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.
The Duchess Hohenberg.
wife of the Archduke.
