the house, and they rule the ingoings and
outgoings for the future.”

The Slav is always an enigma, which years of close intercourse cannot
solve. His aspirations, his outlook on life are a sealed book to the
West European. The all-pervading and very distinct impression which
remains is that the Slavs have very distinct national aims, which they
are prepared to pursue with an utter persistence and ruthlessness, of
which no other peoples are capable.

Just at this period the Young Slavs within the Austro-Hungarian realm
were making a determined effort for liberation. They felt, and felt
justly, that they were oppressed. They thirsted for education and
paid large taxes to secure that same education in order to enable
their children to take their places as equals with the dominant races.
Austria and Hungary both dreaded the rise of the Slavs, and restricted
their education as much as possible, devoting the funds voted for the
purpose to other objects.

Things were so bad in this respect that a commission was sent over from
the States to ascertain how it could be possible at this date in the
civilisation of the world that such a large proportion of emigrants to
America should be illiterate. In some provinces it appeared from the
Government statistics that 69 per cent. of the annual recruits could
neither write nor read. The lack of education was most felt among
the Serbs, Croats, Poles and Little Russians. The Slavs, who possess
an uncommon amount of commonsense, felt that this withholding of
education was immoral, and that it served some deep ulterior purpose.
The Bohemians, who inhabited a rich manufacturing district, by force
of much agitation, were able to enforce their demands for education.
The Poles were miserably neglected, their representatives who attended
the Vienna Parliament were fêted and made much of, and, aristocrats
themselves for the most part, they were easily persuaded to forget the
wrongs of their people at home. In the Bukowina the people were on a
low level, and hardly realised their position. In Croatia, Dalmatia,
and especially in Bosnia, things were different. Italy was close by,
and the Slavs learnt how things were managed in that very progressive
and modern State. Servia and Montenegro were governed on lines that
contented the peoples there, and the Serbs across the frontier felt
that they would be better under the rule of King Peter than subject to
a governor who was so far from the centre that he could practically
deal with them as he pleased. It was seldom that the governor really
understood the vernacular. Being entirely German in his sympathies, he
naturally felt no interest in the Slav aspirations, except a desire
to crush them. While Vienna was using up her strength in arguing with
Europe, the Slavs considered that their opportunity had come for the
establishment of a vast Slav Empire, consisting of all the countries
inhabited by Slavs in Southern Austria and Hungary, which was to be
placed under the rule of the King of Servia.

Negotiations for a union between Montenegro and Servia, for the
establishment of a common customs tariff, a common army, and for the
pursuance of a common foreign policy, were being carried on. Servia
hoped to extend her territory to the sea. Whether she thought to
incorporate the Slavs of Austria and Hungary among her people is
difficult to say, but she, like the rest of South-Eastern Europe, was
aware that Austria-Hungary was rotten to the core. It must in the near
future follow Turkey and share its fate. As events move much more
quickly to-day in the epoch of telegrams and railways than they did
in the period of coaches and couriers, a much more rapid dissolution
of the Empire was to be expected than in the case of Turkey that
had been tottering for centuries. While the Austrian and Hungarian
Slavs were looking to King Peter to deliver them from Austrian and
Hungarian tyranny, Austria was intriguing, and encouraging the Serbs
in Servia to rebel. She had as little success with the Serbs as
with the Italians across the Italian frontier, as both peoples are
ardently patriotic, and even the poorest scorned Austrian gold. The
determination of the Young Slavs to live under the rule of a monarch
of their own race became strengthened at every fresh proof of the
effeteness of Austro-Hungarian rule. Themselves strong and virile,
they felt that they required administrators who could deal with the
problems that came to them for settlement in the rough-and-ready manner
peculiar to the other side of the border; they had always completely
misunderstood the shelving of petitions, the cumbersome multiplication
of documents, peculiar to Austro-Hungarian officialdom. Rapid justice,
even if less correct in the matter of form, was preferable, they felt,
to the long and unprofitable dilatoriness of the proceedings under an
administration more especially careless in dealings with things that
concerned people living far from the capital.

Austria-Hungary heard but little of the growing discontent in her
outlying provinces. Assassinations and attempts on the lives of
administrators multiplied, but the rulers in Vienna, busy with things
nearer home, simply suggested “that a heavier weight should be placed
upon the safety-valve.” After an outrage some few ringleaders were
hanged, half a dozen newspapers suppressed, and then the incident was
put away with other events of grave portent, signs of the times which,
however, were not allowed to disturb the gaiety of the capital.




CHAPTER XII

ALBANIA AND MACEDONIA


It is difficult to understand the complete indifference with which
the growth of the Great Servian idea was regarded in Vienna. Eight
million Serbo-Croats under Austro-Hungarian rule were eager to join
forces with their brothers across the frontier, five million Serbs
and Montenegrins. Whether the indifference manifested at Vienna was
owing to the attitude of supercilious contempt of what was going on
around them which was generally adopted by Austro-German officials,
or whether they were really ignorant of the extent of the movement,
it is difficult to say. It is possible that politicians, who did
reflect upon the very evident increase of disaffection in the South,
merely regarded it as an indication that the small Germano-Austrian
and Magyar minorities must throw in their lot with Germany. Certainly
the relative numbers of Germans and Czechs, of Maygars and Serbs were
most alarming. Officials in high places naturally judged the position
more accurately than could the man in the street, because the published
statistics giving their relative numbers of Germano-Austrians and
Czechs, of Serbo-Croats and Magyars, were always manipulated to such an
extent that they were quite useless for scientific purposes. Another
set of correct figures was kept for the purposes of administration.
With an insolent disregard of her complete lack of success in ruling
the Serbo-Croats, Austria-Hungary not only added more millions to her
realm by annexing Bosnia and Herzegowina, but she now embarked on new
schemes of annexation and colonisation.

New Turkey had less vitality than the old ruin that had just crumbled
to pieces. The Young Turks, when asked why they had not seized their
opportunity of securing the benefits they so much desired, which had
been within their grasp, said sadly that appearances were deceptive.
There had never been a chance of regeneration for the country. The
same power which had promoted the revolution had corrupted the new
Parliament--German money. Austrian interference had rendered them mere
puppets in the hands of unscrupulous Germans. They had not realised
this until too late. They had merely delivered their country over to
a worse foe than Abdul Hamid, who, whatever his vices and faults might
have been, acted in his own interests and in the interests of Turkey.
Germany had encouraged the revolution merely to precipitate the final
ruin of Turkey. She now thought that the moment for dissolution could
not be postponed. Austria, acting for her, proclaimed the fact of
Turkey’s disintegration upon the housetops, and suggested that Albania
and Macedonia should be made autonomous. The proposal sounded fair
and just. Everyone knew that the Macedonians had been fighting for
liberty for centuries. The claims of Albania were not so clear. Those
who lived close to the Balkans understood what the news of outrages
and massacres was worth. Outrages and massacres were certainly common
enough in both Macedonia and Albania, but news from the Balkans never
penetrates to Mid-Europe, unless it is to the advantage of some Great
Power that it should do so. Indeed, events of great importance happened
in the outlying provinces of Austria-Hungary without the rest of
Europe knowing anything about them. Rebellious Poles were shot down in
hundreds by dragoons in broad daylight. Even in Vienna and Budapesth
the soldiers dealt with the crowd in the most brutal manner, killing
and wounding unarmed citizens. Official telegrams would report riots,
mentioning a small number of injured and one killed. Thus it may be
understood that news from the Balkans, especially when it dealt with
outrages, was always political in its aim, and always biassed. Just at
this time Albanian massacres began to be very frequent. Now persons
acquainted with Albanians will always be very sceptical as to these
same massacres. The Mohammedan Albanian, a member of the predominant
race in the country, is very frequently a highly polished gentleman.
He speaks French very fluently of the variety spoken at Constantinople
and throughout the Balkans. Few Europeans can beat him in accuracy;
none come anywhere near him in fluency, the result of much practice.
He can neither read nor write, but having been partially educated at
Constantinople, he possesses great culture. Underneath is the wild man
of the highlands, who carries on blood feuds with the neighbouring
tribes, and never hesitates to slay a Turkish tax-gatherer at sight.
“Turkey,” say the Serbs, “tried to tax the Albanians for thousands
of years; she has never succeeded in obtaining a single _para_; she
commuted the taxation for soldiers, and all the finest Turkish
soldiers are really Albanians.” This was literally true. Practically
all the handsome Turkish guards are Albanians, and they have won Turkey
her reputation for producing splendid soldiers. The Albanian, too,
is an excellent merchant; he can only be compared with the Italian
for financial capacity. He naturally filled many of the important
posts under Abdul Hamid. Albanians seldom marry into alien races.
After twenty years spent in Constantinople, the Albanian returns
home to settle upon his small farm, if he cannot establish himself
upon the ancestral property. It is often a mere slip of barren land
upon the hillside, where ploughing must be done by hand, because no
horse or mule could keep a foothold on the steep slant. He purchases
the property and founds a family. It is clear that a man of this
disposition, with influence at Constantinople, would not allow his
people to be massacred unavenged. If the cunning tax-gatherer dare
not approach the mountains, even when guarded by a troop of Turkish
soldiers, it is unlikely that the somewhat effete men who compose the
real Turkish army would venture up country merely for the sake of
massacring odd Albanians. The latter seldom congregate in cities, but
are scattered far and wide throughout a roadless country. The Turks
sometimes sent large and well-equipped expeditions to Albania, to
avenge the killing of a governor or some other important functionary
who was misguided enough to venture into their midst. These expeditions
burnt out villages and killed every inhabitant they could lay hands on
in the approved Turkish fashion. But the result of such expeditions
was not great. The Albanians, who have an excellent system of
couriers, spread the news of any attempt against their liberties. The
inhabitants took to the mountains and slaughtered a large proportion
of the invading force from behind rocks, and from almost inaccessible
fastnesses among the mountains. But such expeditions, owing to their
cost in men and arms, were very rare. Owing to the jealousies of
Turkey, Austria, and Italy, the Albanian never lacked weapons. One
nation or the other was always ready to supply him with munitions to
carry on his nefarious plans against the others.

The Christian Albanian is perhaps a trifle fiercer than his Mohammedan
brother. He has not enjoyed the advantages of a long stay in
Constantinople. He knows the Serb language, having learnt it from the
wild mountain Serbs on the other side of the frontier. He is quite
savage, like his neighbours. There is little to choose between the
Miridites and Malissores on the Albanian side of the border, and the
Montenegrins and Serbs across the mountains. The Albanian, in some
cases, however, has had a chance of improving his general education.
He is an inveterate emigrant. There is a large standing colony of
Albanians in the United States. In Boston alone there are many
thousands. They are young men, almost exclusively, for the Albanian
does not take his womenfolk with him, nor does he settle beyond the
ocean. He simply goes abroad to make his fortune. He works without
ceasing in the great factories of the States, he denies himself every
kind of pleasure, and eats the commonest food, prepared in a large
eating-house for members of his race, and saves continually. Existence,
supported upon a handful of maize or macaroni, cannot be interesting,
but he is willing to undergo the time of stress for the purpose of
developing into a landed peasant-proprietor in his own land. He is then
permitted to marry, and becomes the head of the family. His brothers
who have tilled the land at home are denied the privilege of marriage
until much later on in life, or maybe never reach a state of affluence
that permits them to enter wedlock at all.

It gives a foreigner something of a shock to hear a handsome brigand
fresh from his mountains speaking perfect Boston English, and using
with the utmost assurance words that have been buried in oblivion since
the time of Shakespeare.

Such is the Albanian of to-day. Reports of massacres carefully spread
from the Central News Bureau, under German influence, at Salonica, were
not accepted as facts in the south-eastern part of Europe. Italians,
acquainted with the scene of action, reckoned up that if the reports
issued in the Austrian papers were true, every Albanian must have
been massacred on ten different occasions, besides being tortured and
wounded times without number.

The interest shown by Austria-Hungary and Germany in the welfare
of Albania was much deeper than that shown in Macedonia, because
Albania commanded the Adriatic. Italy took an equally great interest
in Albania, and to prevent any mistake about the final fate of the
country, began colonising it, planting her traders all along the
coast. There was a treaty between Austria and Italy, to the effect
that neither country should make any move in regard to Albania without
consulting the other. Neither considered that the spirit of the
agreement prevented the carrying on of intrigue. The Albanian, skilled
in the diplomacy of the East, pitted one set of agents against another,
and stored up rifles of the newest pattern for the carrying out of his
private vendettas and the repulsing of any attempt to civilise him.

This was the condition of Albania when Austria-Hungary thought good
to duplicate her annexation trick. She proclaimed the autonomy of
Albania and Macedonia overnight, without consulting the other Powers.
Her idea of autonomy was rule under a German prince, who would use his
influence for his Fatherland. Austria meant to make another Bulgaria of
Macedonia, and another Rumania of Albania. Italy protested against this
arrangement. She objected to the ever-handy German princes being placed
on thrones near the sea-coast. Servia and Montenegro, too, were afraid
of German influence being extended in Albania, and did their best to
foment trouble there. Servia had long regarded the route over Albania
as her one chance of an outlet to the sea, and saw herself deprived
of “her little window into the Adriatic” by the plan that would make
Albania a sphere of Austro-German influence.




CHAPTER XIII

THE BALKAN WAR


Germany and Austria were considering how the Turkish Empire could be
liquidated in a manner to secure the greatest advantage to themselves,
and in their egoistical view somewhat neglected the other factors in
the situation. Russia had great interests in the Balkans. Italy was
looking towards the time when her surplus population could be sent
there to colonise the rich lands that had been so neglected under the
rule of the Turks. The third factor--which Germany and Austria did not
think worth considering at all--was the Balkan peoples themselves.
Under Russian protection, they had conceived a grand scheme. A Balkan
League was formed. Bulgaria, Servia, Greece and Montenegro forgot
all their disputes and became allies. Their Ministers drew a map of
the Balkans, apportioning out among themselves the provinces that
then belonged to Turkey, the distribution being made according to the
nationality of the peoples who inhabited each district. Each country,
they considered, was to be ruled over by a king of its own nationality,
if possible. All the Bulgars in Macedonia were to be united under the
sceptre of King Ferdinand. The Kingdom of Servia was to stretch to the
Adriatic, Albania was to be divided between Montenegro and Servia.
Both countries would then have fine ports in the Adriatic. Greece was
to extend her coastline considerably. She was to have those parts of
Macedonia and of Albania that were inhabited by Greeks.

The Bulgarian people were the soul of this movement for liberation.
King Ferdinand, who was always a German at heart, and who ruthlessly
betrayed his adopted country to serve German interests, was probably
dragged into the scheme by his enthusiastic people very much against
his will. The Bulgars who lived in Austria and in Hungary boldly said
that they had been preparing for the war against Turkey for forty
years. “Every effort has been made by great and small for nearly half
a century to throw off the Turkish yoke, and at last we shall do it,”
they said. And this in spite of the Germanophile King. Bulgarian
gardeners, who are employed all over Eastern Europe because of their
extraordinary skill, came to Hungary, toiled through a lifetime, saving
every possible penny of their earnings to return home with money for
the war fund. Their hate of the Turks was intense. They wished to free
their fellow Bulgars, who were oppressed by the Turkish tax-gatherers,
and who had very little benefit in return for years of toil spent in
cultivating tobacco-fields. While the Bulgars themselves were working
for an ideal, Ferdinand and his Ministers wished to take possession of
the rich tobacco-lands in Macedonia, which brought large revenues to
the Turkish State. The Bulgars’ great enthusiasm was only damped by a
profound mistrust of their Prince. They knew that Ferdinand ranked as
one of the best diplomatists in Europe, and were proud to have so rich
a man upon their throne. But they felt that in the difficult enterprise
they were about to undertake a monarch with more honesty of purpose
would have been fitter to deal with the situation.

Although the Balkan League was formed with the ostensible purpose of
freeing Balkan lands from Turkish rule, the discontent in the Balkans
was due to other causes. Montenegro had no outlet to the sea that was
suitable or big enough for her needs. If she had possessed Cattaro,
one of the many excellent ports on the Hungarian coast, Servian goods
could have been exported as well as Montenegrin products. It was
Austria-Hungary who always opposed this. If she had allowed the Serbs
to send their agricultural products to other parts of Europe beyond
the Austro-Hungarian frontier all would have been well. There was a
shortage of meat in Germany and Italy, as well as in Austria itself.
But Austria, to please the Hungarian agrarians, interfered with all
export trade into Austria or Germany, and thus made the Slavs on the
Balkans determined to find an outlet to the sea.

The Balkan war was really the curtain-raiser to the Great War. The King
of Montenegro was the first to begin. His troops were mobilised in
twenty-four hours. The Balkan League had advised him that the war was
about to begin, but it is more than possible that his very precipitate
action hastened a war that was not perhaps inevitable. The news that
Montenegro had mobilised was not taken seriously in Vienna. A story
went the round of the cafés that it was all a put-up affair. Nikita,
they said, had been engaged by Pathé Frères, he was to receive a
large sum of money for the films of a real mobilisation, and perhaps a
miniature battle with the Turks thrown in. Very soon, however, it was
seen that the Balkans were in deadly earnest. The Austrians, who knew
something of the fighting qualities of the Turks, never doubted that
they would have a complete walkover. The Turks had money, they had
arms. The Balkan peoples had none. Austria was perhaps not aware that
Germany had supplied Bulgaria with large stores of guns and ammunition.
The poor Balkan people had paid very dearly for the antique patterns,
and been swindled most atrociously over the whole deal. The sights of
the guns were wrong, and the Bulgarian gunners had had no instruction
in their work.

Servia was supplied with French guns, and French gunners accompanied
the consignments to their destination, and taught the Serbs how to
manage the complicated weapons. Montenegro was well supplied with
ammunition. Where did it come from? The wild mountain tribes, both in
Montenegro and in Albania, were always supplied with the latest thing
in rifles and full supplies of ammunition. They had been disarmed time
and time again, but they merely surrendered ancient heirlooms, rifles
that served their grandfathers or great grandfathers. The good weapons
were hidden in caves in the mountains, or buried until better times
came, and they could carry them again.

The first Balkan war began, and the unexpected happened. Turkish
troops were routed by the Bulgars, who fought with a courage and a
determination that won them the respect of Europe. The Bulgars pushed
on to Adrianople, but could not take it because the German guns were
useless. The Bulgars raged against the Germans. Did the Germans simply
look upon them as savages who could be supplied with inferior goods,
or had they supplied the guns knowing that they would be used against
the Turks? Neither Germany nor Austria wished the Turks to be defeated.
They were pleased that the Balkan peoples should be weakened by
fighting among themselves, but were very surprised and disappointed at
the course taken by the war and the total defeat of Turkey.

After the war was over, the Balkan peoples began dividing up the
spoils. Austria, with Germany behind her, interfered in the settlement.
She would not allow Servia to have the territory she had conquered in
Albania, or any outlet to the sea. Servia thereupon demanded part of
Macedonia, instead of the territory assigned her by the preliminary
agreement. Ferdinand of Bulgaria was inclined to yield this, but
Austria encouraged him to stand firm, promising to help him if he
could not defeat that handful of savages, the Serbs. Russia, who had
encouraged the formation of the Balkan League, saw that if the States
began fighting among themselves, they would lose all their gains, and
publicly advised the Balkan kings to refrain from fighting and to be
satisfied with the land they had conquered. The States had enlarged
their borders considerably; it would take years to consolidate them.
Russia counselled them to attend to that business first, and then
think of further conquests. This counsel did not please Bulgaria. King
Ferdinand wired to Vienna for advice. Austria-Hungary and Germany
saw their chance. The Balkan peoples were disunited. They must be
encouraged to fight among themselves. Austria, acting without Germany,
despatched a two-thousand word telegram to Ferdinand of Bulgaria. It
promised an attack upon Servia from behind, while she was engaged
with Bulgaria in front. The preparations made just before an army is
mobilised were hastily put through. Men were warned for active service,
and every preparation made for starting a Balkan campaign. When
everything was ready Austria-Hungary notified her allies. It was soon
apparent that they refused to join in the campaign, or even to stand by
their ally.

Italy--as was discovered long after--said that the Triple Alliance was
defensive, and not offensive. She not only refused to aid Austria, but
would not promise to remain neutral during the expedition. Germany,
seeing that an Austrian expedition to the Balkans meant trouble with
Italy, persuaded Austria to back out of her promise. Germany was not
sorry that Austrian prestige should suffer. She did everything she
could to discredit her ally in the Balkans.

When Bulgaria had been completely beaten by her despised neighbour,
Serbia, Rumania fell upon her from behind and annexed a large piece
of territory. Ferdinand’s treachery to his allies had met with the
deserved reward. The Kaiser had no pity for him, and was not slow to
point out that whoever relied upon Austria was deceived. Had Ferdinand
applied to Berlin, instead of to Vienna, things would have gone
differently.

Ferdinand, broken, aged, a politician who has lost his game, a King
bereft of territory, a soldier who had been defeated, fled from
Sofia to Vienna. At last he was forced to leave even that refuge. If
Austria-Hungary had meant to leave him to unravel the tangled skein
she had encouraged him to weave, she should have told him so before,
and not abandoned him in the darkest hour of his life. The Emperor
felt the justice of the reproaches that Ferdinand made him. He wished
to be rid of the troublesome monarch. The Vienna Press was let loose
upon Ferdinand. Stories to his discredit were circulated everywhere.
While his wife comforted the wounded, said the leading papers, he
stayed in the capital because he was afraid to return. He spent his
time in frivolity, joking with ballet girls behind the scenes, while
his consort was purchasing artificial limbs for the maimed from the
money that should have been devoted to her own personal uses. Ferdinand
soon discovered that in Vienna, as elsewhere, nothing succeeds like
success, and that failures are not wanted, either there or in other
foreign countries. He crept back to his summer palace, had the guards
doubled, and lived in fear and trembling. His throne was so shaken that
it seemed very doubtful whether it would regain its equilibrium.

In disavowing Ferdinand Austria-Hungary lost her influence in the
Balkans.

At this period Russia and Italy, the new Balkan Powers, were in the
ascendant. Austria advised Ferdinand to wait his time, when Bulgaria
would be able to take vengeance upon her neighbours, and reap the
reward of her treachery. Ferdinand, thoroughly tired of promises, and
bitterly regretting his treachery to his allies, which had brought him
the reward he so richly deserved, thanked fate that his wife and sons
were popular in the country, and that he could leave for his Hungarian
estates. He was sure that they could look after the interests of the
dynasty much better during his absence than when he was there, only
able to make lame explanations of his conduct in the past and his
inexplicable quarrel with the other Balkan States.




CHAPTER XIV

KING FERDINAND OF BULGARIA, THE VAINEST MAN IN EUROPE


King Ferdinand was an interesting study as he crept away from Vienna,
all his hopes bankrupt, his people’s future compromised. The people
there considered him almost one of themselves, for the Coburgs had
always lived in Vienna. Prince Philip had a palace that commanded a
fine view right across the Ringstrasse. His brother Ferdinand lived
there when he came to Vienna, and was thus able to come to and fro,
_incognito_, whenever he pleased. The rest of Europe had no idea of
the frequency of his visits to the capital. Perhaps it was only the
theatre-managers who really were aware how often he was present in a
capital where everyone was at liberty to come and go, unmolested by the
crowd, unless he came as a monarch in state, when the Viennese were
the first to acclaim one of their children “who had gone so far in the
world,” as they expressed it. The general feeling in the city was
that Ferdinand was a great artist in diplomacy, perhaps the greatest
in Europe. In the capital of Austria he met many statesmen who came
there--to the “very edge of civilisation,” as they put it--to confer
upon the problems that then troubled Europe. Kaiser Wilhelm frequently
rushed through to Vienna in his automobile, without warning, and
took part in a short discussion of the situation, at which Ferdinand
assisted on many occasions. Kaiser Wilhelm, with his usual astuteness,
understood how to manage Ferdinand. He did not need money; that was a
great relief to the Kaiser, who was invariably short of it himself.
The Coburg family fortune was sufficient to provide for all his
private wants on a liberal scale. There is not the slightest doubt
that Ferdinand would have lost his throne long before had he been
forced to ask his subjects for money to supply his personal needs.
His independence in this respect placed him on a footing with the
proudest monarchs in Europe. Kaiser Wilhelm, prodigal of things that
cost him nothing, was able to lavish his gifts of wondering admiration
upon the King of Bulgaria. He tactfully praised qualities that his
friends imagined they possessed, and his delicate flattery of his
best “democratic” manner, that seemed to say there was no difference
in rank at all between the king of a Balkan State and the Emperor of
Germany, made Ferdinand a puppet in his hands. Wilhelm flattered him
into seeing things with his eyes, and mesmerised the dazzled monarch,
who had been a poor lieutenant, into thinking that he was really being
taken into the confidence of German statesmen and allowed to read
the secret thoughts of the great War Lord himself. The other Balkan
sovereigns, who had a clearer idea of the reality of things, could
not have been gulled so easily. They would have realised that there
was a reason for this preference, shown only of recent years, for a
man who commanded the route to Constantinople. Ferdinand, student of
political history, a consummate diplomatist, was, nevertheless, blinded
by the Kaiser, who appeared so simple--indeed, almost childlike--in
his aims, and so far removed from the world of diplomatists to which
Ferdinand belonged. This apparent simplicity of character, which has
puzzled so many, is due to a warped mind. Kaiser Wilhelm has long
considered that nothing mattered compared with the glorification of
Germany. The Almighty he considered had entrusted him with the task
of elevating the German nation. It was the supreme people of the
earth. It ought to be raised to a position which would make all other
people subservient to it, and the humble instrument for this work was
himself. He thus considered himself at liberty to break any law that
stood in his way, and, being a firm believer in the creed that the
end justifies the means, he was able to impress even people of great
and unusual acumen with a sense of his probity. King Ferdinand would
not trust the King of Montenegro, although Nikita was an open-handed,
open-hearted old mountaineer. He was, however, quite willing to accept
Kaiser Wilhelm’s estimate of himself as a man with a single aim that
must be accomplished at any cost. The King of Bulgaria prided himself
upon being the “Little Czar” of the Balkans, and aped the great Russian
Czar in many ways. He was naturally encouraged in this by Germany. His
insatiate vanity prevented him from seeing that the delicate flattery
poured into his ears by German diplomatists was merely dictated by
self-interest. They wished to detach him from Austria and secure the
allegiance of Bulgaria for Germany, to the detriment of Emperor Francis
Joseph and his prestige among the Balkan peoples. Ferdinand would
swallow any bait, walk into any trap, if an appeal to his vanity
were made. Order after order was bestowed upon him; he received so many
decorations that his uniform shone like a coat of mail with the small
medals that are worn instead of the large originals. When he made his
triumphal progress to Vienna for the first time in his new capacity
as king, his tunic was one mass of sparkling Orders. The Viennese,
who are accustomed to decorations on a wholesale scale, as they are
conferred for very slight services in Austria-Hungary, and worn with
great ostentation by all and sundry at the Court, said he glittered and
sparkled like a dancing girl at a fair. They were quick to mark the
point where the grandiose becomes ridiculous. They saw that a king so
overloaded with Orders was absurd, not regal. “But, after all, for the
Balkans--perhaps it impresses those savages down there at Sofia,” and
with a shrug of their shoulders they turned to look at his handsome
sons, Slavonic in type, and without decorations; for Ferdinand never
allowed his sons to play a leading _rôle_ in any way. They were simple
soldiers, who might mingle with the people and play the democrat while
he acted the sovereign lord.

[Illustration: KING FERDINAND OF BULGARIA.]

[Illustration: KING NIKITA OF MONTENEGRO.]

The sons made a much better impression upon the populace than the
father. They seemed to fit the frame into which they were born much
better than the king who had been transported from living among the
gayest and most cynical people in Europe to deal with the crude
realities of the Balkans. Ferdinand had left his country repeatedly
when the fear of assassination was too much for him. He has always been
a coward. Even his soldierly training did not give him a grasp of what
is expected of a man and a monarch. Like Kaiser Wilhelm, he always
wore a mailed shirt or some other form of armour. Like Kaiser Wilhelm,
he felt peculiarly safe in Vienna, as the police system is so perfect
that any attempt upon the life of a monarch is almost impossible. They
manage to keep a record of the business of every person who comes to
the city. No suspects dare venture into the zone controlled by the
Vienna police. The Austrian Emperor, as long as his health allowed,
strolled about the city quite unconcerned for any danger. Kaiser
Wilhelm found, too, that he could promenade unguarded, simply because
the police had eliminated all chance of trouble. After the perils of
Sofia Ferdinand enjoyed this feeling of complete security among the
light-hearted Viennese. He would never have definitely broken with the
Emperor of Austria, because his favourite retreat would have been
closed to him for ever. He had the feeling deep in his heart that he
might be forced to abdicate at any moment. Then Austria would afford
him shelter. There he could keep up his state, receive the respect and
homage due to one who had been king and retain his _amour propre_.

It is probable that Ferdinand had but a low estimate of the
intellectual attainments and the mental grasp of the Emperor of Austria
himself. Like all the members of a younger generation who listened
to the wisdom of Kaiser Wilhelm, he regarded him as “played out” and
a “back number.” This made him an easier tool in the hands of Kaiser
Wilhelm, and also led to his getting a reputation for treachery which
perhaps he did not wholly deserve. There was a very general feeling in
Austria-Hungary which was sedulously fostered by Kaiser Wilhelm and
his agents that promises made to the aged Emperor were not binding.
They were only given to humour the old man, who was already in his
dotage. Ferdinand of Bulgaria on several occasions failed to keep his
engagements to the Emperor, although they had been solemnly made.
Kaiser Wilhelm contrived to make Ferdinand and others besides see that
the aged Emperor was not a factor to be reckoned with seriously, and
that the Empire was crumbling visibly. He and Germany were all that
mattered in Europe. These influences go far to explain Ferdinand’s
policy during the Balkan war and afterwards. A man who can be led by
his vanity is unfit for any position of importance, and still less
to rule with an absolute sway such as he exercised in Bulgaria. His
Parliament, which should have exercised a restraining influence, was
rendered useless, as the leading members could be “bought” at any time.
Ready money is rare in the Balkans, and the Austrian diplomatist knew
full well the price of every politician at Sofia. It was amazingly
small. Sometimes they stood out for an Order as well as money as the
price of their dishonour, but as a rule money was sufficient to buy
them to betray their country. It is surprising that men who had risen
straight from the soil should have shown themselves so venial, but they
had the example of their king before them, and this explains much. The
atmosphere at Sofia was one of intrigue and crime. No one could stand
against it. The common people, sturdy peasants, dimly comprehended that
their king was not doing the best for them. They wished to join in
any plot for his undoing that might be suggested to them. They looked
towards the Czar of All the Russias to deliver them from a distasteful
alliance with Germany and Austria-Hungary. This made Ferdinand anxious
to conciliate Russia if he wished to retain the sympathies of his
people. The Austrians failed to understand these “extra tours,” as
they called Ferdinand’s sudden _volte-face_ in favour of Russia and
the Slavs. The Viennese, although they liked him, mistrusted him
profoundly. Just as some strange instinct led them to suspect the
bluff friendliness of Kaiser Wilhelm, they regarded Ferdinand as an
unknown book--a book of possibilities that might be to their advantage
or might betray them to Russia, for both Germany and Austria-Hungary
regarded the growing Russian menace with fear--a fear perhaps shared
by Ferdinand, who had seen that Servia and Montenegro, who trusted
implicitly to Russia, had accomplished much of their aims. They had
fulfilled many of their aspirations, and were in a fair way to realise
the rest. Ferdinand, instead of obtaining advantages for his country,
was now bribed to quiescence and silence by a new honour. The Golden
Fleece was conferred upon him. This gratification of his vanity bound
him closer to Austria-Hungary, for he owed the decoration to the good
offices of Emperor Francis Joseph.




CHAPTER XV

THE PRINCE OF WIED


The Powers of Europe decided that Albania should be constituted an
independent kingdom, and a king chosen from among the European princes.
The new ruler was to belong to some family that had possessed sovereign
rights in the past, and this limited the choice very much. He was to
come to his new home with all the lustre lent by the acknowledgment
of his fellow rulers to one of equal birth. Many candidates, more or
less suitable, were ready to accept the throne. Europe discussed their
relative merits. The only people who had no voice at all in the matter
were the Albanians themselves. They naturally did not want a sovereign
chosen by the Powers, but one selected by themselves. They frankly said
a complete stranger should be chosen, as the Roman Catholic tribes
would not acknowledge the domination of a Mohammedan; the Mohammedans
would object to the chief of one of the Christian tribes; and the
Greeks would submit to neither. Europe knew full well that the task
of civilising the nation would be no easy one, and it was generally
thought that the life of the new king would not be worth a month’s
purchase. Some of the malcontents were certain to attempt his life,
almost as certain to succeed in killing him. Other people said that
the task of ruling over Albania need not be more difficult than that
of civilising Rumania or Bulgaria, and that it was only a question of
finding the right man. Unfortunately, the Powers did not act loyally
towards the new country. They made no attempt to study the interests of
the population, but sought a ruler whose selection should provoke the
minimum of objection from the other Powers. Germany wanted to place a
German prince on the throne. Italy naturally objected to any man who
would be a mere puppet in the hands of Austria or Germany. Austria
objected to any Italian candidates. Finally the Powers agreed to accept
a prince of irreproachable reputation and sprung from a very old
family, but utterly devoid of brains. The Prince von Wied was selected
for his lack of any prominent characteristics. The new prince had the
outward appearance of a monarch, being extremely tall and handsome,
while his reputation as a military man left nothing to be desired.
Nothing had ever been heard of him outside or indeed inside Germany,
and the news was soon circulated in the inner circles of diplomacy that
he had simply been selected as a figure-head. It was never expected
that he would accomplish anything in any way. He had spent his life in
German military circles and was the “ideal officer.” Like most of his
brethren in arms, he was empty-headed, possessed of an intelligence
below the average, and spent his time in looking after his estates.
This negative information was not unsatisfactory. The most important
fact about the prince was carefully concealed, however. He was deep
in debt. This was common among the young German officers, but whereas
their debts were limited by the fact that purveyors refused to trust
them, the Prince of Wied was heavily involved. The Albanians, who had
agents all over Europe, discovered his predicament. They considered
that a Balkan king must possess a fortune of his own, as they did not
wish to pay a large civil list. All the Balkan princes who had come as
strangers into the land brought riches and not debts with them. This
gave them weight, not only among their peers, but also among their
subjects. A prince or king cannot be a pauper. Quite apart from minor
considerations, his monetary difficulties would make him venial. The
Albanians, accustomed to bribery and to rulers of very questionable
morality, openly voiced this objection. They had no opinion of German
or any other probity when exposed to temptation. The Italians in
Albania, who had hoped for an Italian duke to forward their interests,
did their best to exaggerate the financial straits of the Prince von
Wied. While many stories about his poverty were heard, nothing was
said about the family estates, which had been sufficient guarantee
for the moneylenders. The moneylenders, who were ready to trust the
Prince of Wied indefinitely, refused however to leave their money
with a Balkan prince; that was a different matter. Jokes were heard
in the cafés about the “pauper king” and Europe’s appointment of a
“beggar sovereign.” The Servians, whose kings were poor but honest,
openly derided the new importation. All these reports spread throughout
Albania like wildfire. It is remarkable that news is circulated much
more quickly in Albania than in civilised countries. It is always
the salient facts that are seized upon, unimportant details being
neglected in a manner peculiar to people who can neither read nor
write, and whose heads are therefore phenomenally clear. Descriptions
of the Prince, allusions to his martial figure, were good enough for
the German papers.

Albania did not heed them. She knew that she was to be governed by a
man who knew no word of the language, who brought no troops with him,
and who not only had no money but was deep in debt. It was not thus
that Albania pictured her king. She would even prefer to live under
the domination of one of the native princes, who would have been as
successful as the King of Montenegro in keeping his subjects in due
order. There were several of these men who could have mounted the
throne, and who would have known how to wield the sceptre. It did not
suit Europe to create an independent Albania, however. Neither Italy
nor Austria really wished the new venture to be a success, as they
desired to share Albania, dividing it into two spheres of influence.

Prince von Wied had one saving virtue--he was modest and had no
delusions on the subject of his capabilities. He hesitated greatly
before accepting the charge. Alone, he would never have assumed the
office thrust upon him. Unfortunately, he had a wife who was both
ambitious and lacking in intelligence. The Princess of Wied imagined
that the Albanians could be ruled by the introduction of the same
methods that impressed the intellectual circles in a German town.
She was accustomed to preside over a number of ladies, “seekers of
culture,” and thought that she could exercise a similar influence over
the Albanians. Neither she nor her husband realised that, when they
left Germany for Albania, they were stepping right out of the twentieth
century into the tenth. They both imagined that the Albanians would
be impressed by the antique furniture which they sent on in advance
to furnish the villa at Durazzo, not realising that the Albanians,
accustomed to all the pomp of the Turkish pasha, simply regarded their
“antiques” as a collection of quaint-looking lumber. The Albanians were
correct in their estimate, for the objects which Princess von Wied
considered so valuable were seen to be mere rubbish by the connoisseur.
The Vienna furnishers who came down to arrange for the arrival of the
new Prince, were horrified at the condition in which they found the
palace. It was built, like all Albanian houses, as a kind of fortress.
There were no windows at all on the lower floors. Loopholes, from
which the muzzles of guns projected, served instead of windows. Large
apertures were too dangerous in a country inhabited by natives who were
in the habit of potting-at the occupants of rooms on the ground floor.
Inside the immense barn-like house the Vienna furnishers found vermin
of all sorts. This is common in Albania, but the state of the palace
was such that it should have warned them that the coming Prince was not
popular, for they might have known that the rats had been introduced
into the apartments as a protest. The rat-holes were hastily stopped
up with cement, the mildewed walls were draped with costly hangings,
but the workmen who were taken down for the job felt that it was no
place either for a lady or children, and said so freely. Although they
could not speak the Albanian language, they felt the antipathy of the
natives. They were aware of the opposition that showed itself in a
hundred different ways, too small to particularise, but all of which
revealed dangers and difficulties for the new monarch.

[Illustration: THE PRINCE OF WIED.]

The Prince made a round of the chief Courts of Europe, before reaching
his new country. His fellow sovereigns were willing to do all they
could to give him a good “send-off,” and he was fêted everywhere.
Diplomatists, accustomed to judging men, thought very poorly of his
chances of success. He had numberless opportunities of finding out
something about his future subjects. Men fresh from the Balkans were
invited to meet him, but he did not care to avail himself of their
information. Neither did he consult any statesmen of experience as to
how he should act in any given circumstances; he appeared to think that
he would know all this by instinct when once he had assumed the crown.
Thus those accustomed to the cares of State watched the new man depart
with strong misgivings.

The manner of his arrival was the initial mistake. He slipped into
his new kingdom almost unannounced. He sneaked into the country like
a political refugee who wishes to avoid the notice of the police. A
handful of Albanians, gathered together at the last moment, shouted
“Hurrah!” when he appeared, but even their enthusiasm was purchased,
and not having been paid for on the usual scale, was correspondingly
feeble and ineffectual. After making this unfortunate entry, the
Prince settled down to do--nothing. The Albanians had learnt that
the money given by the Powers for the administration of Albania had
been applied to pay the Prince’s private debts, as the creditors had
refused to allow him to leave Germany with his obligations unsettled;
and they refused to welcome him. The Princess decorated her house,
and attended to the furnishing of rooms for her children. She, at
least, was delighted at the chance of being able to play at being a
real Princess. The Prince himself was less contented. He was doubtful
of the intentions of Essad Pasha, and confused by the different
instructions he had received. Kaiser Wilhelm had promised to stand by
him in his usual “shining armour” fashion, if he did exactly as the
German envoy suggested. The Prince, however, was shrewd enough to see
that German influence was of little value in the Balkans. Italy was
evidently the dominant Power in Albania. Her agents had spent money
freely. The Prince had reason to believe that Austria and Germany had
also made large expenditures on the glorious work of colonisation, but
he failed to observe the fruits. The younger generation of Albanians
spoke Italian, which was taught in the schools. Proficiency in Italian
was necessary for all who engaged in commerce and trade, as all the
coasting business was with Italy. Although attempts had been made
to establish schools where instruction was imparted in German, they
refused to attend them and were very averse to adopting German habits
or customs. While the Prince spent his time in avoiding complications,
by remaining within the palace, the Princess conferred with Viennese
decorators about the furnishing. This naturally prejudiced the local
workmen, and showed that she had not any grasp of the first duties of
a ruling princess. Shortly after the arrival of the new Royal family,
news was received that Albanian insurgents were advancing upon the
capital. No one knew what they wanted. It is doubtful whether they
knew themselves. They were aware that there was loot to be had in
the palace. Perhaps that was the secret of then coming. The Prince,
who had insisted upon two warships being stationed off Durazzo, now
telegraphed for aid. More ships were sent. The Powers regarded this as
unnecessary--Durazzo is situated at the farther end of a peninsula. The
only path between Durazzo and the mainland is over a bottomless morass.
The insurgents could only approach the place in single file and the
approach to the palace could be swept by the cannon on the warships.

The Albanian insurgents might attempt a surprise attack, but all
through the night searchlights swept the narrow neck of land that led
to Durazzo.

The Prince was afraid of the unknown. Away from drill books and
civilisation, he was quite helpless. It was at this critical moment
that one of the cleverest diplomatists in Europe--the Italian Minister,
Alliotto--who had been sent to Albania with a watching brief, played
his trump card. When the danger seemed worst, he persuaded the Prince
to flee. The “modern knight,” the representative of up-to-date chivalry
as practised in the Guards in Berlin, actually fled from his new
country and took refuge on the battleship. After several hours’ stay
on the ship nothing happened, and he realised that he had been fooled
by the astute diplomatist. The palace was not looted, could never have
been looted, with the guns from the warships turned upon the twisting
path across the marshes. No single Albanian insurgent could reach the
spot. He left his wife and children in safety, and returned to the
capital he had left, to resume a crown as one resumes an umbrella laid
down at the club. He was received with derision. All Europe had got
news of his flight. The Italian diplomatist had taken care of that.
Photographs were taken on the spot. They showed the Prince leaving the
palace in a panic and getting into the ship’s boat, and afterwards
climbing up the side of the ship. They were circulated through the
European Press. Pictures of the palace, and of the small groups of
tatterdemalions who had forced a German Prince and military expert to
abdicate, were sown broadcast. Europe did not know that a swift little
Italian boat had been waiting for weeks to carry away the news. The
Italians knew that Germany and Austria would contradict the news of the
Prince’s flight. So they said: “Photographs cannot be contradicted. Let
us have plenty.”

The Prince was the laughing-stock of Europe. He was forced to abdicate.
Even the Kaiser felt he could not advise him to remain on the throne
after the painful incident. He did not even dare to return to Germany,
but spent months in Italy, travelling, before he cared to face the
music at Berlin. Germany and Austria had played against Italy for
diplomatic supremacy in Albania. Italy had won all along the line. Not
only had she succeeded in disgracing the German princelet, she had
attained her own object, too--lowering Austrian prestige in the Balkans
and raising her own.




CHAPTER XVI

THE KING OF THE BLACK MOUNTAINS


The most interesting figure in South-Eastern Europe was King Nikita.
He ruled over the smallest patch of country that can call itself a
kingdom, but he is, perhaps, a more consummate diplomatist than any
of his fellow Balkan monarchs who have been swayed by the King of
Montenegro without suspecting it. He has great influence in a number
of countries. This is due to his extraordinary foresight. He had a
family of girls, who came of untainted stock, with a family reputation
for sound health, both physical and mental. Surrounded by his handsome
family, he realised that Europe was tired of German princesses--that
their presence in every Court of Europe was unpleasing to many
monarchs, who did not wish German women to know State secrets and
to be in a position to pass them on to powerful relatives at home.
He appears to have made a complete study of the subject of royal
marriages. His girls, unlike the ordinary Balkan princesses, were
brought up very simply. It is even reported that they were able to
milk the cows and goats that strayed near the country home where they
were educated. They had a training in practical housework, which took
the place of the frivolities that usually go to make up princesses’
lives. When they became of marriageable age, Nikita secluded them more
carefully than before. No breath of scandal ever touched them. But
their good qualities were reported far and wide, and did not escape
those monarchs who were in search of a wife for the heir to the throne.
Nikita managed to secure the throne of Italy for one daughter. The
Italians are always grateful to the King for bestowing his daughter
upon their ruler. The children that have been born to him are healthy
beyond those of any of the aristocrats that surround the throne, for
they inherit the sound constitution of their grandfather, the heartiest
and halest man in Europe. The Grand Duke who took a daughter of the
King of Montenegro to preside over his vast estates in Russia has never
regretted his choice. Although both men have a needy father-in-law,
and perhaps grudge the money that frequently flows to Cettinje, they
have secured wives with virtues that are worth much gold. The King of
Montenegro enjoyed immunity from attack because of his highly placed
sons-in-law, and was able to play a part in the politics of Europe
that would not have been possible under other circumstances. After
having taken the title of King instead of Prince, he came to Vienna
to pay his first visit in the new capacity. Emperor Francis Joseph,
ever ready to support all dignitaries, received him in a worthy
manner, putting a suite of rooms reserved for kings at his disposal.
King Nikita, who was seldom seen in Vienna, was decidedly popular,
and the crowd showed great enthusiasm in welcoming him. He managed
to enhance the importance of his visit by a circumstance that caused
much speculation at the time. It was arranged that Nikita should go
to the races and watch the Austrian “Derby,” the closing event of the
early summer season. He was accompanied by Archduke Francis Ferdinand
and Duchess Hohenberg and a number of other members of the Imperial
family, who always crowded into the Imperial box at the races, as they
are all intensely interested in all that concerns horses. The King of
Montenegro is also interested in everything connected with outdoor
sports, and looked forward to the event. Early on that Sunday morning
the rumour was circulated in Vienna that an attempt was to be made upon
the life of the visitor. Why anyone should wish to assassinate the King
of Montenegro was a mystery--whether the King had the report circulated
himself to increase his importance, or what it meant, was not clear.
All Vienna hurried down, in spite of the blazing heat; no one wished
to be absent at such a time. The police had taken precautions, which
showed that they at least anticipated something. Every visitor to the
Imperial enclosure had to walk through a long line of detectives and
diplomatic agents. If none of them recognised him, he was followed
and carefully hustled, as if by accident, into a corner far off the
Imperial box. Other detectives crowded him and ascertained whether he
had a bomb about his person by bumping against him. Persons in official
capacities were, on the contrary, propelled as if by some unseen force
to the front of the box, where they were forced to remain by pure
physical pressure of the cordon of police in plain clothes, in spite
of the blazing sun that beat down on the racecourse. The old King came
into the box. Duchess Hohenberg sat at his right, and entertained him
in her best and most vivacious manner. He greatly appreciated the
trouble that she was taking with him in pointing out the different
horses and telling him which colours belonged to this great aristocrat
or that great politician. Archduchess Maria Annunziata, the abbess of
a Bohemian convent, who had been charged with the task of conversing
with the King, was only too willing to relinquish her seat of honour
and to retire to the back to watch the racing with one of the juvenile
Archdukes. The King watched the pretty woman by his side with
admiration; her animation pleased him. Nikita felt in his element, the
most important man in the place. He did not cut a bad figure even among
the Austrian and Hungarian Archdukes, who are finely-built men, many of
them being extraordinarily handsome. After the event of the afternoon
was run and the cheering had ceased, the King, Archduke and Duchess
departed, as is the custom of royalty. The members of the Imperial
family stayed to watch the rest of the events, and only left five
minutes before the end.

Upon the departure of the King and the Archduke the police cordon
immediately relaxed. Persons who had been sandwiched in to form part
of the buffer that protected the Imperial box had free passage.
The feeling of oppression, of expectation, relaxed. But still there
was no explanation of the mysterious threats against the life of so
unimportant a sovereign as the King of Montenegro. In the light of
after events it occurred to many who assisted at that running of the
Derby that it was the life of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand which
was sought on that day. It was the first time for many months that
he had appeared in public, and the dislike felt for him both by the
people and by his near relatives had reached a dangerous pitch. No
such tragedy as happened later at Sarajevo took place simply because
the Austrian police was so efficiently organised and so powerful that
it could prevent anything of the sort by a process of elimination. The
same process might be witnessed every summer in Ischl, where no one was
allowed to take up his residence unless he could give a satisfactory
account of himself to the police. This was easy in Austria-Hungary, as
there was no shifting population to be dealt with. An exact record of
the past life of every person resident within the empire is kept. All
suspects are watched. Thus Austria was the safest place in Europe for
monarchs.

King Nikita departed as he had arrived, amid the acclamations of the
population. He had been gratified by the invitation, and King Peter of
Servia had been correspondingly humiliated. He had never been invited
to come to the Austro-Hungarian Court. This was a standing source of
annoyance to the Serbs, who considered that it would have given him the
prestige that he somehow lacked. They considered that the tragedy that
had preceded his accession to the throne should be forgotten after the
lapse of years. Emperor Francis Joseph, one of whose chief aims in life
is the maintenance of the dignity of rulers and the magnifying of the
vocation of kings, did not take this view. He said that as long as he
lived King Peter should never come to Vienna. It would, perhaps, have
been better had less been done to honour the King of Montenegro under
these circumstances. In this and many other trifling affairs the wounds
already inflicted upon Servian _amour propre_ were kept open instead of
being allowed to heal.




CHAPTER XVII

EMIGRATION PROMOTED BY GERMANY--SOCIAL QUESTIONS IN THE DUAL MONARCHY


The numbers of emigrants to Canada, the States, and South America
had been increasing in an alarming manner for many years. The large
band of men who left their country might be divided into two classes.
The larger class was composed of men who, weary of living under
Austro-Hungarian administration, left the country for good, worked for
money to build up a new home beyond the seas, and subsequently sent
money to pay the fares of their wives and children, or other relatives
to the new country.

The second class of emigrant that swelled the returns was the “season
emigrant.” He left for one, two, or three years, supported his family
at home while working abroad, and returned with his savings at the
end of the time to enrich the country of his birth. This class of
man increased the prosperity of the country. The American Government
encouraged the permanent emigrant and objected to the “season”
emigrant, who refused to become naturalised, and formed part of a large
foreign element that it always regarded as potentially dangerous. The
Austro-Hungarian Government, on the contrary, naturally encouraged
the “season” emigrant, and did everything possible to deter men from
agricultural countries from emigrating permanently.

During the Balkan wars the subject-races, always oppressed by the
Central Government, were subjected to much harsh treatment because
disorders were feared. Repressive measures were carried out very
cruelly; no allowance was made for race and natural sympathy with
their relatives across the border. The governors cared nothing if
they could cow the population into obedience. The more independent
spirits naturally escaped beyond the seas to avoid persecution. The
mobilisation and the long time that the army remained on the frontiers
made the Slavs fear that a war was coming. They did not desire to fight
against the Serbs nor the Russians. The Austro-Italians who inhabit the
southern coast-line and man the Austro-Hungarian fleet did not wish to
be called upon to fight against Italy. Thus almost all the inhabitants
near the coast considered it better to get away while they could, and
emigration on a vast scale began. Whole regions were depopulated. It
was impossible to move off the main route of travel in Austria-Hungary
at this period without being literally besieged by would-be emigrants.
How could they learn English? Could it be done by correspondence? What
other qualifications were necessary for emigrants to the States? It
seemed as if the whole agricultural population was packing up to leave.

The Emperor once wished to send some rare game to New Zealand, and
asked for a couple of men to accompany them. The entire country-side
offered to travel with them to the far-off land, intending never
to return. Istria, Hungary, Galicia, and the Bukowina swarmed with
emigration agents. These agents were quite unscrupulous in their
methods. They simply desired to make money quickly. They got the
usual bonus from the companies on each emigrant induced to travel by
their line, and besides were subsidised by big companies who wished
to populate large tracts of land abroad. These companies promised the
emigrants free holdings. The peasant, who was greedy for freehold
land, naturally jumped at the offer, and left his village without much
persuasion. The agents, knowing full well that the Austro-Hungarian
Government must not get information as to the way in which the country
was being literally bled of its best military material, shipped the
young men of military age _viâ_ Bremen or Hamburg. The wives and
children went _viâ_ Trieste or Fiume. Thus the figures sent in to the
Austro-Hungarian Government gave no indication of what was going on.
This business went on undetected for about ten years.

Suddenly the explosion came. Archduke Francis Ferdinand, the heir to
the throne, discovered that a hundred thousand recruits fit for service
had got away in a single year. An inquiry was held into the matter. A
ramification of frauds, such as could only exist where the officials
were in sympathy with the population, was discovered. In many cases
boys were registered as girls with female names. When they grew up they
left the country or remained in some remote village where no one had
any interest to reveal their presence. Their employers did not want to
spare them for the army. Others whose mothers had not been sufficiently
far-seeing to arrange matters early in life emigrated, with documents
borrowed from a friend for the occasion. The documents were then sent
back by messenger over the frontier to the rightful owner. When either
of these methods was impracticable, medical certificates testifying
unfitness were procured. Certificates of this kind were cheap. The
demand was so great that there was a keen competition, and military
doctors were not able to stand out for large bribes, especially in
out-of-the-way places. The feeling of the whole country was with the
man who refused to fight for the German and Magyar overlords.

A number of emigration agents were hastily clapped into prison,
travelling offices were closed, and a minute investigation was begun.

Archduke Francis Ferdinand, who undertook the task himself, soon
discovered that Austria-Hungary had been drained of its best fighting
material by Germany. Cheap passages had been offered to emigrants
by the Hamburg and Bremen lines. They were no doubt anxious to make
substantial profits. He went into the figures and was startled to find
that the heavy Government subsidies enabled them to carry emigrants at
a loss. He immediately detected the hand of Kaiser Wilhelm behind this.
Germany had robbed her Poles of their land in order to colonise German
Poland with Teutons. The Kaiser was now trying to drain Austria-Hungary
of its Slav population and to replace them by German emigrants. That
was the meaning of the great emigrant traffic and of the secrecy with
which it had been carried on.

Francis Ferdinand was furious when he discovered the truth. Men of
military age were not allowed to cross the frontier without explaining
where they were going.

The emigrants, however, got away in hundreds every week, in spite of
all restrictions. The trouble that had been made about recruits leaving
the country convinced people on the frontiers and at the sea coast that
a great war was coming. The Slavs and the Italians, who were determined
not to be involved, took train to the nearest frontier station and
simply walked across without passports. It was soon discovered that
as the German emigration figures fell, the numbers of young men of
military age leaving Russia and Italy for the States increased.
Emigration had not been stopped; it had only been diverted to other
channels. This discovery enraged the Austrian Government.

Sentinels were posted on the frontiers to watch for young men, but as
the sentinels belonged to the disaffected races the men got past all
the same.

The restriction upon emigration pressed particularly hardly upon
the Bosnian Slavs. The seething discontent that had increased every
year since the annexation would never have become dangerous had the
restless spirits been allowed to leave for the States. Families would
have felt that their sons were safe from the bad treatment in the
army and would have waited patiently until they had enough money to
join them in the States. The sudden checking of all these hopes,
the shutting of the only door of escape, brought the discontent to
a head. There were rumours of disaffection among the subject-races
everywhere. Sure of a warm welcome from their fellow-countrymen on the
other side should trouble force them to leave, the people along the
frontiers became very restless. There was every indication that the
Austro-Hungarian conglomeration of nationalities and States could not
be kept together much longer. Archduke Francis Ferdinand was pleased
at these indications. He, in common with the remainder of the military
party, was looking for an excuse for a war. Thus he and the army put
more pressure upon the Serbs in Hungary instead of relieving them from
some of the grosser forms of oppression. Kaiser Wilhelm encouraged the
Archduke in this policy. He wished Austria-Hungary to realise that it
had reached a crisis in its history that could only be solved by a war.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE AGRARIANS AND THE SHORTAGE OF FOOD


The Agrarians, or great landowners, both in Austria and Hungary were
largely responsible for the Great War. If commercial relations between
Austria and the Balkans had been satisfactory there would have been
no discontent. The Balkans are agricultural lands; large crops of
corn, vegetable products, and meat were produced. Hungary is also a
rich agricultural country, and supplies its own needs entirely, with a
surplus for Austria. Austria and Germany cannot exist on the produce
of their land. Both countries have densely populated manufacturing
districts that must be supplied with food. Hungary wished to obtain
the best prices for her commodities. She therefore objected to Balkan
products being imported. The goods had to enter over her railways.
She prevented their coming in by imposing vexatious restrictions and
refusing cargoes on all kinds of grounds. Austria would not forbid
the import of meat and other products directly. This would have
prejudiced her political relations with the Balkans. Nor did she wish
to discourage the Balkan peoples from breeding cattle. The shortage
of meat in Austria might force the Government to import it at any
time. So she took a most unworthy course. She allowed the Agrarians
to carry on their nefarious methods and thus earned the bitter hatred
of the Balkan peoples, especially of Servia and Montenegro. For some
years cattle-breeders in the Balkan countries did not realise why
their products were returned so frequently. Finally, discovering that
they were simply the playthings of the Agrarians, they ceased to breed
cattle and turned their vast pastures into corn land. The Agrarians,
men who travelled but little and had no grasp of the speed with which
innovations are introduced and new plans adopted in this century, were
sadly surprised and not a little dismayed when they discovered that
the Serbs and other Balkan countries had no more meat for sale. Every
summer there was a considerable shortage of meat in Austria and the
cities of Hungary. This was due to a number of causes insignificant
in themselves, but far-reaching as regards the history of Europe. The
butchers said the regular annual shortage was largely owing to supplies
being sent to Germany, to Bohemia, and the Tyrol in the tourist season,
when large quantities of meat were required for the foreigners who
came into the country. The real reason was that the country was being
drained of its best blood by emigration. Farmers were forced to kill
off their cattle because there were no shepherds to care for it. The
day of the small peasant-proprietor was over. He had left for the
States. It was found more profitable to grow corn than to keep cattle
for the market on the immense farms on the great Hungarian plains.
No one had realised that the Balkan States had rendered themselves
independent of Austria-Hungary, and that no supply would be forthcoming
even when the frontiers were thrown open. The Agrarians, when they
heard of the shortage, suggested that the people should do without
meat. Riots ensued, and violent scenes occurred in Vienna. The military
was brought out to disperse the crowd. Hungarian hussars were brought
from Budapesth to shoot on a crowd chiefly made up of Germans and
Slavs. As the soldiers rode forward to charge the people in front of
the Vienna Rathhaus, women climbed into their saddles, and, rendered
desperate by fear for their husbands and children, wound themselves
round the waists of the hussars, thus effectually preventing them
from using their swords. Some men had four women hanging from their
waists as they charged upon the crowd. The horses, trained for show
and parade, were very careful not to dislodge the extra riders and
advanced at an amble. The Hungarian officers who led the men tried
to incite them to show a different spirit, but although they charged
the crowd not more than a hundred civilians were seriously injured.
The men cut the air above their heads with their long sabres, and
although they were Hungarians and Magyars, and were faced by a crowd
they disliked and despised, humanitarian feelings were stronger
than the commands of their officers. Many people in Vienna that day
doubted whether conscripts would ever fight against the populace.
Before night, however, the spirit of the troops changed. The people,
desperate with hunger, put up barricades in some of the chief streets;
they tore down the gas lamps and set fire to the stream of coal-gas
thus released. They plundered the shops of unpopular tradesmen and
distributed eatables among the crowd. When the troops appeared they
were received by a shower of stones, while even the pavements were
torn up to provide missiles. The soldiers, thoroughly enraged, turned
a murderous fire upon the people. The city was put under martial law,
and everyone who ventured through the streets was searched for weapons.
Walking the streets was a dangerous pastime for strangers, as sentries
only challenged once and shot if the command to halt were not complied
with. Similar riots on a larger scale took place in Budapesth. They
were suppressed in a more brutal manner than those in Vienna, while
in Prague the situation became so alarming that a revolution was
feared. It was then that the Agrarian party became alarmed, and agreed
to a suggestion for the importation of frozen meat from Argentina. A
committee of officials and experts was sent to Argentina to arrange for
the sending of frozen meat to Trieste. The Argentine Government was
ready to comply with all the very intricate demands and requirements
of the Austrian Government, and, being unversed in the history
of the Balkans, believed that Austria was capable of a perfectly
straightforward deal. One party of the Government, seeing the gravity
of the disturbances, really wished to alleviate the sufferings of the
people by the importation of frozen meat. The Agrarians, on whose head
the blood-guilt of the European war really rests, played the same
unstatesmanlike trick upon Argentina as they had successfully carried
out in the case of the Balkans. The first load of meat duly arrived. It
was sold immediately. This did not suit the short-sighted Agrarians,
who immediately began a plan for the defeat of the innovation. With the
consent of the Government they began an agitation against frozen meat.
Butchers circulated stories that it was unsound, and as it was sold
at prices that corresponded very nearly with those of fresh meat, it
naturally remained on their hands. This was seized upon as an excuse
by the Government to stop the import of any more meat. Even then the
Government could not act with common straightforwardness. The cargo was
allowed to come, and turned back at Trieste. The boat ran over to an
Italian port, where the meat was sold without difficulty. But Austrian
credit had suffered largely. The political relations with Argentina
were strained, and the country lost many a good customer through her
dishonesty. This mattered little to the Agrarians, who got good prices
for their meat.

Another attempt was made to introduce sea-fish for popular consumption.
The Government put a quick goods train service on from the Adriatic,
and with cars especially constructed for keeping fresh fish in ice
through the hot nights. This did not suit the Agrarians, who had
immense breeding-places for carp and who reared trout in their
streams. As was to be expected, the trains were delayed, and the fish
reached Vienna and Budapesth in a state unfit for food. No statesman
in Austria-Hungary raised his voice against this trickery. No one
cared whether the people starved or not, provided the Agrarians were
satisfied. Archdukes, who might have raised their voices and have made
them heard, were themselves engaged in trade. They had immense dairies
and other establishments, where the produce of their lands was sold.
Their interests were contrary to those of the people and to those of
the country at large. They sided with the Agrarians in what was a
crisis in their own history and that of their country. Meat riots were
succeeded by disturbances about house accommodation. In order to keep
up rents, regulations preventing the building of new blocks of flats
were made in both Vienna and Budapesth. Similar enactments existed in
many other large cities in Austria-Hungary, but they pressed hardest
of all in the capitals. The landlords, freed from healthy competition,
not only demanded high rents, but they refused to accept tenants with
children. Men well able to pay high rents were forced to go from house
to house begging the porter to show them flats, and were turned away
time and time again simply because they had the misfortune to have a
family consisting not of six healthy children, but of one quiet child
of ten. At one period things were so bad that a workman with six
children, who had been unable to get accommodation anywhere, camped out
with his family on the Graben, the chief promenade in the very centre
of the city. Others knocked up wooden shanties on Crown land near the
mountains. At last the city decided to put up a number of sheds for the
accommodation of persons who had been expelled from the flats because
they had children. In Budapesth things were much worse. There were
riots, and the effigies of unpopular landlords were burned. Troops were
called out and rioters shot, but this brutal suppression of the working
class only increased the irritation felt against the Government. It was
clear even to the uninitiated that affairs were reaching a climax. The
discontent that had begun in the working classes was quickly spreading
to the small employé and even to the professional classes and officers
in the army. This was due not only to lack of food or accommodation,
but to the enormous increase in the cost of living, which had its root
in the alarming rise in taxation. This taxation was due to the two
mobilisations during the Annexation crisis and the Balkan wars, which
had cost Austria-Hungary many millions. The discovery that many things
essential to an army were lacking had led to reckless expenditure. Not
only had money been spent on legitimate needs, but immense swindles
had been perpetrated in connection with army supplies. Highly-placed
personages had been connected with these incidents which consequently
were never properly sifted, those most deeply implicated having the
power to prevent investigation. Further, mistakes on a vast scale were
made. The type of cannon recommended for the army, and supplied to all
the regiments, proved to be quite useless when employed in frontier
skirmishes. It was replaced by new weapons at enormous cost. Other
occurrences of the same kind led to the Budget being far above the
yearly income of the State. It became apparent to all responsible for
the conduct of the State that something must happen. The strain was too
great--a breakdown somewhere was inevitable.




CHAPTER XIX

COUNT LEOPOLD BERCHTOLD AND COUNT STEPAN TISZA, THE MEN WHO DECIDED ON
WAR


Count Berchtold, the Austro-Hungarian Minister who was responsible
for the policy that led to the Great War, is the prototype of the
Austro-Hungarian aristocrat, and essentially a gentleman. He was for
this reason totally unfit to cope with the crowd of unscrupulous
pro-German politicians around him. He was brought up in the old school,
and no one who knows him personally would hesitate to describe him as
a gentleman _par excellence_. The fine, delicate features, the slim,
slender hands, and a bearing that has something almost apologetic, are
characteristic of the man. He is the ideal landowner and feudal lord,
able to manage large estates, a merciful landlord who would remit rent
in bad years, a kindly neighbour, and valued friend.

Count Berchtold’s greatest interest was horse-racing, and his large
fortune enabled him to keep a splendid stud. He invariably attended all
the big race-meetings, but he was there merely to watch the horses,
not to meet the representatives of the diplomatic and political world
like his fellow-officials. His eye never wandered from the course
during the whole meeting. Other politicians never so much as glanced at
the horses; they were concentrating their attention on more important
matters. A secretary posted them in the events to enable them to
discuss them when necessary, to keep up the farce that they were there
to watch the horses. They watched their opportunity to slip up to some
great man and discuss some point at issue between them in a friendly
and casual way. The Foreign Minister knew nothing of such manœuvres.
If he wished to discuss a delicate matter with the Ambassador of some
unfriendly Power, he sought him in his Embassy and at once raised
the question to an affair of State instead of ascertaining in a
non-committal way how matters stood before formulating a demand. Count
Berchtold was essentially an honest and straightforward man when he
took over the onerous duties of Foreign Minister, and had no slur
upon his character. He was very loth to assume the responsibilities
of office, and only accepted at the Emperor’s direct request. He felt
that he was not fit to take the helm of State at such a critical
moment. There is not the slightest doubt that the Count was correct
in the estimate of his own powers. It would have required a much less
simple-minded man to guide the country through the troubled waters
which seethed all around. The Hungarian aristocrat, perhaps more than
the Austrian noble, lives a somewhat secluded life far from railroad
and market town. He is brought up in the same way as the old feudal
barons in the Middle Ages. He is surrounded by a swarm of servants,
whom he regards more in the light of serfs than free men. He fills the
obligations as well as enjoys the privileges of a feudal overlord. The
young aristocrat enjoys life. It is made up of hunting, often in the
primæval forest; he is constantly invited to shooting-parties, and
spends his time in that and other manly and outdoor occupations. He is
always an expert climber, can stalk a chamois, and would never fear for
his footing on the most precipitous rocks. He can fence, box, and is,
of course, an expert swordsman. He never knows when he may be called
upon to fight a duel, with any weapons. He learns to speak four or
five languages from native tutors. He must be proficient in German,
French, and, if possible, English and Italian, before he leaves the
schoolroom. He acquires these languages without trouble, often from his
nurses, and learns to ride while still little more than a baby. All
these accomplishments fit him to cut a figure in the fashionable world,
but form a poor equipment for battling with foreign diplomatists, who
have had the advantage of a training in a much severer school. Even if
the education, which he receives at the hands of a tutor, chosen rather
for his sporting proclivities than for his erudition, is completed by
a university course, no professor in Austria-Hungary would venture to
deal with a young aristocrat in the same fashion as with a student
belonging to the middle classes. Thus, although the aristocrat is
peculiarly suited to occupy important positions on account of his
birth and manners, he is frequently unfit to deal with very intricate
problems or to match his wits against those of other politicians. Count
Berchtold was a great favourite in Vienna because of his hospitality.
The Hungarians are known far and wide for their hearty hospitality, and
he even excelled the traditions of his race. He gave entertainments
at the Ballplatz, the Austro-Hungarian Foreign Ministry, close to
the Hofburg, that were unique of their kind. He had a kindly word
for everyone who entered the vast _salles_ that opened one into the
other at the top of the great marble staircase. Beneath the historic
portraits he entertained Archduchess and peasant deputy with unvarying
affability. When he was seen in other social centres it was always
conceded that he was the most distinguished-looking man in the room.
The tall, dark figure flitted restlessly to and fro, always anxious to
contribute his part to making the entertainment a success. But close
observers noted something in the formation of the skull and the glance
of the eye that denoted lack of firmness. He was a man who could be
persuaded against his better judgment. Had he been called upon, like
most of his predecessors in office, to be a mere figurehead, all would
have been well, but under the actual circumstances it was fatal to the
peace of Europe. It is more than probable that Berchtold was chosen to
fill the important post at the suggestion of Count Tchirsky, or some
other emissary of Kaiser Wilhelm, who desired to have a weak man in
power in Vienna.

Once he had taken office, Count Berchtold discovered that all quiet
was at an end. There were constant attacks upon him in the German
subsidised Press of Vienna. During the long diplomatic struggles that
took place while he held office he was accused of hesitation and of
vacillation. He was, however, merely trying to steer a middle course
between the two policies dictated by the two parties within the Empire.
The Emperor was firm in his desire to die in peace. His reign had begun
with the loss of territory following upon defeat on the battlefield.
It was well known that he absolutely refused to contemplate any policy
that might lead the Empire into further hostilities. It was the Emperor
who sent the autograph letter to the Czar in the Annexation year,
begging him to allow him to go down to the grave in peace, and to
desist from a war which seemed inevitable. On the other hand, Archduke
Francis Ferdinand was anxious for a war. He was at the head of the
military party, composed of the younger aristocrats, who were more or
less tools in the hands of Kaiser Wilhelm. They comprehended nothing of
what war meant at this period in the world’s history. They suspected
nothing of the plans of Kaiser Wilhelm, who pushed the Emperor of
Austria into the foreground when he wished the scales to be turned in
favour of peace, and skilfully brought forward the military party
when he wished Austria-Hungary to threaten war. Count Berchtold was
very sensitive to public opinion; the attacks made upon him by the
Press, hinting that he was lacking in courage, annoyed him. They also
prepared public opinion for war. Austria-Hungary was depicted as the
sufferer from a hundred slights--as the down-trodden country that was
forced to bear all kinds of insults. Insults from Servia, insults
from Montenegro, had been accepted lying down. All news of what the
small Balkan States had to endure before they made the protests was,
of course, suppressed. Their point of view was never considered.
Caricatures of Count Berchtold, showing him on his way to Salonica but
frightened to go on by the claws of the Russian bear, were published in
the comic papers. The lengths to which these papers went in turning the
Foreign Minister to ridicule--a deadly crime in Austria-Hungary--was
indicative of the strength of the Imperial Germans in Austria. They
were even able to protect their minions against the Austrian censor.
When any politician showed indications of strong-mindedness and of
a disposition to resist German influence, the terrors of the German
subsidised Press were turned upon him. He invariably had to go. The
Press in Count Berchtold’s case, however, was merely used to bring him
to a sense of his own impotence and to deceive him as to the state of
public opinion. The Germans did not desire his dismissal, although they
frequently had rumours of his impending resignation published. His
being in office suited their purpose much too well for them to wish
to see him leave his place. Count Tchirsky and other pro-Prussians
filled the air with rumours of the Emperor’s inability to rule. They
said that the old man was in his dotage. This sounded reasonable,
although it was by no means the case. Count Berchtold was naturally
inclined to believe these reports, as, although he was very loyal to
his sovereign, he, like many other men of the modern school, could
not comprehend the monarch’s peculiar idiosyncrasies, and was apt to
mistake his religious fervour for an expression of feeble-mindedness.
This rendered Berchtold ready to believe the insinuations that were
cunningly suggested to him that the Emperor could not be trusted with
secrets of State. He might tell all to his father-confessor, who would
report it to Rome, where the hated Italians might learn it, said the
German diplomatists. Berchtold thus entered on a course that led to the
undoing of his country. He acted without consulting the Emperor, and
concealed important facts from him at times of crisis. His tempters no
doubt showed him good and sufficient reason why he should do this. The
course was, however, a lapse from honesty--an honesty that had been
Berchtold’s chief virtue. So long as the supreme power was vested in
one man, that man, whatever his age, should have been in possession
of the full facts of the case. The Emperor of Austria alone had to
decide whether there should be peace or war, and his Foreign Minister
had no right to deceive him on any point. Count Berchtold and the
German Ambassador had guilty secrets between them. It was thus that
the Ambassador got his hold over the Foreign Minister and used it
mercilessly. The country gentleman could not believe that the German
aristocrats around him were liars and were capable of acts unthought-of
by persons of his simple creed.

History will pronounce judgment on Berchtold. Contemporaries see
him as a weak man, who lost his country’s cause through a complete
inability to cope with the scoundrels who surrounded him. He was unable
to comprehend the peculiar art of lying that German diplomacy had
brought to a fine art, the sphinx-like promises that could be made
and interpreted according to need. A man of less honourable instincts
would have been more capable of dealing with the situation; a man of
character might have saved his country.

Count Tisza, the Hungarian Premier, was a man of iron will. He was
frequently called the Hungarian “Cromwell,” “the man with the mailed
fist.” He had fought more duels than any other Hungarian aristocrat,
and his courage was well proven. Not only had he physical courage,
but moral courage as well. Like Count Berchtold, he had received the
education and training of a Hungarian aristocrat. He is an autocrat of
the old school, whose strong will has never been broken by opposition.
Possessed of great strength of character, but educated in an atmosphere
of unreality, he had no grasp of what was really happening in Europe.
Tisza always prided himself on his loyalty to the Emperor. When the
sovereign told him to reduce the rebellious Hungarian Parliament to
order, he did not hesitate to order the soldiers to drag out offending
members. On another occasion he had armed men placed at the entrance
to the House to prevent the entrance of all refractory members. The
Emperor and Tisza both looked upon the Parliament as a necessary evil
that must be dealt with in the best way circumstances allowed. Neither
of them considered that the people had any rights. They were not of the
same flesh and blood as Emperors and Counts.

This autocratic idea, born of circumstances and surroundings, led both
men to act in a most tyrannous way towards the people. Tisza especially
had a profound contempt for the mob. He looked upon the subject-peoples
as beneath contempt. Neither he nor his Imperial master could brook
Notes send by the Serbs. It seemed to them the acme of impertinence
that a nation of so little importance should dare to address the
Emperor of Austria as an equal.

Count Tisza has always been most anxious to make Hungary equal to
Austria. He considered that the two nations should enjoy equal rights.
He resented the fact that the Court was established at Vienna, and
that Budapesth always took a second place. Tisza and every Hungarian
statesmen knew that the common funds were spent for the benefit of
Austria rather than for that of Hungary. At the same time Hungary, who
claimed equal rights with Austria, always refused to take a half of
the common expenses on her shoulders; the Hungarian share was always
a third, Austria paying two-thirds. Hungary is very wealthy, but
has very little ready money. Her nobles regulate taxation and take
great care that the burden falls on the people in the way of indirect
taxation of necessities. Before the war there was no income tax in
Hungary, although the revenues enjoyed by the great landowners are
immense. Kaiser Wilhelm was very exactly informed of the relations
between Austria and Hungary. He took pains to attach Tisza to his
person. Tisza was invited to Berlin frequently; he was summoned to
confer with the Kaiser constantly, while Count Berchtold was seldom
consulted. The Kaiser dazzled Tisza and the Hungarians with promises
of assistance in their fight against Austria. The Kaiser seemed to be
the only man who comprehended their position. An ambitious and warlike
people, the Magyar minority could not be swamped by the Slavs within
the kingdom, or overwhelmed by the Germans in Austria. Count Tisza,
although a very strong man, is not capable of comprehending a character
like that of Kaiser Wilhelm. Single of purpose himself, he cannot
comprehend duplicity in another. Like the Emperor Francis Joseph and
Count Berchtold, he was duped. He desired to go to war with Servia
because, like Count Berchtold, his personal vanity had been hurt. He
could not take an international view of the situation. The great Slav
peril within the Empire seemed more important to him than the fear of
All-German domination.

[Illustration: COUNT BERCHTOLD.]

[Illustration: COUNT TISZA.]

Count Tisza might have done much to save his country from ruin;
instead, he preferred to see the subject-races oppressed. He considered
that a war that would enable the Government to thin out the Slavs, by
letting them fight one against the other, the soldiers from within
the Empire against those without, would secure the supremacy of the
Magyars. He failed to comprehend that the Magyars were to be thinned
out in their turn to make way for Germans who wished to exploit the
rich treasures of Hungary and exhaust her mineral wealth.

Count Tisza was a gambler accustomed to play with gentlemen; when he
played at statesmanship with the German Emperor he did not count upon
his adversary using loaded dice.

The very uprightness of his character prevented his suspecting others.
The man in the street suspected Kaiser Wilhelm; the Premier did not.

The Hungarian aristocrat had never been “up against life”; he had no
instinct to guide him. He fondly believed that he was twisting the
Kaiser round his finger and using him for his own ends. These ends
were the glorification of Hungary, for Tisza is a patriot to his
finger-tips. Unfortunately, he was deeply imbued with the sentiment
that a king cannot commit meannesses. He placed the Kaiser on the same
level as a Hungarian noble.




CHAPTER XX

AUSTRIA-HUNGARY AS A MILITARY AND NAVAL POWER


In 1907 Austria-Hungary, where conscription is in force, had an army
of about three million men when fully mobilised. These men were of
excellent physique, since they were selected as the most promising
material among a number of men fit for service. Every year when the
annual contingent of recruits came up for service, a larger number were
passed as “fit” than could be put into training. About a third of the
“fit” were sent home; they were selected by lot, and although they were
not called upon to serve immediately, they were under the obligation to
do so when required. Thus there was a large second line of untrained
men fit for service and ready to be called up when necessary. The high
standard of efficiency resulted in only the very best material being
selected; there were many among the rejected who could be called to
the colours in time of necessity.

Besides this, the military authorities pursued a definite policy. They
were willing to grant exemption to the city man who could be usefully
employed in clerical work in war time, and devoted their energies to
training the peasant for actual fighting.

All this resulted in the official figures of the available men giving
no real estimate of the numbers that were actually available.

Much money and attention were devoted to the minor branches of
the service. Armament factories were increased and flying fields
established in connection with all the army corps headquarters. The
preparations for a possible war, while being carried on with great
energy and at great expense, were somewhat delayed by an incurable
habit, peculiar to the Austrians, of giving great attention to branches
of the service that were anything but essential. Experiments were made
in ski-running on the Alps in winter. Small companies of men were
frequently lost in the Tyrol while trying to cross difficult ground.
It was felt in the country generally that the attempts to get over the
glaciers and snowfields might just as well have been made in summer,
when there was not the same danger from avalanches, and even if war
with Italy were inevitable, ski-running practised within view of the
Italian frontier was not likely to calm Italian susceptibilities.
Aviation, which had long been recognised as the war weapon of the
future, was quite neglected. The Government refused to purchase the
necessary airships. The Austrians, with all their mechanical genius,
were not able to make the motors for aeroplanes. Austrian inventors
had to obtain motors from France before their airships could fly. The
conservatism of thought and methods which made the Austro-Hungarian
Government neglect the air service, led them to misread the signs of
the times, and to allow the fleet to sink to a mere nothing. Although
they were building up the fortifications along the Austro-Hungarian
frontier, a queer optimism made them count upon Italy’s help in the
Mediterranean. Meanwhile they worked up their land fortifications.
The Austro-Hungarian naval ports are models of what Nature can do in
the way of natural defences. Cattaro is practically impregnable from
the sea side. The gulf winds in and out, and the approach to the city
can be defended at every turn. The military and naval authorities
felt quite secure of Cattaro, and it was only in the Annexation year,
when there was trouble with Montenegro, that it was discovered that
the cannon on the summit of Mount Lovcen could be fired right into
Cattaro. The boundary line between Austria-Hungary and Montenegro runs
close to the summit of the mountain. The Austrians considered that
it would be very easy to capture the top of the precipitous mountain
should war break out between the small country and themselves, but it
was a very serious offset to the value of Cattaro. There was a large
choice of suitable naval ports along the coast besides Cattaro. The
only consideration that made a selection difficult was the question of
railway communications with the interior.

Sebenico was also built out as a naval base, but, like Cattaro, there
was no railway to connect it with the interior, as the narrow gauge
Bosnian railways were of little practical use for military purposes.
They were either light mountain railways or narrow gauge. This meant
that all transports must be unloaded at the Hungarian frontier. Neither
Cattaro nor Sebenico could thus be utilised as first-class naval bases
until the Bosno-Herzegowinan railway system had been changed. Plans for
this project were made and the money was voted, but the work had not
been begun at the outbreak of the Great War. The naval authorities
established excellent wireless stations and repairing shops at these
ports. The Government was disinclined to spend money on these ports,
because the population was either Italian or Serb, and not easy to cow
into subjection, like inland peoples. A seafaring people were always
able to make good their escape should danger threaten. If the sea coast
were watched too carefully for them to get away by boat, there was a
wild mountainous district behind, where a man could hide among the
rocky crags undisturbed until the hue and cry after him had died down.
Just as the Bohemians near the German frontier were always inclined to
be restive, and the Government more or less obliged to take a lenient
view of their offences, so the Dalmatians were seldom subjected to
persecution. Austria-Hungary never let off her wrath on those able to
defend themselves.

Political considerations hampered the Austro-Hungarian Government in
her choice of ports and in her shipbuilding. Austria wished to get all
the shipbuilding orders, and was willing to make concessions to Hungary
in agricultural affairs in order to secure them. Hungary, however, was
not disposed to accept these.

Austria-Hungary only settled upon a definite naval policy after the
Annexation crisis. It was decided then that the new boats should
be built in Trieste, and then tugged round to Pola for fitting.
The Hungarians complained bitterly, and insisted upon some orders
being placed at Fiume also. Slips for Dreadnoughts were prepared in
Hungarian dockyards. The first Dreadnoughts, however, were built at the
Stablimento Tecnico, in Trieste. This caused a storm of indignation all
along the Adriatic. Austria had fostered Trieste at the expense of all
other ports--both Hungarian and Italian--on the sea coast. Two railways
carried goods from Trieste to Vienna. Preference tariffs were given to
goods shipped over the Austrian ports. Italian firms found it cheaper
to get their goods via Trieste than via Venice. Every form of ruse
and trickery for magnifying the importance of Trieste and decreasing
that of Venice was used. In some cases, Austrian firms received large
State subventions to enable them to undersell Italian firms. Thus
Trieste absorbed much of the trade that formerly went _via_ Genoa to
Switzerland and Germany. In bolstering up Trieste and its trade the
Government was not actuated by commercial considerations only. The
mercantile fleet proved an excellent training-school for sailors;
the population was composed mostly of Italians and Slavs, seafaring
people who had been accustomed to earn their living on the water for
generations and generations. Austria-Hungary, when contemplating her
failures in many parts of the country, could always point to Trieste
as a complete success. Unfortunately, Kaiser Wilhelm also regarded the
seaport as an entire success. The splendid docks, stretching miles
inland, where light boats could be built, the yards at Montfalcone,
all stirred a feeling of covetousness in the monarch, who was never
satisfied. He actually commenced negotiations to get possession of
Trieste. He needed a port in the Mediterranean or in the Adriatic for
the re-fitting, re-fuelling, and provisioning of German ships in times
of peace. Austria-Hungary refused on one occasion to cede her best port
to Kaiser Wilhelm, but an agreement that Germany could use it as a
coaling-station was entered into.

The first Dreadnoughts built for the Austro-Hungarian Navy just after
the Annexation crisis were laid down secretly. Although permission to
build Dreadnoughts had been given at the Delegations, many Members
of Parliament opposed the granting of the money, on the ground that
Austria-Hungary could not afford to embark on a policy that might
embroil her with other nations. Her army was sufficiently large to
protect her and assure her that respect among the Great Powers that
she had a right to demand. The Government, to save argument, thus laid
down the Dreadnoughts without announcing the fact. When the news that
the first ship was partially ready and the second had already been
laid down was made public, the other nations of Europe naturally felt
that Austria-Hungary had stolen a march upon them. She specialised in
building submarines and torpedoes at this time. The necessary expense
was provided for by a special species of book-keeping. Money voted
for education and similar purposes was devoted to the construction of
submarines, and the public and Europe were kept in ignorance of the
true uses to which it was put.

Archduke Francis Ferdinand, the late heir to the throne of
Austria-Hungary, was especially interested in shipbuilding. He had a
valid excuse for remaining far from the capital. The fine dust from
the limestone with which Vienna is built injured his lungs, which were
already delicate. He therefore stayed for the greater part of the year
at Miramare, a beautiful castle close to Trieste, or at Brioni, farther
along the coast. The Duchess and the children enjoyed the stay near
the sea. He ran to and fro in a swift yacht, visited Pola and Fiume,
and assisted at the experiments which were being carried on there.
Kaiser Wilhelm frequently came to visit Corfu, and stayed at Miramare
_en route_. The two men who were plotting for world-empire spent many
hours together. The Kaiser was frequently accompanied by experts, who
travelled _incognito_ at the command of the Emperor.

Archduke Francis Ferdinand, brought up, like all the Austro-Hungarian
Imperial family, in an atmosphere of unreality, suspected nothing of
the Kaiser’s ulterior motives in coming to Trieste. He even followed
his suggestions for the gradual removal of all Italians employed in
Government service.




CHAPTER XXI

ARCHDUKE CARL FRANCIS JOSEPH


Archduke Carl Francis Joseph resembles the present Emperor of Austria
and King of Hungary very closely, though the resemblance is apparent
rather in a certain peculiar charm of manner than in a similarity of
features. Their colouring is identical, and when on the outbreak of war
the aged Emperor made a triumphal entry into Vienna amid enthusiastic
crowds such as the capital had never seen, with the heir to the throne
by his side in an open carriage, everyone remarked on a resemblance
that had escaped them before. “He might be the Emperor’s grandson,”
was heard on every side, as the two men who held the destinies of the
land in their hands went by. They sat stiffly upright, for both have
the carriage that marks a thorough military training; both acknowledged
the frenzied acclamations of the crowd with a truly royal reserve,
in contrast with the eagerness of Ferdinand of Bulgaria or Wilhelm of
Prussia, who could not conceal their extreme delight at the shouts of
the populace. Both Emperor and Archduke have always been popular.

[Illustration: ARCHDUKE CARL FRANCIS JOSEPH.]

[Illustration: PRINCESS ZITA OF PARMA.]

The Archduke had received the careful training that is given to one
who is expected to fill a high place in life. He learned English at
the same time as he learned German from an English governess, who
succeeded in implanting a love for her native land in the heart of the
young Archduke. The Austrians considered that he was too British in his
tastes in many ways, and much too inclined to go in for games of every
kind instead of attending to the more serious studies that took up so
large a part of his time already. While the young Archduke showed great
enthusiasm for tennis, for dancing and skating, he cared but little for
abstruse studies. None of the Habsburgs ever gave evidence of great
mental powers, and the Archduke was true to the family traditions in
this respect. Educated in Vienna, where dancing and music are regarded
as the chief end of life, it was natural that he should enjoy both. It
is also a debatable point whether accomplishments of this kind are not
more desirable for the young man who wishes to get into touch with his
subjects and with foreign diplomatists than a taste for discussion.
Unfortunately, the Archduke was encouraged to pursue a very frivolous
life. The wicked uncle of the fairy tale is frequently seen in real
life. In this case he enjoyed unusual powers. When Archduke Otto died
he left his brother, Archduke Francis Ferdinand, guardian to his two
boys. The heir to the throne and his ambitious morganatic wife thus
had the care of educating the boy who was to succeed to the throne
instead of their own boys. It is doubtful whether they could have felt
kindly towards him in any case. Being what they were, both ambitious
and unscrupulous, they did everything they could to ruin the boy. He
was surrounded by persons who turned his thoughts towards subjects
unfit for him, and who led him astray at an age when he should have
been attending to his schoolbooks. The sudden change from a life of
convent-like severity to one of the greatest dissipation and licence
was sufficient to turn the head of any young man, and much more so that
of the heir-presumptive to a brilliant throne. When he appeared in a
ballroom the women flattered him, not for position perhaps so much as
for his youthful grace and manners. The Archduke and his wife threw
in the way of the Archduke people of vicious life, who did their best
to ruin him in every way. The frivolity of his disposition, mingled
with a certain lightheartedness that led him to take nothing seriously,
saved him from these snares. The Archduke had him removed from the
Vienna Court, where he was far too popular, on the pretext that he was
“going the pace” too fast. The Emperor made inquiries, and discovered
that the Archduke was leading a comparatively simple life compared
with that of many of his elders. He was banished to his regiment
garrisoned on the Elbe; however, he got frequent leave to come to
Vienna _incognito_, when he could not interfere with his uncle, who was
so unpopular that he never ventured to walk about the streets like the
rest of the Imperial family. It is probable that, instead of lessening
his popularity, these long periods of enforced absence endeared the
young Archduke to the hearts of his future subjects. He, too, knew
how to speak a number of languages and dialects. Italian he spoke
like his native tongue, and he knew French, the diplomatic language
of the Balkans, thoroughly. He knew Czech really well, and also spoke
Hungarian, having learnt both languages as a child. The heir to the
throne knew neither, not having learnt them when young, as there were
several lives between him and the throne. All these facts made him less
inclined to love his nephew, who seemed to possess all the graces that
he lacked. All the machinations against him, although actuated by the
deepest hate, had no result because of his simplicity of character.
When he returned to Vienna after a long, enforced absence, he went at
once to the Belvedere and thanked his uncle and aunt for the kind care
that held him far from the capital. He did not say that he had all the
amusement that he needed. He had been present at every _première_ of
importance, assisted at many balls that did not figure in the columns
of the papers devoted to Court news, and generally had an amusing
time without being trammelled by the strict etiquette that would have
regulated his movements had he been in the capital on an official
visit. Always smiling and good-humoured, he never even noticed the
machinations that were directed against him. He was high in favour
with the Emperor, who often expressed the wish that the younger man
were coming to the throne instead of the next heir, for Archduke Carl
had never caused him a moment’s uneasiness. This was saying much at a
Court where most of the youthful members had committed some breach
of etiquette at least, many of them having caused the Emperor much
trouble by their love affairs. Archduke Carl, instead of a variety of
_affaires_, had offered all the warmth of his youthful devotion on the
shrine of one of the most amusing and accomplished Vienna actresses.
He carried flowers and flung them on the stage at her feet very often,
and showed his preference in many ways. As the lady was already a woman
far on in years, she accepted his boyish devotion without allowing him
to do anything compromising for his future. She acted the _rôle_ of
the good fairy who saved the prince from all the snares spread for his
undoing. When the Archduke fell in love with an old playmate at a Court
ball, he made his actress friend his first _confidante_. The Archduke,
like most of his relations, married solely for love, and was able to
accomplish his desire, although there was much opposition in some
quarters. Princess Zita, of Parma, the daughter of an old and decaying
race, was a child of the Vienna Court. She had been convent-bred, and,
like her husband, she was educated partly on English lines. She had
spent some years at the convent at the Isle of Wight, where several of
her near relatives occupy important positions among the Sisters. She
lives part of the year in Italy, and is essentially Italian in type and
character. Her great charm of manner fitted her to become an Empress;
the only objection that could be made to the match was that she came
of a family of worn-out stock already related to the Habsburgs, and
not likely to improve that degenerate line. This objection would have
been considered fatal at some Courts. At Vienna the fact that Princess
Zita was distinguished for her piety and was completely in the hands
of the Church over-rode all other considerations, and the match was
allowed to proceed. It has turned out most happily. The Viennese were
pleased to have a Princess that they knew. They made no secret of the
fact that it was a grave mistake to import princesses. They said that
such young women did not know enough to hold their own against the
intrigues of the family, who were invariably jealous of the “first lady
at the Court.” The women did their best to poison the young lives of
imported princesses with tales of scandal and by other less reputable
means. Princess Zita had a crowd of powerful relations to stand by her
and protect her from the harm that befell the late Empress Elizabeth.
She was well acquainted with the atmosphere of the Court, and, like
a child at home, knew how to avoid all the pitfalls spread for her
undoing. Princess Zita accompanied her husband everywhere when it was
possible. Before the war she travelled over the whole of the Galician
frontier in his company. With deep understanding of the character of
the peasants, she purchased their livestock at the exorbitant prices
they demanded for her poultry farm. Unlike Duchess Hohenberg, who
complained that she was overcharged when the peasants asked too much,
she threw away sums of money, small intrinsically, but large in the
eyes of the poor inhabitants of the land. The progress made by the
newly-married pair was a great success. The birth of a son, while
putting a seal upon the popularity of both, undid the hopes and plans
nourished at the Belvedere. Duchess Hohenberg despaired of seeing
either of her fine boys upon the throne. The remainder of the Court
held a brief for Archduke Carl and Princess Zita, and protected them
against Duchess Hohenberg. Little Zita had grown up among them, and no
one grudged her the high place she occupied. She did not even displace
the “first lady of the Court.” Archduchess Annunziata, the niece of the
Emperor, immediately resigned her place to the younger woman who was
to be the future Empress, but the little Princess was too much taken
up by her duties as mother to learn the whole of the strict etiquette
that the “first lady” is called upon to observe. Her aunt arranged,
therefore, to preside at the more formal functions, where the Princess,
who was nothing but a child, might make some dreadful mistake, and
to instruct her gradually. This simplified matters greatly for the
Princess, who thus made no enemies. Archduchess Annunziata had presided
at the Court ever since the tragic death of Empress Elizabeth. She was
tired of the burden, and wished to retire to her convent at Prague
for the remainder of her life. She took no pleasure in standing erect
and gracious on a platform at the top of the ballroom and saying the
appropriate thing to each of the dignitaries presented to her notice.
The _rôle_ that would have rejoiced Duchess Hohenberg beyond everything
annoyed her.

Archduke Francis Ferdinand and Duchess Hohenberg, sitting sullen and
gloomy at Konopischt, still tried to keep the heir-presumptive far from
the capital. He and Princess Zita were only allowed to show themselves
publicly in Vienna on rare occasions. This led to their being cheered
frantically whenever they did show themselves. Exaggerated stories
of the jealousy shown by the Archduke went all round the city. The
Emperor frequently called the younger man to his side, and was struck
by his modesty and mild demeanour. Archduke Carl was naturally most
unassuming. His personal attendants were much attached to him because
of his great generosity, but always said that he was impulsive to a
degree that made him difficult to arrange for; he made plans absolutely
upon the spur of the moment without stopping to consider.

Such was the young Archduke as he was known in Vienna when the
murder of Sarajevo altered the entire course of his life. The weight
of responsibility suddenly thrown upon his shoulders made him show
character--strength of character that must have been there all the
time, carefully concealed beneath the pleasant manners of a young
courtier. This was seen at the funeral of the victims of Sarajevo. He
insisted upon walking behind the funeral coach that bore his uncle and
aunt to their last rest. The Master of the Ceremonies at the Vienna
Court had arranged that no member of the House of Habsburg should
demean himself by paying this respect to the dead, and he represented
this to the Archduke on the steps of the railway station. The Archduke
became quite red in the face with excitement as he pointed out to the
amazed official that he was now heir to the throne, and that he would
decide upon what was the correct thing at Court. All Vienna saw and
applauded. He walked alone behind the coffins as first mourner with the
air of sadness and solemnity which the occasion demanded. At the same
time he freed himself from the domination of the much-dreaded Master of
the Ceremonies once and for all.

The Archduke and his wife were naturally pro-Italian. Even before his
marriage the Archduke had always shown more sympathy for the Italians
than was felt by other Habsburgs. The happiest days of his life had
been spent on Italian ground at Viareggio, where he was able to live on
the water far away from the Court and its exigencies. He was inclined
to trust the Italians, and, unlike his uncle, disliked the Slavs. He
was, too, decidedly pro-British before the war. When he was selected to
go to England to represent the Emperor, he made his preparations with
the greatest alacrity, pleased to think that he had been chosen for the
mission.

Kaiser Wilhelm regarded the heir-presumptive to the throne as a young
man of no importance in his schemes. He believed that a youth who
was so thoroughly under the influence of his mother had neither the
character nor the intelligence to oppose his plans. Kaiser Wilhelm,
perhaps, neglected that obstinacy which is a leading characteristic
of the Habsburgs, and which has enabled them to resist many an attack
upon their prerogative in the past, and may have an important and
unexpected influence on the future. While the late heir to the throne
of Austria-Hungary was entirely in the hands of the Jesuits, neither
Emperor Francis Joseph nor his present heir ever allowed them to
dictate in affairs of State. They held that religion and statecraft
were different matters that must be kept scrupulously apart.




CHAPTER XXII

AUSTRIA-HUNGARY FACED BY REVOLUTION OR WAR--THE FINANCIAL FACTOR


Austria and Hungary strike the casual visitor as very like any other
European country, and so long as he remains on the beaten path he
finds no reason to revise his judgment. Vienna, Budapesth, Prague, are
very like Milan or Berlin. There is plenty of ready money, and every
indication of a somewhat too advanced civilisation. In fact, decadence
is suggested rather than under-cultivation. The ease with which the
city people have adopted every new invention, and the facility with
which they adapt themselves to modern appliances and conveniences,
quite deceives the stranger. He naturally supposes that people who
made constant and excellent use of the telephone at a time when it
was just being introduced into the western countries of Europe are
necessarily advanced in other matters. Everything looks very up to
date. The fashionable watering-places, like Karlsbad and Marienbad,
are the essence of modernity. Everything is carefully arranged for the
comfort of the traveller, and for the man who can afford the utmost
refinement of comfort it is perfection. If he takes a long walk out
from his splendidly appointed hotel, and spends a day or two up country
in Bohemia, he will soon discover a different state of things.

The first shock is the knowledge that the forest is not safe for anyone
who rashly wanders away from carefully tended paths and marked trees
that show the direction. These immense woods are not merely unsafe,
but any stranger to the district who strays among the denser parts
will probably not return, for the peasants are inclined to be savage.
If a German falls into the hands of Czechs in a small Bohemian town
he usually gets badly mauled before the police, who are really in
sympathy with the towns-people and do not hurry unduly, can interfere.
This kind of outrage, which may be found chronicled without any
excuse or explanation in the small local papers, goes on within a few
miles of the ultra-civilised Marienbad, where urbane and polished
politicians conferred with King Edward, and spoke of their land as one
of the civilised countries of Europe. No one ever thought of pushing
inquiries as to what the native peasant was like. Horrible crimes are
frequently reported from Bohemia, but they attract little attention.
The foreigners do not read the kind of paper that delights in horrible
detail, while the Viennese know too well how very backward much of the
country population is, and naturally wish to keep the knowledge from
the world. The various races that live within the confines of Austria
proper are of mild and somewhat timid disposition, but the Hungarians
are fierce and cruel.

Many peasants, who own considerable wealth in the shape of land, that
has come down to them from their fathers, have never seen a gold coin,
nor even possessed a 15s. banknote in their lives. Very little gold
circulates in Austria or Hungary at any time, the people preferring
notes. Apart from this, however, many peasants never handle money.
Their whole business is carried on by barter. A peculiar method
of trading is known as “pauschal.” It is extremely simple in its
operation. A dairy-farmer undertakes to supply one of his neighbours
with butter, milk and eggs all the year round. The neighbour supplies
him with pork, vegetables, or some other commodity that he has at his
disposal. The same method of barter is applied to the shoemaker and
to the weaver of linen. If one party suffers a slight disadvantage
through the arrangement it is considered that it will be made up
another season, when his requirements will be larger. This system
obviates any keeping of accounts, and is of great convenience, as
it enables the parties concerned to forecast their expenses for the
coming year with certainty. In some districts, where there is less
mutual dependence, and therefore less mutual trust and confidence,
the accounts are chalked up behind the door, and one supply of goods
rendered against another. But no money passes from hand to hand. The
peasant has a lively distrust of banks, born of experience; and he
considers that the natural end of a bank is failure. He therefore
invests his money in stock, in enriching the land, if he is the
absolute proprietor, and always locks up a certain sum for emergencies,
turning it into jewellery, which is worn by the women. In times of
terror the peasant girl conceals her necklace--usually made of coins
which are out of circulation--and always has the wherewithal to procure
herself temporary shelter. The peasant women, too, wear belts of
solid silver, which can be converted into cash at a moment’s notice,
should necessity arise. The peasant never interferes with his wife’s
jewellery, whatever may be his need; it is her dowry for herself and
her children in times of dire distress.

These circumstances and habits account for the curious phenomenon of a
population rich in property, but having no ready money. This explains,
too, the remarkable fact that only about 4 per cent. of the population
of Austria pay income-tax. The tax is imposed upon everyone earning
over £50 per annum. Moving about among the peasant proprietors, among
the large population engaged in cottage industries, it is impossible to
believe that these people are living on incomes below £50 per annum.
It is true that they have no money, or only rare coins, but they are
living at a high standard of comfort, and many who earn £20 per annum
in actual coins, consume products got upon the exchange and barter
system worth several hundreds of pounds.

The small fraction of the population which is taxed for income for
carrying on a trade or profession, and in a dozen other vexatious ways,
is heavily hampered. A man must even pay a heavy tax for the upkeep
of his religion if he is a non-Catholic. Indeed, it is difficult to
see how any business can be made to pay with the heavy taxation that
hampers trade on every hand, and practically prevents Austrian traders
from being able to compete with German firms, which instead of being
hampered are assisted by their Government.

In the days of quiet and calm before Austria-Hungary was led to think
of world-empire by her ambitious ally, the Minister of Finance actually
turned out budgets without a deficit; some years there was even a
surplus. It was, of course, impossible to ascertain how far these
figures corresponded with actual facts, for “double book-keeping” was
not peculiar to private persons in Austria-Hungary. It was a matter of
common knowledge that Government statistics were manipulated to suit
the requirements of the political situation.

When the country embarked upon her new military and naval policy,
large sums of money were needed. There were meetings between leading
financiers to consider how best it could be collected from a country
that possessed no liquid wealth. Taxes were clapped on imports.
This brought but little revenue, as the country people fed on the
products of their own growing. The various State monopolies, such as
tobacco, brought in large revenues. The attempt to get money from
the agricultural population, however, failed. This meant that the
capitals and large manufacturing districts must find the necessary
funds for reckless expenditure on armaments. Great hardships resulted.
The working-classes were forced to pay heavy taxes upon all goods
entering the city. They already bore heavy import duties, and the
cost of many articles of necessity was almost prohibitive. Sugar,
which was made from beetroot in the country, and sold to England
at less than cost price, in order to gain a foreign market, cost
5d. a pound in Austria-Hungary. The taxation became heavier every
year, and the authorities failed to see that the burden was falling
exclusively upon the middle-classes and the working-classes dwelling
in the large cities. Austria-Hungary tried to float loans in France.
The political situation was so strained that, although France was
willing to lend money to Russia, she refused, point-blank, to lend
to Austria or to Hungary on any terms. The loans had to be taken up
in Germany. Germany needed money herself; she had been spending all
her available capital upon raw material for the forging of cannon. At
every meeting of the Austrian Parliament members protested against
the laying down of Dreadnoughts when the financial situation of the
country was so precarious. There were constant riots in the towns,
the Austro-Hungarian system of reckless suppression of disorders
applied to quell the disorders only increased the mass of discontent
and disaffection. There came a time when politicians began to see
that only a successful war could save the position. The Hungarians
were threatening to break loose from Austria. They considered that
the finances were mismanaged. Too much of the money voted for the
Dual Monarchy, and administered by the Common Minister of Finance,
was devoted to Austrian needs, to the disadvantage and detriment
of her less powerful neighbour, Hungary. Such suspicions were very
well founded, especially as regards the sums secretly devoted to war
material. If education were defective in Austria, it was still more
neglected in Hungary.

Vienna had become the real capital, Budapesth being neglected through
the ill-health and advancing age of the Emperor. It was clear that the
Emperor could not travel to Budapesth without risk to his health, since
the climate did not suit him.

Hungary said that she would prefer to administer her own finances. She
could very well provide for her own military and naval requirements.
She wished to take a part of the executive power into her own hands.
This would have weakened Austria considerably. Instead of ranking as
a first-class Power she would fall to the rank of a secondary one.
Bohemia, too, wished for separation. She felt that her prosperous
factories, her ironworks, were contributing a very large share of
wealth to the country, and that while the Bohemians were heavily taxed,
they got no compensation for the extra money that they poured into the
State chest.

The leading statesmen realised towards the year 1912 that they were
faced by the choice of war or revolution in Austria-Hungary. The
huge sums needed to pay off the debts already incurred by the costs
connected with two mobilisations, and the ever-increasing military and
naval needs were landing the country in an _impasse_ from which there
were only two roads of escape. If the House of Habsburg wished to
maintain its proud position some action must be taken. The politicians
round the throne thought that a successful war with Italy would be
the most desirable event. They dared not moot this question in the
presence of the aged Emperor. He was firm for peace. This conviction,
that was deeply rooted in his mind, was strengthened by his growing
parsimoniousness. Very generous as a young man, he had grown almost
miserly as old age crept upon him. When he was ill he regretted that
there should be speculation upon the Stock Exchange, and that the “poor
people should lose their money,” to use his own words. This economy,
which he wished to see exercised, not only in his own private affairs,
but throughout the State, would alone have made him abhor the thought
of war, which he knew meant expenditure. The military party hoped that
he might either die, or be brought to see that his remaining at the
head of affairs any longer was a mistake from every point of view.
They realised that something must be done. If the Emperor would only
abdicate, they could act.

Prices of ordinary necessities rose 30 per cent. during the three years
preceding the war. The small clerk, the officer, and everyone with a
limited income and a certain position to keep up, was reduced to going
without many articles of prime necessity, or to getting into debt. Many
chose this last alternative; especially was this the case with the
officers, who were thus the more anxious for war, as they had nothing
to lose and much to gain by being on active service.

If the middle classes in Austria-Hungary had possessed large sums
invested in stocks and shares, like the French or the Swiss, the large
class representing this interest would have objected to war. This was
not the case, as all speculation and almost all liquid capital was in
the hands of the Jews. They were firm for peace. They completely failed
to see where the policy of the country was leading. Their lack of
influence, and the barrier that kept them from being able to exchange
views and opinions freely and as man to man with the aristocrats,
prevented them from seeing what was about to happen. They believed
that the country might go on in its peaceful way, even after the death
of the Emperor, which was the date commonly fixed in the country for
the disruption of the Empire. Perhaps the Jews and the financial
section would have been right in their estimate had it not been for the
ambitions of the German Kaiser. They did not appreciate the mentality
of the Austrian Imperial family, in whom the power of decision was
really vested, and could not understand that it would prefer to allow
itself to become the cats-paw of Germany, rather than see its power
diminished by the loss of part of its lands.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN CONSTITUTION


The Austro-Hungarian Constitution exists on paper, but that is all.
The Austrian Parliament met at Vienna, the Hungarian Parliament still
meets at Budapesth, but the National Assemblies never exercised any
actual power. This was partly due to the clever management of those in
authority, but chiefly to the policy of the Emperor, an old autocrat,
who considered that all means were justifiable if all real power could
be kept in his hands. Much of the blame, however, was due to the people
themselves, who held aloof from politics. Some of the most highly
educated men in the country said that the Constitution was a farce, and
that they refused to have anything to do with it. Others refused to
vote to mark their disapprobation. The Government thereupon made voting
obligatory. Anyone who refused to record his vote without due cause was
liable to fine and imprisonment. Thus the Government kept up the farce
of a constitutional system.

Reflecting people of all nationalities within the Dual Monarchy
realised that the people had no power. All decisions in the realm of
the foreign policy of the country were made by the reigning monarch.
No Minister was held responsible. The power of voting money for the
army and navy and all objects common to Austria and Hungary was not
invested in the Parliaments, but held by the Delegations. The Delegates
were elected by the Parliaments, but the nominations were made by
Government, and men noted for their pliability were selected. Delegates
sometimes protested against expenditure. An instance of this kind
occurred when Austria-Hungary embarked upon her big fleet policy. Money
was asked for to build Dreadnoughts. The Delegations refused.

The Government did not give up its project. It gave orders to the
Stablimento Tecnico in Trieste to lay down the first ship “on spec.,”
with a very broad hint as to who would purchase the vessel when
complete. This dishonesty, first towards the taxpayers, then towards
Europe, is a particularly striking sample of the policy carried on by
the country.

Members of Parliament in both Austria and Hungary received payment
for each day’s attendance. When Parliament was dissolved this payment
ceased. The members were, for the most part, men who required the
money to live. They had given up their profession to come to Vienna to
represent their constituencies, and the closing of Parliament meant the
cutting off of their incomes. It was therefore to their interest to do
nothing to anger the Government. The laws of the Constitution provided
for the election of another Parliament, but in actual practice it
remained shut until it pleased the Emperor to permit another election
to take place. Persons of importance did not seek election to the
“Punch and Judy” show or madhouse on the Ringstrasse, as the Austrian
Parliament was usually called.

A stormy sitting at the Vienna Parliament was an interesting sight. A
cordon of police usually guarded the stately block of buildings when
a row was going on within. From time to time a side door would open
and angry attendants would throw out a dozen men, panting from the
struggle. They would fall on the soft carpet of snow, and then be sent
about their business by the police beyond. They were the public who
had been sitting in the gallery and who had joined too loudly in the
demonstrations going on below. Inside the atmosphere was thick. The
Parliament had been sitting for two days and nights unceasingly. The
Czechs, who wished to obstruct the passing of a Bill, had been behaving
like buffoons. They rattled their desks and banged the lids to drown
the speaker’s voice. They brought all kinds of noisy instruments to
disturb the deliberations. Rain-machines, used in theatres to imitate
the sound of rain on the roofs, were rattled; other members blew upon
trumpets and penny whistles. Czechs of huge build spoke for ten hours
at a time. Friends supplied them with water and chocolate while they
carried on their obstruction. At night the Opposition slept in the
passages upon mattresses. Rolled in top-coats, they were ready to
swarm in whenever their services were required at a moment’s notice.
The attendants smiled at the heaps of bodies lying prone, but ready to
fight. The floor of the Parliament was untidy. Balls of paper soaked in
ink that had been flung at an opponent or at the President were seen on
the floor. All kinds of missiles lay thick, for the attendants, careful
of their personal safety, had not ventured to pick them up. It was
difficult to realise that the Austrian Parliament was not a third-rate
tavern.

Year after year the Parliament spent the precious hours that should
have been given to making its voice heard in the country to this kind
of foolishness. The Opposition, instead of securing a majority, always
hoped to delay business and thus secure concessions that the majority
was unwilling to grant. They did not see that they were playing the
game of the Central Administration, which rejoiced to see them making
themselves ridiculous and losing such influence as they possessed by
virtue of their office.

In Hungary things were worse than in Austria. The elections were
nothing more than a farce. There was no secret ballot. Votes were
openly bought and sold. When the Government could not secure a majority
for its candidate, soldiers were used to keep the Opposition voters
from the booths. The Hungarians clamoured for general suffrage and the
removal of the property qualification, which kept the election in the
hands of a few men, but they asked in vain. Their country districts
were represented by Government candidates, and even in the towns it was
seldom that an independent candidate of any standing got in.

The disorders were even worse than in the Vienna Parliament. The
President, Count Tisza, thought nothing of clearing the House with
soldiers, and had the members chased into the street at the point
of the bayonet. The members were constantly sending challenges and
fighting duels among themselves instead of attending to business.

The Government delegated large powers to the local Diets, which decided
questions of expenditure, and, upon the whole, acquitted themselves
of their tasks in a very satisfactory manner. Unfortunately, much of
the money that was granted for local purposes remained unspent, as the
permission required for liquidating the sums did not come from the
Central Government. If a road were required for military purposes or
a railway needed for the transport of troops, the Central Government
made a handsome contribution to the cost; if it were simply required
for the development of the country generally, the project was not
encouraged. When the Diets ventured into the realms of politics they
were promptly informed that they must keep within the limits of their
own jurisdiction.

The central authorities in Vienna and Budapesth had for years followed
a policy of blinding the people; they had encouraged frivolity in every
form. Everything was done to turn people’s minds from serious subjects
to pleasure and enjoyment. The reputation enjoyed by both Vienna and
Budapesth as the gayest capitals in Europe was fully deserved. The
intellectual Classes were completely hoodwinked, and had no idea of
what was really going on, either at home or abroad. The same results
were accomplished in the country by keeping the people in ignorance
and withholding education from them. While much money was spent on the
education of Germans and Magyars, the ruling races, great economy was
practised towards the Slavs. The powerful Bohemians managed to secure
education for their children, and the Government statistics show that
100 per cent. of the children of school age in Bohemia actually were in
attendance at school in 1906. In Galicia only 85 per cent. are reported
as in attendance; while in Croatia 68 per cent. went to school, and
in Bosnia and Herzegowina only 14 per cent. In every case the local
authorities were forced to provide education for the children, unless
they lived on isolated farms where it was really impossible. The
Government, however, refused its grants wherever it could, as the
money was needed for purposes which did not appear in the Budget. The
Slavs and Croats protested bitterly against a system which inflicted
upon them heavy taxes, mostly indirect, and kept the benefits for the
ruling races. This maladministration was one of the chief causes of the
continual unrest among the subject-peoples.

The Emperor, and indeed all the members of the Imperial family, lived
in an atmosphere apart. They never considered whither their policy was
leading, nor that the system of suppression could not be carried on
indefinitely at this period of history. Most of the men in power would
have shone in the Middle Ages; they were useless and impracticable now
that commercial travellers have taken the places of knights-errant and
trade is more important than armaments. They did not realise that in
suppressing progress they were handicapping the country in its race
for commercial supremacy and preventing its being able to compete with
Germany at home and abroad. In their fear of the “people” getting to
the fore, they neglected the foe beyond the frontier.




CHAPTER XXIV

WHO MURDERED THE ARCHDUKE?


The constant friction between Emperor Francis Joseph and his heir was
always increased when the autumn manœuvres came round. The Emperor, who
was over eighty, wished to attend them, and on two occasions they had
to be put off, as the doctors said that the monarch could not spend
his nights sleeping in a tent. Archduke Francis Ferdinand was always
too ready to take up the duties which would have been performed by
the Emperor had he been younger. Thus the hatred between the reigning
monarch and his heir increased every year. The Emperor was prepared to
allow his heir a large sum of money if he would consent to resign his
right to the throne. This was not because of his personal antipathy.
The doctors who attended the Archduke said that he was not entirely
responsible for his actions. They suspected that he had an abscess on
the brain. He had committed hasty, ill-considered actions that could
be pardoned in an Archduke, but that were not possible for an Emperor,
who must always keep his temper. The Imperial family dreaded the time
of his coming to the throne. They had notified the Emperor that they
would withdraw from the Court if Duchess Hohenberg were made Empress.
At that epoch no one doubted that the Archduke would create her Empress
of Austria and Queen of Hungary on his accession.

The manœuvres in Bosnia--arranged to take place there because the
peoples of the newly-annexed provinces had been somewhat restless--were
about to take place. Archduke Francis Ferdinand decided to assist. His
wife said that she would accompany him. The Emperor was very angry. He
did not wish the Archduke to go to Bosnia. He was much too unpopular
to take such a risk. When Emperor Francis Joseph heard that Duchess
Hohenberg was to accompany her husband, his wrath knew no bounds. The
ladies of the Imperial family never accompanied their husbands on such
occasions. If the Archduke and his wife went to Bosnia she would be
received as the future Empress of Austria. The Emperor forbade him to
take her. The Archduke insisted. If there was any danger, his wife, who
was really courageous, would wish to be at his side. The Emperor, who
was very jealous about his authority, was extremely angry. It is very
probable that he did not hide his feelings from his near relations.

The next news that reached Vienna was that the Archduke and his wife
had been assassinated at Sarajevo. The crime was committed on a Sunday.
It was midsummer in Vienna, and, strange to say, every important
personage was on the spot. As a rule, the official personages left
Vienna on the Saturday, when there were two consecutive holidays, as
in this case, the Monday being a _fête_-day, and spent the week-end
at the Semmering. On this particular occasion everyone was in Vienna.
The Emperor was at Ischl. The telegram with the news was sent there
first. He exclaimed, “What impertinence of those Bosnians!” but was not
otherwise moved.

The official account of the assassination, which was full of
discrepancies, was then sent to Vienna. According to this account, a
bomb had been thrown at the Archduke and his wife on their way to the
Sarajevo town-hall. It had failed to kill them. The Archduke, little
moved by the occurrence, merely taunted the Mayor of Sarajevo with the
lack of courtesy that the people had shown. “Instead of presenting us
with bouquets, you receive us with bombs.” The Archduke could afford
to make merry over his escape. He naturally expected that the streets
had been cleared of people during his long visit to the town-hall. It
was a matter of elementary precaution. The Bosnian police, however,
had received instructions from Vienna that the Archduke’s safety was
to be left in the hands of the military. The Archduke and his wife
entered the car. The driver started off. He was in the plot. He drove
them right across the road to where the murderer was waiting. This
meant running the car on the wrong side of the road. Everyone noticed
this, but no one protested. No one seized the assassin after he had
fired at the Archduke’s head. He had ample time to kill the wife too.
The boy, too, knew a secret that was carefully kept in the Imperial
family. Archduke Francis Ferdinand was wearing armour. For this reason
the assassins tried to kill him with a bomb. This attempt having
failed, the assassin fired at his head instead of at his breast.
Both Kaiser Wilhelm and Archduke Francis Ferdinand spent much time
and thought in trying to find bullet-proof armour. At the time of the
assassination the Archduke was wearing a silken vest an inch thick. It
was woven obliquely--made on the same principle as the jackets used
for automobile tyres. It was warranted to turn the point of a knife
or bullet. The vest was cumbersome and somewhat warm. It gave the
Archduke an appearance of extreme stoutness. He, however, knowing how
intensely he was hated in Austria and Hungary, never cared to appear in
public without some protective armour. Steel corselets were excellent
in bygone days, but are no use against a modern rifle. The Archduke
feared he might be shot from a window. The secret that the Archduke was
wearing armour was known to half-a-dozen people at most. The assassin
must have learnt it from a member of the Imperial family.

A number of reporters started for Sarajevo that night to find out what
had really happened there on that dark Sunday. They were turned back
by the police. All letters from individuals in Sarajevo were censored.
The telegraphic service was suspended. The police were never even
reprimanded for allowing the heir to the throne to be assassinated. On
the contrary, the heads of the force were promoted shortly afterwards.

In Vienna the news was received with ill-concealed satisfaction.
Everyone, from Archduke to crossing-sweeper, feared the day of his
coming to power. The story went out to the world that the Archduke
Francis Ferdinand had been killed by Serbs. This was not true. The
young men concerned in the conspiracy were Bosnians, and Austrian
subjects. The Government, however, saw that there was a chance of
forcing a war upon Servia. If Austria could only prove that Servia had
been responsible for the crime, she could undertake her long-planned
“vengeance promenade” to Belgrade with the assurance that Europe would
not interfere. Statesmen anticipated no difficulty in fastening the
guilt on Servia, as the murders of King Alexander and Queen Draga were
not forgotten. Austria, however, forgot her own black record. Emperor
Maximilian of Mexico had been shot. It was always felt that more might
have been done by his own family for his safety. Empress Elizabeth had
been assassinated at Geneva. Her decease was most convenient. The
country was wearied of hearing of the pilgrimage of the heartbroken
woman through Europe. Crown Prince Rudolf, who was much too popular,
had also been murdered mysteriously. The persons concerned in his
death had all been exiled. They had been sent to South America, but
pensions sufficient to keep them in luxury for the rest of their lives
had been bestowed upon them. These riches were only held on condition
that the fearful night at the lonely hunting-box near Vienna was never
mentioned. Emperor Francis Joseph had thus lost his three nearest
relatives by assassination.

The news of the Archduke’s assassination was only discussed in whispers
in Vienna. Everyone was afraid of arrest. Nevertheless, no one thought
of accusing Servia. Archduke Francis Ferdinand was the one man in
all the country who favoured the Slavs. His wife’s influence would
secure advancement at Court for every man with Slavonic blood in his
veins. The Germans feared that they would be overrun with them. While
Austrians and Hungarians generally detested the Archduke, the Slavs
loved him devotedly. It was clear that neither the Austrian Slavs nor
Servia had any interest in the Archduke’s death. They had everything to
lose.

The Imperial family was most anxious for his death. Archduke Frederick
had never forgotten the slight put upon his daughter.

The assassin had definite instructions to murder the Duchess Hohenberg.
Such orders could only come from persons actuated by motives of
personal hatred. No one else in the world desired her death. Women,
especially aristocrats and the mothers of families, are held in
great veneration in Slav countries. It is certain that had the
Bosnians arranged the plot, the Archduke would have been shot, but
the morganatic wife spared. She was not even a member of the Imperial
family. Why should she be sacrificed?

The remains of the Archduke and his wife were brought to Vienna.
The Austrians, a Catholic people, and accustomed to exaggerated
respect being paid to the dead, were deeply shocked at the funeral
arrangements. The Imperial family wished that every possible insult
should be shown to the remains of the defunct lady-in-waiting.

Italians living in Trieste describe with horror the landing of the
coffins, which were brought from Bosnia by sea. They had no cause to
love the Archduke, but were outraged by the disrespect to the dead. The
sailors who carried them from the ship let one coffin drop upon the
quay through carelessness. It lay there until they had taken breath
and felt inclined to resume their burden. The funeral arrangements
in Vienna were of a very third-class order. The Austrians said: “The
Imperial family has no respect--not even for death. Their hate pursues
its victims beyond the tomb.” The city was filled with reports of
unseemly disputes about the funeral arrangements. The Imperial family
wished to separate the pair of lovers, who had been so loyal to each
other in life, and bury them separately. It was an outrage, they said,
that any Habsburg should walk behind the coffin of a morganatic wife.
Finally, it was arranged that the coffins should lie in state side by
side in the Hofburg Chapel. The Chapelle Ardente was poorly fitted;
trappings for a third-class funeral were used. The military party
in Austria-Hungary was indignant that such an insult should be put
on a soldier. Old men, dressed in their uniforms ablaze with Orders
and military decorations, entered the sombre chapel, which was not
even properly supplied with candles. Bursting with indignation and
rage, they knelt and said a short prayer for the dead. The deep-toned
mutterings sounded more like cries for vengeance than prayers for
the souls of the departed. Bohemian nobles came into the chapel. They
glared at the unseemly sight. Everything was poverty-stricken.

Early in the morning a huge crowd had gathered to take part in the
procession in front of the coffins. Every Austro-Hungarian subject
has the right to see the face of the deceased monarch or of the heir
to the throne after death. The Archduke’s coffin was sealed down.
His face could not be exposed; his head had been so disfigured. But,
nevertheless, the Ringstrasse was filled with people. They were
permitted to enter the chapel in single file. The police on the great
Ringstrasse sent many home, assuring them that their turn to enter
the Hofburg would never be reached. This show of popular sympathy had
enraged the Court. When the funeral procession was on its way to the
station in Vienna after the lying-in-state, an unrehearsed incident
took place. A large number of Bohemian aristocrats, with Prince Max
Egon Fürstenburg at their head, assembled in one of the squares. They
were either in costume or uniform, and were wearing the arms that
belonged to their rank--short daggers, for the most part. They walked
bareheaded behind the funeral as chief mourners to show their respect
to Duchess Hohenberg, a member of the Bohemian aristocracy, and their
resentment at the insults that had been heaped upon her head. Who were
the proud Habsburgs to treat a Bohemian and a woman in such a way?
Their whole attitude was not one of mourning, but of protest.

The final scenes took place at Arstatten, beyond the Danube. They were
disgraceful beyond anything that had happened before. A violent storm
forced the funeral _cortège_ to take refuge in an inn. The mutes became
offensively drunk. Ghastly stories of the coffins being knocked off the
chairs that were supporting them were circulated in Vienna. These may
have been exaggerated. There was, however, some truth in the tales of
impiety.

There was no one responsible in charge of the funeral. This was
extraordinary, as the most unimportant Court ceremonies are always
managed by experts long trained to do the right thing. Nothing is left
to chance or accident. But the Archduke, the heir to the throne, was
buried with less respect than would have been shown to an employé in
the Court service had he died that week.




CHAPTER XXV

WHY GERMANY DECIDED UPON WAR


Austria-Hungary had long been anxious to go to war. She had been
straining at the leash for years. The peaceful issue to the Annexation
crisis had not pleased Austrian statesmen. They were still less
satisfied at the check put upon their aggressive plans at the time of
the signing of the Treaty of Bucharest. In the first instance, the
credit of preserving peace was entirely due to Germany. She was not
ready. On the second occasion, Italy’s refusal to fight against the
Serbs or to stand by Austria in an aggressive war was probably the
decisive factor, for then Germany was ready, and only waiting for a
good pretext to break the peace of Europe.

When Kaiser Wilhelm heard of the assassination at Sarajevo he
immediately saw that the chance so long sought had come. Such an
opportunity would never occur again. But he knew that he must play
his cards with skill. The Emperor of Austria would be delighted at a
chance of punishing Servia, for her statesmen, who felt secure under
the protection of Russia, had used expressions in parleying with
Austria that irritated the aged Emperor. He could not brook that small
Balkan States of very recent growth should place themselves on a level
with the Austro-Hungarian Empire. His councillors succeeded in making
him believe that the Serbs were responsible for the crime of Sarajevo.
The aged Emperor, perhaps, had some suspicion of the truth. He did not
want to know it, however. Providence had intervened and removed an
obnoxious personage, and had at the same time given Austria a chance of
thrashing Servia. The Emperor considered that the thrashing was long
overdue. Why should he, the faithful son of the Church, inquire too
closely into events that had fallen out so propitiously? The Emperor,
however, only wished to send a punitive expedition to Belgrade.
Gunboats could bombard the capital from the Danube, and Austria’s
honour would be satisfied. The Emperor in no wise wished for a war with
Russia. Apart from other considerations, he was bound in honour not to
seek a quarrel with the “peace” Czar. When the Annexation crisis was
at its height, Emperor Francis Joseph sent Prince Hohenlohe to St.
Petersburg with an autograph letter, begging the Czar to allow him to
end his days in peace. The terms in which this document was couched
made it almost impossible for Austria to seek war with Russia so long
as Emperor Francis Joseph was at the head of affairs. It was a breach
of the honour that reigns among monarchs, for the appeal had been made
as from a brother-sovereign. Kaiser Wilhelm was aware of this. But he
was ready to stoop to any crime to accomplish his object. He and his
councillors decided that the aged man at Schönbrunn could be deceived.
He must think that the war would be merely a local affair. The
Austrians, too, were longing to show their prowess against Servia, but
a war with Russia would not be popular either in Austria or Hungary. It
is doubtful whether any Austro-Hungarian statesman who understood the
situation would have consented to acts that must inevitably lead to a
European war. The idea of a series of small wars, first against Italy
and then against the mutinous Balkan States, was favoured in Vienna.
Kaiser Wilhelm had a singular talent for discovering unscrupulous men.
The German Ambassador in Vienna, Count Tchirsky, was a complete tool
in the hands of the Kaiser. He did not hesitate to lie to Count Tisza
when occasion occurred. Count Tisza is a man of peculiar loyalty, and
he could not understand utter unscrupulousness in another. Moreover,
like all aristocrats, he was at a disadvantage in dealing with Germans,
as he was a gentleman and his opponents were not. He was always at
Budapesth, and therefore had no chance of watching the machinations
employed by the Germans in Vienna. With Count Berchtold the German
Ambassador had an easy task. The Count did not take things seriously,
and fell into the toils spread for him by German statesmen. He really
believed that the Emperor was an old man in his dotage, and neglected
the other side of his character. In spite of his age and weakness, the
Emperor Francis Joseph had enjoyed a unique experience as the oldest
reigning monarch in Europe, and was able through this to judge of any
question with an acumen exhibited by few politicians.

Germany decided that the moment for letting a European war break loose
had come, and her reasons for this decision were weighty. The most
important of all was the “Slav danger,” as it was generally called
in Germany and Austria-Hungary. Twenty years ago the German family
averaged sixteen to eighteen children. In Austria, too, large families
had been the rule. The Magyars in Hungary still boasted big families,
but the cancer that had bitten into German social life was beginning
to be seen there, too. The one-child family had become the fashion in
Germany. The mode was adopted by the Germans in Austria. Statesmen
scolded, and proposed to tax bachelors and childless couples. But
they were unable to stop the terrifying decrease in the population.
Meanwhile, the Slavonic races in both Germany and Austria and Hungary
multiplied very rapidly. Military men complained that regiments,
officers and men, were composed entirely of Slavs, because there were
not sufficient Austro-Germans or Magyars. It was impossible to enter
a room where men of purely German extraction had assembled without
hearing of this “Slav danger,” which hung like a nightmare over the
ruling races in Germany. Austria and Hungary saw their preponderance
threatened. They doctored statistics to hide the truth. This was
of little use. The Slav type was unmistakable. Slavs did not care
to intermarry with Germans, and the race remained purely Slavonic,
although Serbs and Czechs often intermarried. A war would afford an
opportunity of reducing the Slav population. The military authorities
had arranged to place the regiments composed of subject-races in the
front of the battle so that they might be killed off. In 1914 leading
men in both Germany and Austria-Hungary considered that war was
inevitable within the next five years if they were to retain their
supremacy.

The financial factor, too, was largely responsible for hastening
the date of the war. Large sums had been spent on armaments in both
Germany and Austria-Hungary far beyond the capacity of either country.
Taxation had risen imperceptibly, and with it the cost of living. This
had affected the middle classes. It is doubtful whether the families
of officials in State employ and army officers ever got a really
satisfactory meal in the last years of preparation. Men dressed in
gorgeous uniforms, and with Orders and decorations that showed their
rank, walked about the streets gaunt and hungry-looking.

People said, “This cannot go on.” Statesmen saw that it would be
revolution or war. Austria was faced with bankruptcy unless she could
fight a successful war which would open fresh regions for exploitation
and relieve her of her surplus Slavs.

Undue importance was attached to news of unrest in Great Britain,
both in Germany and Austria-Hungary. Spies, men who were only too
ready to believe that Britain was at her last gasp, brought back
reports that a revolution was about to break out. The Irish question
was misunderstood. The greed and hate that had been nurtured in every
German heart prevented the spy from exercising any judgment, while
the statesmen who should have controlled their reports had also lost
their usual faculty of calm judgment in the bitterness of their hate.
The woman question, which was seen in its ugliest aspects abroad, made
the Germans realise that there was something wrong. Why were they
so discontented? What had been done to render them so bitter? The
question was asked in the Press and in public, and no explanation was
forthcoming.

Jews who travelled throughout Europe on business brought back evil
reports of conditions in England. They said that they had searched the
length and breadth of the land for a capable business man to push their
interests. They had returned from their quest unsatisfied. Germans and
Austrians who had resided in England explained this by saying that all
the better elements in the country had emigrated long ago. Men could
find no work unless they had influence. These facts were confirmed by
observation, and undue importance was attached to them, single examples
being too hastily accepted as indicative of the general state of things.

The preference shown by English business men for German clerks was
regarded as another proof that the English were “a back number.”

If Britain were degenerating, Russia was on the up-grade. She was
arming. She was reforming her public offices. Large loans had been
contracted, and she was about to build railways to the frontier. The
Austro-Russian front in Galicia bristled with fortresses. Every week
brought news of some new fortifications, made either on the Austrian
or the Russian side. The Slav peoples in the Balkans were also on the
up-grade. Everywhere the Germans saw themselves surrounded by Slavs,
who were educating and improving themselves.

Meanwhile, not only the German people, but the German army, was
deteriorating. Nasty stories, like _The Small Garrison_, were being
written, describing life in small garrison towns. The Austrian and
Hungarian officers were also suffering from the corrupt life which they
led. It was very uncertain whether they would have the necessary nerve
to take the initiative at a crisis. Kaiser Wilhelm saw that the time
was not far distant when his officers would be as bad as the Austrians.
It was bad policy to wait until the growing evil that had corrupted the
Austro-Hungarian army had infected his own.




CHAPTER XXVI

DIPLOMATIC METHODS: A COMPARISON


Diplomacy had succeeded in keeping the peace on two former occasions.
In Western Europe it was believed that it would be successful again.
Austria’s intention of going to war was not regarded as serious. The
European financier especially could not bring himself to believe in
war. Some of the ablest men in Europe sat in the open-air café on
the Ringstrasse, unable to close an eye in sleep for fear that they
should miss news of supreme importance and not be there to “cover” at
the critical moment. At two in the morning the great houses on either
side of the street shook as the motors carrying the big guns rumbled
past the café. They were taken off at dead of night and deposited on
the low-lying ground near the Danube. Next morning the great gun was
taken to pieces. One half of the immense engine of destruction was
slung on big hooks on a frame made for the purpose. It looked like a
great hollow cradle that would have provided sleeping accommodation
for a couple of men as it swirled and rocked when the train took a
steep gradient. “Why have they brought out their big guns, which are
so difficult to transport on the steep gradients in this mountainous
country, if they do not mean business?” “Merely to frighten Servia
and cow her into submission.” “Then why is everything being done so
secretly?” “Merely to heighten the effect,” was the reply. Foreign
diplomacy was not so blind, but it sat tight, and refused to give any
opinion.

The State controls the railways in Austro-Hungary, excepting for
one or two lines. The great termini in Vienna lie at different ends
of the city. Ordinary passengers had to cross the town in cabs. The
Orient express, however, was allowed to make use of the military
communication railway to save time. This circular railway joined up
all the big junctions. It had been constructed for purely military
purposes to pass troops and munitions from one station to the other
quickly and secretly. In solitary places, sidings, with an iron pontoon
for heavy guns, and perhaps an immense crane, stood moss-grown and
idle. They were ready against the great day when Austria would go to
war. The chief preparations were made in the Prater, an Imperial park
that had been thrown open to the public many years before. In the
waste swamp-land behind the park, which stretched down to the main
stream of the Danube, there were cranes used for unloading barges
that came up the river from the Balkans, and that also served for the
mobilisation. Just beyond this ground there was a café much frequented
by the diplomatists of Vienna. Close by was the British Golf Club.
The café had, no doubt, come into fashion because the chiefs of the
Diplomatic Service in Austria congregated there to meet military men,
who took their morning ride, where they could supervise the training of
recruits, in the waste land beyond. But the position of the golf ground
needed explanation. Who had chosen to plump the course right in the
midst of the probable scene of any military preparation?

No answer will ever be made to this question. The British diplomatist,
when he has a streak of Celtic blood in his make-up, is undoubtedly
the finest in the world. He has the great gift of silence. Other men
of great repute and long training always envy the Englishman his
imperturbable face, which serves him as a complete mask. Nothing
provokes him into a display of emotion; his habitual calm prevents the
enemy ever surprising him into a betrayal of his country’s secrets
by a smile or a grimace. This is a unique gift. The secret police
in every city of Europe will tell you that there is no catching an
Englishman off his guard. His news is always sound. He does not care
for information from doubtful sources; he misdoubts the foreigner and
all his ways. He takes endless trouble in following up clues, but will
not venture to draw conclusions. He is careful never to compromise
himself by employing unworthy tools, and is never in “trouble” with the
authorities or under suspicion like other diplomatists.

Unfortunately, there are always too few of him. He is hampered by
having no residents in the British colony that he can consult. The
first years of a diplomatist’s life in a foreign country are occupied
in learning the lie of the land. Until he is acquainted with the
rudiments of the language and the significance of the utterances of the
different papers, he can do no useful work.

The German diplomatist, a man without a vestige of imagination,
ignorant of the very first rules of diplomacy, unaware of the
meaning of delicacy in his conduct as the guest of a foreign monarch,
nevertheless frequently contrives to defeat his opponents. Why is this?
How is it done? The German would be incapable of producing the results
that he has been able to show were it not for the powerful “hand behind
the throne.” Diplomatists at a Court like Vienna must be noblemen, and
it is a matter of general knowledge that German aristocrats are not
astute as a general rule. They have no conception of anything beyond
the obvious. Hints and allusions are quite thrown away upon them. Now
a diplomatist must be a man of very delicate perceptions. It may be
safely said that such a thing does not exist in Germany. The Prussian
especially is very obtuse. The Germans possess one great virtue.
They are aware of their deficiencies. The diplomatist, who feels he
is lacking in all the essential qualities of a politician, takes a
partner--a very active partner, who is never seen or heard, but, none
the less, is responsible for much of the work. He is a Jew, who manages
the whole organisation of the work. He finances the diplomatist. German
diplomatists are not paid much in proportion to the show that they
are expected to make. Everything is “solid,” but nothing more. The
Government, however, authorises an almost unlimited expenses account.
This money is not squandered. Much is spent in the form of tips to
persons who may be of use. No other diplomatist could venture to pay
small sums of money to all sorts of doubtful persons in the first
years of his residence at a foreign Court. Such persons might be, and
probably are, spies of the Government, or members of the secret police.
The German diplomatist is not troubled with these doubts. On entering
his embassy he finds a record of all the work, clean and unclean, done
by his predecessors, and the financial man, who has been in the post
for years, in charge. Every successful means of getting information is
suggested to him. He thus gets the benefit of the experience of his
predecessors, avoids their mistakes, and improves on their methods,
as every new man can. No German nobleman could carry on this business
unaided. The Jew is a man of business, _par excellence_. His principle
is, “Never take anything without paying for it.” He not only pays for
any little service rendered, delicately considering the feelings of the
recipient, and where gold would give offence he sees that an order, or,
perhaps, a much-coveted title is bestowed, but he always makes sure
that the recipient is satisfied. A Jew, concerned in statecraft, will
never allow a tool, however humble, to go away discontented, for if he
did he would have made him a dangerous enemy, instead of a grateful
servant.

A young diplomatist starting for the Balkans will carry a set of
instructions which regulate his every act in everyday life. “Put up
at the ---- Hotel.” “Give the waiter at the ---- restaurant a big
tip ... not sufficient to excite suspicion, but enough to render
him communicative.” “Find means of getting to know the big German
manufacturer at ----without being seen with him too much.” “Cultivate
the men connected with travel bureaux as much as possible without
compromising your position.” Imagine a young Englishman told off to
cultivate men behind a counter! But the proud German will make any
sacrifice, willingly, and, indeed, counts it no loss, for he is never
a snob. Snobbism is unknown in either Germany or Austria-Hungary.
Diplomatists are always born within the magic circle. They are always
men belonging to families admitted to Court functions. This means an
ancient family. Persons outside this circle are not regarded as equals.
Far from it. They are so far removed from the nobility that they
are looked upon as people of different flesh and blood. The German
aristocrat thinks of the commoner somewhat as the Spaniard of the
Southern States regards a nigger. But just because he condescends, he
is very polite. The poor commoner must not guess his feelings. He can
treat him as a friend and a brother without any risk of suffering loss
of caste in the eyes of his peers. Where comparison is impossible there
is no fear of his losing rank by associating with men of a different
mould.

The young Englishman might speak in the street to a prominent
fellow-countryman engaged in trade. Never, however, would he condescend
to sit down at one table with his vulgar wife, and thus make a
willing slave of him for ever. The Jew, watching the steps of the new
diplomatists, is very careful to ascertain that any favour conferred
will be accepted with gratitude, otherwise it is never offered.

The German diplomatist always speaks a number of languages, sometimes
with a slight accent, sometimes like a native. He learnt them in the
nursery. The British diplomatist usually speaks the language of the
country to which he is accredited more or less fluently, but he seldom
knows a second language. French is the language of the Balkans. But
the variety spoken is very unlike pure Parisian. It is only possible to
converse with Albanian princes, Turkish pashas, Rumanians, and other
people from the south if one’s knowledge of French is very exact.
Fluency in French makes intercourse with Italians and Russians easy, as
they all speak it. A man who has business in the South or in the Tyrol
should also speak Italian. The people there know German as well as
Italian, but dislike speaking it. They feel mistrust towards anyone who
uses the tongue of the oppressor. Besides they do not care to discuss
politics or give information of any kind in a language that every spy
or would-be spy within hearing can understand. No commercial traveller
would start off without a thorough knowledge of the languages prevalent
in the country in which he was to do business, but there is a great
laxity of views in regard to the standard of linguistic talent required
in the diplomatist.

The members of Embassies and Legations of the British Empire are, for
the most part, purely British. Any strain of foreign blood impairs
their usefulness to such an extent that this is well. The foreign
politicians who deal with members of the Diplomatic Corps naturally
mistrust any half-breeds, as they call them. They prefer to have to
deal with a prospective enemy who declares his feelings openly, rather
than to be obliged to negotiate with the son of a German mother,
who may be secretly inclined to favour his mother’s race and make
concessions that will not be ratified by the home Government.

If the British Diplomatic Service is unique in its special line
because it is homogeneous, the men being all of the same type as
their _confrères_ in the Home Office or War Office at home, the same
cannot be said for the Consular Service, which, especially in remote
parts of Europe, is of but small or no benefit to Britain, while it
has been of immense advantage to her rivals in trade. In cases where
there is a genuine Briton at the head of affairs, he naturally takes
a British view of all disputes that come along and form his daily
work. But he is a startling exception. Most of the men in the Consular
Service were Germans or natives; they gave their services for nothing,
saying that the title lent them importance. It did. It enabled them to
interfere in the thousand and one difficulties that are always arising
between shippers and the Government--their own Government--and to
place the British case in a bad light. The shipper, not knowing the
language, was quite helpless, and went back home the poorer in cash
and disheartened. His owners were annoyed, and decided that they would
cease to carry on dealings with the country in question. A German firm
was quite ready to rush in to benefit by the facts which the consul had
carefully ascertained during the negotiations, and snap up the trade.
The German consul usually gave away large sums of money among the
indigent in the British colony, and thus placed himself in a position
that was very difficult to assail. If any powerful resident felt that
the consul was not acting altogether in British interests, the latest
subscription, probably a princely donation to some British charity,
caused him to revise his hasty judgment. A man so truly charitable
could not be guilty of meannesses such as he had suspected. He did not
realise that the consul put the thumping big subscription down in his
expenses account, entered as “Money to blind British residents.” The
British merchant prince, perhaps, did not care to assist some poor
countryman; he left it to the consul, who took the money ostensibly
from his own pocket, and the Englishman, ashamed at his niggardliness,
felt that his mouth was effectually shut, even when he was more
than doubtful about some action taken with regard to his country’s
interests. These things happened in many places, and led British
subjects living abroad to regard justice and law as non-existent so
far as they were concerned. They were forced to have resort to all
kinds of subterfuges to obtain the most elementary rights. They avoided
litigation at any cost, for they knew that with a German consul it
could only go against them. Old residents who knew the language and
customs of the country were able to carry on business even in the
German strongholds, for, after all, the Englishman is the best business
man in the world. But they had to work at a disadvantage. Germans stood
ready to take up the trade should the creator of the connection be
ill or die. And the resident consul was always ready to replace the
Englishman by his own man.

In places where there was a British consul all this was different.
The authorities, feeling that a strong hand would protect British
subjects, hesitated to attack any one of them without due cause.
In these cities the British subject enjoyed the same immunity from
unwarranted interference as the Italian. The Italian consul, at the
cost of much inconvenience and annoyance to himself, would stand by a
fellow-citizen until he obtained his rights. The authorities, knowing
this, were frightened to interfere with any man who was carrying on a
legitimate business. The Italian consul knew that he had his Government
behind him in protecting Italian trade, and that his mission was to
carry on warfare with the German; nor did he scruple to use the same
weapons as his adversary. He was even capable of going one better.
Perhaps of all the peoples of Europe the Italian alone understands the
peculiar character of the German--an experience that has been bought at
the price of much suffering. He knows that it is fatal to wait until
the German takes the offensive. The blow must come from the other side.
Then the German’s indolence will make him careful of provoking an
adversary of this calibre a second time. The Prussian is essentially
a bully; he can only be brought to reason by a frontal attack, and
those who know him will not hesitate to make it with or without excuse,
provided they get in the first blow, for the struggle must come sooner
or later.




CHAPTER XXVII

PUNITIVE EXPEDITION OR WORLD-WAR?


Germany and Austria-Hungary hastened on their preparations. Transports
of munitions were hurried to the front. The building of the new War
Ministry in Vienna, which had long been proceeding, was hurried on. The
Government did not care to go to war with all the mobilisation plans
lying in the old building. It was situated in a crowded part of the
city close to the flower market. It would have been very easy to blow
up the entire structure. Many of the Slavs within the Empire would not
have hesitated to use their opportunity of throwing everything into
confusion. The new War Office on the Ringstrasse, built in the newest
and worst style of architecture, was easily guarded.

The German preparations were on a much vaster scale than those
made in Austria-Hungary. Germany was preparing for a world-war,
Austria-Hungary for a punitive expedition against Servia. Austria has
always been solicitous of the good opinion of other countries. She now
sent out batches of official despatches intended to incriminate Servia
in the eyes of Europe. Germany, who cared little upon what pretext she
began the Great War, and knew that she must earn hatred for herself
throughout the civilised world, did nothing to prepare the world.
She knew that it was a general war. Why waste time and efforts in
justifying Germany’s right to be “über alles”? Conquerors of the world
do not stop to explain their methods.

As the weeks went by Austria-Hungary began to weaken in her resolve.
German diplomatists noticed the hesitation. They suggested that a
stiff Note should be sent to Servia. When the text of the famous Note
appeared, it was noticed that the phraseology was not Austrian. It was
not couched in the soft language--a sort of modified German--spoken on
the banks of the Danube, but in the rude terms heard farther north.
Everyone said that the text of the Note had been written in Berlin. It
is just possible that Count Tisza had been a party to it. He kept up
constant intercourse with Berlin, and may have visited the Emperor
or been consulted over the telephone. The intention of the Note was
clear. No State with any claim to sovereign rights could accept it.
Austria-Hungary demanded the right to send her own police to Servia
to investigate the crime of Sarajevo, although it had been committed
on Austrian ground by Austrian subjects. No Serb was implicated.
The Austrian Government was unable to bring any proofs of Servian
complicity beyond vague assertions that the assassin had received
instruction in military exercises in the ranks of a volunteer corps in
Belgrade. Austria relied upon the strength of unproven assertions to
establish an absolutely untenable case. The Note was not only couched
in the most insulting terms; it demanded an answer within forty-eight
hours. During those forty-eight hours strong diplomatic pressure was
brought to bear upon Servia. She finally consented to eat humble pie.
She was willing to do this in spite of her recent conquests. She had
vanquished Bulgaria and had added considerably to the extent of her
territory. Russia fully appreciated her position. It was difficult for
any Government to accept the terms of such a Note, for the people could
not be expected to understand the political necessity. Nevertheless,
at four o’clock on the fatal Saturday, news was received from Belgrade
that Servia had resolved to submit. Her diplomatists said that she had
no choice. Her army was exhausted. Her stock of munitions was low. She
needed all her available funds to carry on the work of reconstruction
of the devastated country. The Albanians, in the newly acquired
regions, were giving continual trouble. They descended from their
mountains and stole cattle from the Serbs. Expeditions had been sent
against them, but, as the Serbs said, the Albanians had been accustomed
from time immemorial to make an annual descent into the plains for
the purpose of re-victualling, and the fact that the land where their
depredations were made belonged to Servia instead of being a part of
the decrepit Turkish Empire made no difference. Many of the Albanians
hardly knew of the change of government. They needed cattle and corn,
and naturally made raids to get it. Servia, however, was forced to keep
an army on the frontier because of them.

These considerations, and the pressure brought to bear by the Russian
Ambassador, rendered Servia willing to consent to any terms.

Russia stood by her small ally, and sent out an official warning that
she could “not remain indifferent to Servia’s fate.” This softened
the natural chagrin felt by the small State in yielding to Austria.
Servia’s answer was a soft reply to a rough question. She accepted most
of the cruel conditions imposed upon her, but desired to refer one
point to a Hague Convention. Everyone in Austria considered the answer
sufficient. The news circulated in Vienna that the crisis was over. An
emissary from the Vatican, who had been working hard for peace, spread
the joyful news through the city. His face shone with satisfaction as
he passed from group to group in the waiting crowd. “It was a near
thing,” he said, “but the Serbs are well advised to give in.”

Big financiers breathed again, and some of the newspapers began
printing extra editions. The editions were mere sheets of paper,
distributed gratis, as newspapers may not be hawked in the streets in
Austria. They quoted an article in the Servian official paper, saying
that Servia was willing to give in to the demands.

Time went on; such information as could be obtained from persons
connected with foreign diplomatic circles confirmed the news of peace.

As evening set in the news was received that the official answer from
Servia had come. It was quite satisfactory. The Austrian Government had
never thought of Servia’s making such complete surrender. Many people
started off for week-ends in the country, sure that the _communiqué_
that would be issued by the Vienna Foreign Office that night would be
merely an elaboration of the news already spread throughout the city.

The Vienna Bourse, which had been falling slowly and steadily ever
since the assassination of the Archduke, had reached its lowest point
that morning. Servia’s answer had reached Vienna in time to effect
a lightning improvement, and prices were better than they had been
since the beginning of the crisis. Thus there resulted the remarkable
phenomenon that prices were steady and firm on the very day that a
world-war was decided. The Bourse was closed for many months after the
fatal Saturday, the official closing prices remaining a remarkable
testimony to the narrowness of the margin between war and peace.
While the great financiers played on a peace basis, others waited.
Why was the _communiqué_ not issued? Was there a hitch? It was known
that Count Berchtold, the Austro-Hungarian Minister, had telephoned
to Berlin. He wished to consult with the Kaiser before accepting the
reply as sufficient. The German Government said it was too late to
retreat; Servia’s answer must not be accepted, and counselled Berchtold
to recall the Austro-Hungarian Minister at Belgrade. Count Berchtold
followed Germany’s advice; the news became known in Vienna very
quickly. Extra editions were distributed, saying that the Minister had
left Belgrade and that diplomatic relations with Servia were broken
off. Austrian officials let it be known that no declaration of war
would be made, and that a Great Power would not parley with Servia.
Gunboats had already started down the Danube to bombard Belgrade.
Austria considered that a small force would be sufficient to subjugate
Servia, and in the city people spoke of the promenade into Belgrade.
This news was circulated to make any subsequent retreat or withdrawal
impossible.

No one thought of a great war that night, for the news that Russia
intended to stand by Servia had been carefully kept back.

Count Berchtold, having committed the Government to war, had a
difficult task before him. It was very doubtful whether Emperor
Francis Joseph could be prevailed upon to sign the order for a general
mobilisation. Large bodies of troops had already left for both the
Servian and Russian fronts, but no general mobilisation could take
place without an order signed by the Emperor. The aged monarch was
anxious that Servia should be chastised. But he did not wish to risk a
world-war. He was afraid of Russia, with her immense resources both in
men and material. It was now that the long years of work accomplished
by German diplomacy in Vienna bore fruit.

Tchirsky, the German Ambassador, visited Count Berchtold. He showed him
that Austria must go to war or lose her position as a Great Power in
Europe. There would be a world-war, but it must come. Germany intended
to go to Paris and St. Petersburg. This was an opportunity such as
might never come again. It was only the question of dealing with the
old Emperor. If he knew the truth, he would never sign the mobilisation
order. Why should he be consulted? He did not know of the Russian Note.
Why not keep it back until the irrevocable decision had been taken?

Berchtold listened to the voice of the tempter and fell. He informed
the Emperor that Europe would look on with folded hands while Servia
was chastised for the assassination of the Archduke. This seemed very
natural to the old autocrat. He was in residence at Ischl, as usual in
summer-time, and had no opportunity of conversing with anyone who could
have told him the truth about Russia.

It is doubtful whether Berchtold was fully aware of the magnitude of
the decision he had taken upon himself. He was fully aware that he
was deceiving the Emperor, and excused his conduct by his conviction
that the ruler was no longer capable of judging what was best for the
country. He had been attacked by the Vienna Press for years. He was
accused of feebleness and weakness by Count Tchirsky’s organs; now he
would show strength and resolution. As often happens with weak men, he
showed it at the wrong time.

When the news of war was announced in Vienna, the crowd immediately
started for the Servian Legation. The Serbs, with great astuteness,
had always chosen a legation that could not be looted or even damaged
without the rest of the house being pulled down. They always took the
quiet apartments at the back of one of the immense barrack-like houses
that line the great streets in Vienna. Demonstrations had been made
frequently in front of the Legation during the last few weeks, and the
crowd reached the street to find it blocked by troops. It then turned
towards the Embassy quarter. The Vienna police were well prepared.
Several regiments of soldiers had been called out to assist them, and
the Embassies being for the most part close together, it was easy to
guard them. None the less, it was a stirring night. The procession
divided into two streams. One went to the French Embassy, the other
turned its steps towards the Russian and British Embassies. Neither
Germany nor Austria-Hungary imagined for an instant that England would
take part in the fight. They were convinced that she would consider it
to her interest to remain neutral. The crowd, however, with a correct
instinct, regarded England as an enemy. Three times the roughs broke
through the cordon of guards and rushed upon the Embassy buildings,
but were turned back by the military. Those in command had received
very definite orders. The Embassies were to be protected at all costs.
Later on the crowd wreaked its fury upon shops owned by Serbs. They
were gutted in a few minutes, and no one interfered. The police even
stood by and admired the good work. Serbs and Russians were maltreated
in the streets. Terrible incidents occurred. The police were to blame,
for it would have been easy to interfere. Just as they had allowed the
Mohammedans to plunder the Serbs and appropriate their belongings at
Sarajevo after the assassination, so they permitted the same thing to
be done in Vienna. A spirit was roused that will not be easy to quell.
The bloodthirstiness of the mob is easily excited, but calming it is
another matter, as the old despots in France learned to their cost. The
latent quality of cruelty, which is hidden beneath the more obvious
characteristics of the Viennese, was seen at its worst. Good-tempered
toleration gave way to bestiality. That spirit of fair-play which
habitually animates an Austrian crowd was replaced by a desire for
other people’s belongings. The truce between the members of the
various races, kept for half a century, was over. German and Slav were
at war. Racial hate flamed up. Passions that will take long to cool
were excited. The great and tremendous struggle between the two great
predominating races in Eastern Europe, the Germans and the Slavs, had
begun.




CHAPTER XXVIII

WHAT WOULD ENGLAND SAY?


Next morning the jubilant feeling that had pervaded Vienna the night
before was totally gone. A reaction had set in. Everyone realised
that the war was not to be a punitive expedition. It was a world-war.
The telegram sent by Russia was published to the world, and Austria
waited with ill-concealed anxiety to know what England intended to do.
Germany was convinced of England’s neutrality; she was certain that
Italy meant to go in with the two mighty Powers that were to sweep
the European chessboard with their mighty armies. Austria-Hungary was
not so confident as Germany. She knew that Italy was a most uncertain
factor. With diplomatic cunning she had concealed what she knew of
Italy’s intentions from her ally. She had feared that Germany might not
back her if she knew that the two Central Empires would be forced to
stand alone. The Kaiser had always said that he must have a fleet in
the Mediterranean at call before he began a world-war. If Italy stood
by him, everything was easy. Italy now declared her neutrality. The
Austrians expected this, and worse; they said quite freely, “Now that
Italy has the chance, she will turn upon us.” Guilty consciences helped
them to realise the truth. They had oppressed Italy for so long that
they never even expected her to do anything but take advantage of the
chance. Her statesmen were pessimists. They could never share Kaiser
Wilhelm’s optimism. They were aware that Austria had played the part
of tyrant, and did not expect gratitude. Unaccustomed to keep treaties
themselves, they did not expect other people to consider them as
binding when a chance of doing better presented itself. Austria, with
her cynicism, came much nearer the truth than Germany, who oppressed
her Slav subjects and then expected them to join in the song of
“Deutschland über Alles” and to love the Fatherland.

The Austrian politician, with a fineness of perception to which his
German _confrère_ is a stranger, understood that England would go
in with her allies. Germany argued, “It is Britain’s interest to
remain neutral, to capture the whole carrying-trade of Europe.” The
Austrian people hoped and believed that they might be right, but her
politicians had a conviction that Britain would not fall into Germany’s
carefully-spread toils. The Austrians also suspected that Britain knew
more of Germany’s aims than she acknowledged. They always complained
that Britain was an unknown factor. No statesman laid his cards on the
table as the Germans or as they themselves did.

Yet, having no cause to detest Britain, they naturally understood her
better than the Germans, who were blinded by the bitterest hate.

Meanwhile, European diplomacy was loth to believe that the last chance
of peace was gone. Efforts were made to come to some agreement. These
attempts to keep a peace that was already so seriously compromised were
only forlorn hopes. It is just possible that, in spite of everything,
they might have succeeded had it not been for various pieces of
trickery. Germany, whose reputation for honesty still stood high,
did not hesitate to stop important telegrams which were on their way
to Austria. She had made such costly preparations for war that she
considered that it would be inadvisable to withdraw now. Austria was
allowed no chance of reconsidering her decision, although Germany knew
that it had been made upon false premises.

The Viennese, now thoroughly frightened at the future, wished ardently
for peace. The war for which they had clamoured turned out something
very different from what they had expected. They would have to meet
enemies on all sides; only the frontier towards Germany was safe. The
city of Vienna was hastily fortified. It was no use taking chances.
Huge mounds were thrown up on the immense March plain beyond the
Danube, where many battles had been fought in the past. Meanwhile,
the public took enormous interest in the negotiations which were
still being carried on. Sir Edward Grey was the most popular man in
the capital for several days. He had always succeeded in keeping
peace before. Would he be able to do so again? The reply soon came.
Under similar circumstances he had been successful twice before
because Germany was not ready. Now she had finished the last of her
preparations, and did not wish for compromise.

When the news came that Britain was to stand by Russia and France,
there was a burst of rage throughout the country. So much had been
hoped from her neutrality. “The English were shopkeepers. Why had
they not taken the opportunity that fate afforded them and become rich
by supplying the belligerents with arms and provisions?” asked the
Austrians, who now said that Germany had deceived them with promises of
Italian help and British indifference.

The British living in populous centres felt the sudden change of
temperature. Instead of being the most popular among the foreigners,
they were suddenly classed with the Italians, who were the most
detested. This change affected people in various ways. Some stood
firm and were merely amused at the sudden change; other Englishmen,
middle-class gentlemen of pure race who had lived for half a lifetime
in Austria and Hungary, were hastily naturalised. This was hardly a
matter for surprise. They knew that the goods of British subjects
might be confiscated and their money forfeited. Having worked all
their lives for a competency which they wished to enjoy in their old
age, they were naturally loth to see it disappear before their eyes.
In their newly-acquired zeal for Austria, however, they could not let
the matter rest here. They wrote to the local papers saying that they
renounced their country. They had always regretted their nationality
and had never been happy under the rule of their rightful King. The
Austrians read these ebullitions with surprise. They said that they
were sorry that these men had chosen to join their nation instead of
another; they did not want such skunks. The Government then decided to
ask all renegades of means to contribute handsomely to the Red Cross
funds. Those who wished to remain in the country of their adoption must
give a third of their capital to this object. The newly-made Austrians
hurried off to the British consul, only to discover that, by becoming
naturalised, they had forfeited all right to the assistance usually
given to British subjects.

In seaports in Austria and Hungary other Englishmen denounced their
friends and acted as spies in the service of the Austrian Government.
They were men of means. Conduct that might be condoned, if not excused,
in members of the poverty-stricken international colony, which knows
no country and floats from capital to capital in search of a bare
subsistence, was regarded as detestable in men of pure Anglo-Saxon
nationality without the slightest admixture of foreign blood.

The women, curiously enough, trusted to the Austrians and Hungarians to
do them no ill. British diplomatists, fearing for the younger women,
gave their last ready money to get them out before the declaration of
war; but the English girls were not impressed with the necessity of
leaving. They were convinced that Austria did not intend to imperil her
chance of future negotiation by ill-treating women and children.

At the same time there was no show of love for the enemy. They
preferred to lose all they possessed rather than to attempt to become
naturalised. In the same way the British sportsmen went almost to a man
to concentration camps rather than toady to the enemy. These men were
born in Austria-Hungary for the most part. Many came of families that
were virtually Austrian, as they had lived generation after generation
in the country. Some sporting instinct had prevented their grandfathers
from taking out naturalisation papers. The same feeling stopped the
grandsons from any truckling to the enemy.

The most remarkable result of the war was perhaps the stripping off of
all pretences. People who had always posed as being excessively rich
suddenly confessed themselves to be paupers or to have lived beyond
their means. Brave men became cowards; and people whose courage had
often been doubted were revealed as creatures of the old bulldog
type. The diplomatist had a difficult time. The consuls dealt out
passports by the hundred. Sometimes, with a dozen girls all clamouring
for their papers at once and literally hanging on to their coat-tails,
they looked more like stage-managers surrounded by chorus girls than
anything else. “My dear ladies, we are at war,” a plaintive voice was
heard. “You really must put down the age you look.”... “No, I don’t
doubt your word; I know you are only twenty-four, but at the frontier
they will say the passport is stolen.... Forty-five now ... yes, that
is more like it.” “No, it really can’t be done.... As I told the lady
over there, you will have trouble when you want to cross.... We know
you have had a wearing life, and are really much younger than you look
... six children does take it out of one ... yes, yes ... fifty-five
will do.”




CHAPTER XXIX

AUSTRIA’S AWAKENING


“Entrance to these barracks is forbidden.” Sentries stood there to
enforce the new regulation. What did it mean? The steady tramping of
troops had been heard all night. It was not the irregular tread of
Austrians or Hungarians, who walk rather than march. The new troops
kept step; they moved with the precision of machinery. In a wineshop
round the corner from the barracks old Viennese burghers were sitting,
and although it was only 9 a.m. they were taking their mid-morning
lunch. They ate their rye bread and salami, washed down by white wine
from the vineyards on the mountains round the city, which rivalled
champagne in taste. Slowly and deliberately they discussed recent
events. Prussian troops had come on in the night. Vienna was under
German rule.

The Austrian troops were being hurried to the front. Some were going
to Galicia, others towards Servia, and a third lot towards the Italian
front. “No one knows what the Italians may do.... If only we had
kept on good terms with them, we could face the Germans to-day.” “We
must not grumble. It was a choice--either fall into the hands of
the Germans or be overwhelmed with Slavs.” “I prefer the Germans,”
said a fair-haired burgher. “They are kinsmen at least.” “Not the
Prussians. You don’t know the Prussians. They are the last word in
unscrupulousness.” “Clever they are, but without any of the finer
feelings. Save us from the Prussians,” said another. “The Slavs will
prosper in spite of the war.” “They are to be put into the front of
the battle.” “What will be the use of that? It is only one generation,
and there are large families of children at home.” “The Slav mothers
will bring up their children to hate us for this. We shall have more
enemies within our borders.” “The German children will die from want
and neglect. Their mothers are accustomed to comfort, even to luxury;
they cannot till the fields and bring in the crops. But the Slavs,
who are used to poverty and hardship, will weather the storm.” “Yes,
you are right; that is all we shall gain from this war--a Slavonic
Austria-Hungary overrun by Serbs and Croats, who will trade with our
Czechs.” “God save us from the Prussians!” That was heard time and
time again as the Austrians realised that the days of happy-go-lucky
drifting were over for ever, and that all their affairs were handed
over to the care of Prussians. The Austrian always shows great delicacy
of feeling. He is not far behind the Frenchman in this. The German
does not know the significance of the word. His dealings with Austrian
officials, who were suddenly superseded by Germans, were on the
mailed-fist principle. “The Prussian could not behave decently, even
if he tried!” “Trample upon the weak; fling the incapable into the
street!” These were the bitter remarks heard on all sides.

The most imposing but saddest sight of all during the mobilisation was
the arrival of the aged Emperor and his heir in Vienna. The old man,
seated in an open carriage, although the heat was intense, stared at
the vacancy in front of him. His lips were tightly closed. His heir, a
stripling who looks much younger than his years, looked right and left.
The crowd cheered and outdid itself in its expressions of loyalty.
There was no joy in the voices of the people, but a lingering tone
of regret. “Was this the last time that the Emperor would ride by in
state?” “Was his place to be taken by another?”

The Vienna crowd, which had always been sullen and refused to cheer
when Kaiser Wilhelm passed through the streets, had gauged events
with perfect justice. The old man and the stripling--as they called
the Archduke Carl Francis Joseph--were totally unfit to cope with the
Kaiser. The Habsburgs would sink into a subordinate position and be
nothing more than other German princes, once independent, who had sunk
into subserviency to the Prussians. The people, with dim eyes, cheered
again. The Emperor had always been popular. His general audiences,
where he received all and sundry who had a good case to lay before
him, his personal courage, which needed no proof, and other kingly
qualities, always endeared him to the crowd. After ordering the
execution of large numbers of political criminals in the days of his
youth and middle age, he sought to compensate for this in his old age
by pardoning many criminals. He could not be induced to sign a death
sentence. This mercy shown towards men who richly deserved death for
their many crimes made him popular. The crowd saw no discrepancy in
the acts of a sovereign who would slay a hundred men who attempted to
gain freedom for the country without scruple in his youth, and in fear
of punishment after death, refused to permit wrongdoers to be executed
as the time of his passing away grew nearer. They failed to understand
the Emperor’s motive. He hoped that Heaven would overlook his former
crimes towards the subject-peoples if he could show a contra-account of
deeds of mercy.

Archduke Carl Francis Joseph wore an imperturbable expression. No
one could fathom the state of his mind. Was he merely thinking of
his own private affairs, or was he concerned for the fate which hung
over Austria-Hungary? Who shall say? Did he prefer to live as a ruler
without responsibilities, like the King of Saxony, to the toil of the
life of a reigning monarch? So many of the Habsburgs have abdicated
when the responsibilities of a throne have descended upon them, so many
members of the Imperial family have left the pomp and splendour of the
Court for a quiet life in retirement, that it is difficult to surmise
what feelings filled the heart of the young man as he looked forwards
to Armageddon.

The Emperor’s feelings were plain. He had always said, “Après moi le
déluge,” but he realised that the deluge would not wait for his death.
His reign, which had begun to the sound of battle and dire defeat, was
to end to the death-song of the Empire. The sceptre that his ancestors
had confided to him was slipping from his grasp. His adversaries had
been too much for him. Kaiser Wilhelm had used methods which were not
permitted even to politicians. He had broken faith with his ally. The
Emperor, the keener man of the two, was too old, and had not suspected
the depths of falsity under the mask of frank bonhomie. Kaiser Wilhelm
had even deceived the Church, always the adviser and comforter of the
old Emperor.


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Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.

Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69834 ***