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.