Book: In the World War

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It is also futile to conjecture how the Archduke would have acted had
he lived to see the war and the upheaval. I think that in two respects
his attitude would have differed from that taken. In the first place,
he never would have agreed to our army being under German control. It
would not have been consistent with his strongly developed autocratic
tendencies, and he was too clever politically not to see that we
should thereby lose all political freedom of action. In the second
place, he would not, like the Emperor Charles, have yielded to
revolution. He would have gathered his faithful followers round him
and would have fallen fighting, sword in hand. He would have fallen as
did his greatest and most dangerous enemy, Stephen Tisza.

But he died the death of a hero on the field of honour, valiantly and
in harness. The golden rays of the martyr's crown surrounded his dying
head. Many there were who breathed more freely on hearing the news of
his death. At the court in Vienna and in society at Budapest there was
more joy than sorrow, the former having rightly foreseen that he would
have dealt hardly with them. None of them could guess that the fall of
the strong man would carry them all with it and engulf them in a world
catastrophe.

Franz Ferdinand will remain portrayed in history as a man who either
loved or hated. But his tragic end at the side of his wife, who would
not allow death to separate them, throws a mild and conciliatory light
on the whole life of this extraordinary man, whose warm heart to the
very last was devoted to his Fatherland and duty.


2

There was a widely-spread but entirely wrongful idea in the Monarchy
that the Archduke had drawn up a programme of his future activities.
This was not the case. He had very definite and pronounced ideas for
the reorganisation of the Monarchy, but the ideas never developed into
a concrete plan--they were more like the outline of a programme that
never was completed in detail. The Archduke was in touch with experts
from the different departments; he expounded the fundamental views of
his future programme to prominent military and political officials,
receiving from them hints on how to materialise these views; but a
really finished and thought-out programme was never actually produced.
The ground lines of his programme were, as already mentioned, the
abolition of the dualism and the reorganisation of the Monarchy to
form a federative state. He was not clear himself into how many states
the Habsburg Monarchy should be converted, but the principle was the
rebuilding of the Monarchy on a national basis. Having always in view
that prosperity depended on the weakening of the Magyar influence, the
Archduke was in favour of a strong preference for the different
nationalities living in Hungary, the Roumanians in particular. Not
until my return to Bucharest and following on my reports did the
Archduke conceive the plan of ceding Transylvania to Roumania and thus
adding Greater Roumania to the Habsburg Empire.

His idea was to make of Austria separate German, Czech, Southern Slav
and Polish states, which in some respects would be autonomous; in
others, would be dependent on Vienna as the centre. But, so far as I
know, his programme was never quite clearly defined, and was subject
to various modifications.

The Archduke had a great dislike for the Germans, especially the
northern Bohemians, who were partisans of the Pan-Germanic tendencies,
and he never forgave the attitude of the Deputy Schoenerer. He had a
decided preference for all Germans in the Alpine countries, and
generally his views were very similar to those of the Christian
Socialists. His political ideal was Lueger. When Lueger was lying ill
the Archduke said to me: "If God will only spare this man, no better
Prime Minister could be found." Franz Ferdinand had a keen desire for
a more centralised army. He was a violent opponent of the endeavours
of the Magyars whose aim was an independent Hungarian army, and the
question of rank, word of command, and other incidental matters could
never be settled as long as he lived, because he violently resisted
all Hungarian advances.

The Archduke had a special fondness for the navy. His frequent visits
to Brioni brought him into close touch with our navy. He was always
anxious to transform the Austrian Navy into one worthy of a Great
Power. In regard to foreign policy, the Archduke was always in favour
of a Triple Alliance of the three Emperors. The chief motive of this
idea must have been that, in the three then apparently so powerful
monarchs at Petersburg, Berlin and Vienna, he saw the strongest
support against revolution, and wished thereby to build up a strong
barrier against disorganisation. He saw great danger to the friendly
relations between Russia and ourselves in the rivalry between Vienna
and Petersburg in the Balkans, and contrary to the reports that have
been spread about him, he was rather a partisan than an opposer of
Serbia. He was in favour of the Serbians because he felt assured that
the petty agrarian policy of the Magyars was responsible for the
constant annoyance of the Serbians. He favoured meeting Serbia
half-way, because he considered that the Serbian question was a source
of discord between Vienna and Petersburg. Another reason was that he
was no friend of King Ferdinand of Bulgaria, who constantly pursued an
anti-Serbian policy. I believe that if those who were responsible for
the organisation of the assassination of the Archduke had known what
little justification there was for supposing him to be the man they
thought him, they would have desisted.

Franz Ferdinand had a very pronounced feeling that in spite of all
alliances the Monarchy must remain independent. He was opposed to any
closer combine with Germany, not wishing to be bound to Germany more
than to Russia, and the plan that was formulated later as "Central
Europe" was always far removed from his wishes and endeavours.

His plans for the future were not worked out, not complete, but they
were sound. This, however, is not sufficient to enable one to say that
they could have been successfully carried out. In certain
circumstances more harm than good will result from energy devoid of
the necessary calm prudence, wisdom and, above all, patience.




CHAPTER III

WILLIAM II


1

The Emperor William has been for so long the centre of historic
events, so much has been written about him, that apparently he should
be known to all the world; and yet I believe he has often been
misrepresented.

It is well known that the scarlet thread running through the whole
character of William II. was his firm conviction that he was the
"elect of God," and that the dynasty was inextricably bound to the
German people. Bismarck also believed in the dynastic fidelity of the
Germans. It seems to me that there is just as little dynastic as
republican spirit in nations--just as little in the Germans as in
others. There is merely a feeling of content or discontent which
manifests itself either for or against the dynasty and the form of
government. Bismarck himself was a proof of the justice of this
argument. As he himself always maintained, he was thoroughly
dynastic--but only during the lifetime of the Emperor William I. He
had no love for William II., who had treated him badly, and made no
secret of his feelings. He hung the picture of the "young man" in the
scullery and wrote a book about him which, owing to its contents,
could not be published.

The Monarchists who derive benefit from their attachment to the
reigning monarch deceive themselves as to their true feelings. They
are Monarchists because they consider that form of government the most
satisfactory one. The Republicans, who apparently glorify the majesty
of the people, really mean themselves. But in the long run a people
will always recognise that form of government which soonest can give
it order, work, prosperity and contentment. In ninety-nine per cent.
of the population the patriotism and enthusiasm for one or other form
of government is nothing but a matter of material considerations. They
prefer a good king to a bad republic, and vice versa; the form of
government is the means to the end, but the end is the contentment of
the people governed. Nor has the liberty of those governed anything to
do with the form of government. Monarchical England is just as free as
Republican America, and the Bolshevists have demonstrated _ad oculus_
to the whole world that the proletariat exercises the greatest
tyranny.

The war that was lost swept away the monarchs, but the Republics will
only be maintained if they can convince the people that they are more
successful in satisfying the masses than the monarchs were, a proof
which--it seems to me--the German-Austrian Republic, at any rate, has
hitherto failed to give.

The conviction that these questionable statements not only are false
but also objectionable and criminal errors; that the Divine Will has
placed the monarch at his post and keeps him there--this conviction
was systematically imprinted in the German people, and formed an
integral part of the views attributed to the Emperor. All his
pretensions are based on this; they all breathe the same idea. Every
individual, however, is the product of his birth, his education and
his experience. In judging William II. it must be borne in mind that
from his youth upwards he was deceived and shown a world which never
existed. All monarchs should be taught that their people do not love
them; that they are quite indifferent to them; that it is not love
that makes them follow them and look up to them, but merely curiosity;
that they do not acclaim them from enthusiasm, but for their own
amusement, and would as soon hiss at them as cheer them. The loyalty
of subjects can never be depended on; it is not their intention to be
loyal, but only contented; they only tolerate the monarchs as long as
they themselves are contented, or as long as they have not enough
strength to abolish them. That is the truth, a knowledge of which
would prevent monarchs from arriving at unavoidably false
conclusions.

The Emperor William is an example of this. I do not think there is
another ruler who had better intentions than he had. He lived only for
his calling--as he viewed it. All his thoughts and longings were
centred round Germany. His relations, pleasures and amusements were
all subservient to the one idea of making and keeping the German
people great and happy, and if good will were sufficient to achieve
great things William II. would have achieved them. From the very
beginning he was misunderstood. He made statements and gestures
intended not only to win his listeners but the whole world, which had
just the contrary effect. But he never was conscious of the practical
effect of his actions, because he was systematically misled, not only
by those in his immediate presence, but by the entire German people.
How many millions, who to-day fling curses at him, could not bow low
enough when he appeared on the horizon in all his splendour; how many
felt overjoyed if the Imperial glance fell on them!--and none of them
realise that they themselves are to blame for having shown the Emperor
a world which never existed, and driven him into a course which he
otherwise would never have taken. It certainly cannot be denied that
the whole nature of the Emperor was peculiarly susceptible to this
characteristically German attitude, and that monarchs less talented,
less keen, less ready, and above all, less impregnated with the idea
of self-sufficiency, are not so exposed to the poison of popularity as
he was.

I once had the opportunity of studying the Emperor William in a very
important phase of his life. I met him at the house of a friend in the
celebrated days of November, 1908, when great demonstrations against
the Emperor occurred in the Reichstag, and when the then Imperial
Chancellor, Prince Buelow, exposed him. Although he did not allude to
the matter to us with whom he was not familiar, the powerful
impression made upon him by these events in Berlin was very obvious,
and I felt that in William II. I saw a man who, for the first time in
his life, with horror-stricken eyes, looked upon the world as it
really was. He saw brutal reality in close proximity. For the first
time in his life, perhaps, he felt his position on his throne to be a
little insecure. He forgot his lesson too quickly. Had the
overwhelming impression which prevailed for several days been a
lasting one it might perhaps have induced him to descend from the
clouds to which his courtiers and his people had raised him, and once
more feel firm ground beneath his feet. On the other hand, had the
German people often treated the German Emperor as they did then it
might have cured him.

A remarkable incident which occurred on this occasion is
characteristic of the way in which the Emperor was treated by many of
the gentlemen of his suite. I had opportunity, while waiting at a
German station restaurant for the arrival of the next train, to watch
and study the excitement of the population at the events in Berlin,
which bore signs of a revolutionary character. The densely crowded
restaurant re-echoed with discussion and criticisms of the Emperor,
when suddenly one of the men stood up on a table and delivered a fiery
speech against the head of the Government. With the impression of this
scene fresh in my mind, I described it to the members of the Emperor's
suite, who were just as disagreeably affected by the episode, and it
was suggested that nothing should be said about it to the Emperor. One
of them, however, protested most energetically and declared that, on
the contrary, every detail should be told to the Emperor, and, so far
as I know, he himself probably undertook this disagreeable task. This
case is characteristic of the desire to keep all unpleasantness from
the Emperor and to spare him even the most well-founded criticisms; to
praise and exalt him, but never to show that he was being blamed. This
systematic putting forward of the Emperor's divine attributes, which
in reality was neither due to love of his personality nor any other
dynastic cause, but to the purely egotistical wish not to get into
disfavour themselves or expose themselves to unpleasantness; this
unwholesome state must in the long run act on mind and body as an
enervating poison. I readily believe that the Emperor William,
unaccustomed to so great an extent to all criticism, did not make it
easy for those about him to be open and frank. It was, nevertheless,
true that the enervating atmosphere by which he was surrounded was the
cause of all the evil at his court. In his youth the Emperor William
did not always adhere strictly to the laws of the Constitution; he
subsequently cured himself of this failing and never acted
independently of his counsellors. At the time when I had official
dealings with him he might have served as a model of constitutional
conduct.

In the case of so young and inexperienced a man as the Emperor Charles
it was doubly necessary to uphold the principle of ministerial
responsibility to the fullest extent. As according to our Constitution
the Emperor is not responsible to the law, it was of the greatest
importance to carry out the principle that he could undertake no
administrative act without the cognisance and sanction of the
responsible Ministers, and the Emperor Francis Joseph adhered to this
principle as though it were gospel.

The Emperor Charles, though full of good intentions, was devoid of all
political training and experience, and ought to have been brought up
to understand the principles of the Constitution. This, however, had
never been taken into consideration.

After my resignation in April, 1918, a deputation from the
Constitutional and Central Party in the Herrenhaus waited on the Prime
Minister, Dr. von Seidler, and pointed out the importance of a
severely constitutional regime, whereupon Dr. von Seidler declared
that he took upon himself the full responsibility of the "letter
incident."

This was quite preposterous. Dr. von Seidler could not be responsible
for events that had occurred a year before--at a time when he was not
Minister--apart from its being an established fact that during his
tenure of office he was not aware of what had happened, and not until
after my resignation did he learn the Imperial views on the situation.
He might just as well have accepted responsibility for the Seven Years
War or for the battle of Koeniggraetz.

In 1917 and '18, when I had certain official dealings with the Emperor
William, his horror of an unpleasant discussion was so great that it
was a matter of extreme difficulty to impart the necessary information
to him. I recollect how once, at the cost of the consideration due to
an Emperor, I was compelled to extract a direct statement from him. I
was with the Emperor Charles on the Eastern front, but left him at
Lemberg and, joining the Emperor William in his train, travelled with
him for a couple of hours. I had certain things to submit to him, none
of which was of an unpleasant nature. I do not know why it was, but it
was obvious that the Emperor was expecting to hear some disagreeable
statements, and offered a passive resistance to the request for a
private interview. He invited me to breakfast with him in his
dining-car, where he sat in the company of ten other gentlemen, and
there was no possibility of beginning the desired conversation.
Breakfast had been over some time, but the Emperor made no sign of
moving. I was several times obliged to request him to grant me a
private interview before he rose from the table, and even then he took
with him an official from the Foreign Ministry to be present at our
conversation as though to have some protection against anticipated
troubles. The Emperor William was never rude to strangers, though he
often was so to his own people.

With regard to the Emperor Charles, the situation was very different.
He was never anything but friendly; in fact I never saw him angry or
vexed. There was no need for any special courage in making an
unpleasant statement to him, as there was no danger of receiving a
violent answer or any other disagreeable consequences. And yet the
desire to believe only what was agreeable and to put from him anything
disagreeable was very strong in the Emperor Charles, and neither
criticism nor blame made any lasting impression on him. But in his
case, too, the atmosphere that surrounded him rendered it impossible
to convince him of the brutal realities prevailing. On one occasion,
when I returned from the front, I had a long conversation with him. I
reproached him for some act of administration and asserted that not
only on me but on the whole Monarchy his action had made a most
unfavourable impression. I told him in the course of the conversation
that he must remember how, when he came to the throne, the whole
Monarchy had looked to him with great hopes, but that now he had
already lost 80 per cent. of his popularity. The interview ended
without incident; the Emperor preserved, as usual, a friendly
demeanour, though my remarks must have affected him unpleasantly. Some
hours later we passed through a town where not only the station but
all buildings were black with people, standing even on the roofs,
waving handkerchiefs and loudly welcoming the Imperial train as it
passed through. The same scenes were repeated again and again at other
stations that we passed. The Emperor turned to me with a smile and a
look that showed me he was firmly convinced everything I had told him
as to his dwindling popularity was false, the living picture before
our eyes proving the contrary.

When I was at Brest-Litovsk disturbances began in Vienna owing to the
lack of food. In view of the whole situation, we did not know what
dimensions they would assume, and it was considered that they were of
a threatening nature. When discussing the situation with the Emperor,
he remarked with a smile: "The only person who has nothing to fear is
myself. If it happens again I will go out among the people and you
will see the welcome they will give me." Some few months later this
same Emperor disappeared silently and utterly out of the picture, and
among all the thousands who had acclaimed him, and whose enthusiasm he
had thought genuine, not one would have lifted a little finger on his
behalf. I have witnessed scenes of enthusiasm which would have
deceived the boldest and most sceptical judge of the populace. I saw
the Emperor and the Empress surrounded by weeping women and men
wellnigh smothered in a rain of flowers; I saw the people on their
knees with uplifted hands, as though worshipping a Divinity; and I
cannot wonder that the objects of such enthusiastic homage should have
taken dross for pure gold in the firm belief that they _personally_
were beloved of the people, even as children love their own parents.
It is easy to understand that after such scenes the Emperor and
Empress looked upon all the criticism of themselves and the discontent
among the people as idle talk, and held firmly to the belief that
grave disturbances might occur elsewhere but not in their own country.
Any simple citizen who has held for a time a higher position
experiences something of the kind, though in a lesser degree. I could
mention names of many men who could not bow low enough as long as I
was in power, but after my resignation would cross the street to avoid
a bow, fearing that Imperial disfavour might react on them. But years
before his rise the simple citizen has an opportunity of learning to
know the world, and, if he be a man of normal temperament, will feel
the same contempt for the servility shown during his time in office as
for the behaviour he meets with afterwards. Monarchs are without
training in the school of life, and therefore usually make a false
estimate of the psychology of humanity. But in this tragi-comedy it is
they who are led astray.

It is less easy, however, to understand that responsible advisers, who
are bound to distinguish between reality and comedy, should also allow
themselves to be deceived and draw false political conclusions from
such events. In 1918 the Emperor, accompanied by the Prime Minister,
Dr. von Seidler, went to the South Slav provinces to investigate
matters there. He found, of course, the same welcome there as
everywhere, curiosity brought the people out to see him; pressure from
the authorities on the one hand, and hope of Imperial favours on the
other, brought about ovations similar to those in the undoubtedly
dynastic provinces. And not only the Emperor, but von Seidler returned
in triumph, firmly convinced that everything stated in Parliament or
written in the papers respecting the separatist tendencies of the
South Slavs was pure invention and nonsense, and that they would never
agree to a separation from the Habsburg Empire.

The objects of these demonstrations of enthusiasm and dynastic
loyalty were deceived by them, but I repeat that those who were to
blame were not the monarchs, but those who were the instigators and
organisers of such scenes and who omitted to enlighten the monarchs on
the matter. But any such explanation could only be effectual if all
those in the immediate neighbourhood of the ruler concurred in a
similar reckless disregard of truth. For if one out of ten people
declares such scenes to be not genuine and the others contradict him
and assert that the demonstrations of the "love of the people" are
overwhelming, the monarch will always be more inclined to listen to
the many pleasant rather than to the few unpleasant counsels.
Willingly or unwillingly, all monarchs try, very humanly, to resist
awakening out of this hypnotic complacency. Naturally, there were men
in the entourage of the German Emperor whose pride kept them from
making too large an offering to the throne, but as a rule their
suffering in the Byzantine atmosphere of Germany was greater than
their enjoyment. I always considered that the greatest sycophants were
not those living at court, but generals, admirals, professors,
officials, representatives of the people and men of learning--people
whom the Emperor met infrequently.

During the second half of the war, however, the leading men around the
Kaiser were not Byzantine--Ludendorff certainly was not. His whole
nature was devoid of Byzantine characteristics. Energetic, brave, sure
of himself and his aims, he brooked no opposition and was not
fastidious in his choice of language. To him it was a matter of
indifference whether he was confronted by his Emperor or anyone
else--he spoke unrestrainedly to all who came in his way.

The numerous burgomasters, town councillors, professors of the
universities, deputies--in short, men of the people and of
science--had for years prostrated themselves before the Emperor
William; a word from him intoxicated them--but how many of them are
there now amongst those who condemn the former regime with its abuses
and, above all, the Emperor himself!

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