At Berlin and at Potsdam the kaiser keeps his court chaplains under very strict discipline, and they expose themselves to a stern reprimand if they presume to extend their pulpit orations beyond the term of ten or, at the most, fifteen minutes. Emperor William very justly takes the ground that if they are sufficiently concise in their remarks, they can say all that they have to say within that space of time, and if their discourse is prolonged beyond the stipulated period it loses its force and its power of retaining the interest and the attention of the congregation.
The emperor does not hesitate to call the divines to account when they enunciate doctrines of which he does not approve, and whereas in former reigns a court chaplaincy was regarded in the light of an office for life, it is now considered as a merely temporary appointment, so frequent are the dismissals.
At the Dome at Berlin, and at the Garrison Church at Potsdam, the emperor follows the service with an air of mingled devotion and authority that is rather amusing. While most devout and fervent in his prayers, and joining in the hymns in such a manner that his ringing baritone voice is easily discernible above the rest, his eyes wander in a stern fashion around the church, quick to note any member of the congregation who is not behaving with proper decorum and reverence. He conveys the impression that he considers it to be his duty to keep the congregation in proper order, and if he finds that either he, or the imperial party is being stared at with any degree of persistency or curiosity, he at once sends off one of his officers to sharply warn the offenders. Indeed, he has more than once caused it to be made known through official communications to the press that he thoroughly disapproves of being stared at when attending church, and engaged in his devotions.
Like William, Francis-Joseph has made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and the Holy Land, but it was without any fuss or pomp. In fact, there are few persons, save those connected with the Court of Austria, who are aware that Austria's ruler ever visited the Holy Land. He went there in 1869, traveling in the strictest incognito, and attended only by two of his gentlemen-in-waiting and two servants, after the inauguration of the Suez Canal, at which he had been present. There was no solemn entry on horseback into the city that witnessed the foundation of Christianity, and while he prayed at the Holy Places like Emperor William, he did so quietly and unobtrusively, without attracting any attention. His pilgrimage was characterized by the same unaffected humility that distinguishes his religion from that of his brother monarch at Berlin.
William's faith still retains the enthusiasm and, if I may use the word, the exuberance of youth, whereas that of Francis-Joseph, though even more fervent, is chastened, humbled and mellowed by the experience of many a cruel sorrow and many a hard blow. To some of these he would have succumbed had it not been for his religious belief. There have been at least three different occasions during his fifty years' reign when he would have abandoned his throne, and abdicated his crown had it not been pointed out to him by his spiritual adviser that it was his duty—his religious duty—to remain at his post, and to bear with bravery the trials with which he was overwhelmed.
The first of these occasions was at the close of the disastrous wars of 1866, when the march of the Prussians on Vienna was only stayed within a few hours' distance of the capital by the ignominious peace of Nicolsburg. The second time was when he lost his only son by the frightful tragedy of Mayerling, and he saw his boy's body refused even Christian rites of burial by the church, until he had been able to convince the kindly old pontiff at Rome that the poor lad's mind was unbalanced at the time that he took his life. The third occasion was when his lovely consort, to whom, in spite of all that is said to the contrary, he was so deeply devoted, was taken from him by the hand of an assassin in a foreign land, and under peculiarly heartrending circumstances.
Moreover, he saw the body of his brother Maximilian brought home from the Mexican plain of Queretaro, where he had been shot down by a file of soldiers as if a vulgar criminal; he stood by the deathbed of a favorite niece, burnt to death before his eyes in the palace of Schoenbrunn, when her dress had caught fire from a lighted cigarette which she was endeavoring to conceal from him and from her father; he followed to the grave another favorite of his, a nephew, accidentally killed while out shooting. Indeed, there is no end to the tragedies which have gone to sadden the life of this now septuagenarian monarch, and while on ordinary occasions, especially when engaged in military inspections or in great court functions, he appears to retain the elasticity, vigor and temperament of a man still in his prime, yet when in church or chapel, attending divine service, and so wrapped up in his devotions that he becomes oblivious to his surroundings, the restraint which he puts upon his feelings at other times disappears, and one is able to realize the extent of his sufferings, and how supreme is the consolation that he finds in his religion.
Vienna is the only capital in the world where one can see a full-fledged monarch kneeling bareheaded in the streets, and offering up prayers in the most fervent manner, the spectacle exciting not ridicule, but sentiments of profound reverence and sympathy on the part of the people—Christians, Jews, and Mohammedans from Herzegovina and Bosnia—who throng the thoroughfares of the beautiful city on the Danube. The sight is witnessed each year, on the occasion of the Corpus Christi procession. This glorious procession starts out from the Cathedral of St. Stephen at an early hour in the morning, and the entire route through the various streets which it traverses Is kid with boards, over which grass is strewn. At various points along the way there are altars, or so-called reposoirs, where the Sacred Host is placed for a few moments, the emperor and the great personages with him kneeling piously on the ground and offering up prayers.
The procession is opened by choristers, then come priests and monks with hands crossed upon their breasts, next the rectors of the various metropolitan parishes, displaying their distinctive banners like the knights of old. The municipal authorities, the officers of the imperial household, the Knights Grand Cross of the various orders, the cabinet ministers, and the principal dignitaries of the army, of the navy, and of the crown. Finally, comes a magnificent canopy borne by generals, under which walks the tall and stately Cardinal Archbishop of Vienna, carrying the Host, to which the troops lining the route bend the knee while presenting arms, the civilians behind them baring their heads, while the women cross themselves. Immediately behind the Host, bareheaded and alone, with a lighted candle in his hand, and wearing the full uniform of an Austrian field marshal,—a snow-white cloth tunic with scarlet and gold facings,—strides the aged emperor, still erect as a dart, with all the slender, shapely elegance of a man of thirty, in spite of his three-score years and ten. He is followed by the archdukes, conspicuous among them the gigantic Archduke Eugene, grand master of the Teutonic Order, in the semi-ecclesiastical habits of his rank, while the procession is brought to a close by escorts of the superbly arrayed Archer and Hungarian Body Guards.
The spectacle is impressive, and the silence along the route, save for the chanting of the choristers, and the recitation of prayers in an undertone by the clergy, adds to the solemnity of the occasion. In days gone by, the murdered empress used to figure in the procession in full court dress and followed by her ladies, but now women take no part therein.