side of his character, knew his good qualities also, and were able to estimate his importance correctly. One of these good qualities, and one which would have been of special value to him in the future as ruler, was his dislike of sycophants and flatterers, who merely strengthened his contempt for men. On the other hand, he could bear sharp criticism from those whom he esteemed-their number, it is true, was not great-and, if he was offended at the time, he bore them no grudge for it. In contrast to other great personages, he was in the habit of going to the root of matters and did not content himself with a superficial knowledge; this characteristic, though praiseworthy, was nevertheless extremely inconvenient to his courtiers. Thus, should some event have aroused in him a desire for information on any question, scientific or otherwise, the lot of the officer on his military staff concerned with such matters, and on whom this difficult task fell, was not an easy one; for he had to acquaint himself as thoroughly and quickly as possible with the subject so as to be able to satisfy his master on any point. To deceive him, as other people in high places are often deceived, was quite out of the question; and he who ventured to attempt it inevitably brought about his own downfall. Again, contrary to the usual custom of princes, he required his officials to tell him, not only what was pleasant, but the truth, even if it were disagreeable and not at all flattering to himself.*

* I may give, from my own experience, a small example of this characteristic of the Archduke's. When he was nearing his fiftieth birthday (Dec. 18, 1913), the editor of the 'Oesterreichische Rundschau,' Baron Chlumecky, a first-rate publicist who was in great favour with the Archduke, decided to publish a special number in his honour for the occasion. In this number Franz Ferdinand's personality was to be shown from various sides, from that of a soldier, promoter of the Navy, patron of Art, sportsman, etc. Each of these sections was to be written by a different author, after the consent of the Archduke had been obtained, for no one would venture upon such an undertaking without his knowledge. These articles were to be prefaced by a biography, and the Archduke decided of his own accord that I was to write it, although my name had not appeared in the list of suggested authors laid before him. This in itself was evidence of an independent judgment unusual in a prince; but the reason which guided his choice was still more significant. Shortly before this I had published, at the request of the firm of Cotta, an article on the Archduke for their new journal 'Der Greif,' which was not by any means in the customary Byzantine manner, but which had met with his approval for this very reason. For the purpose of carrying out this work a number of

When the Emperor Franz Josef became so seriously ill in the spring of 1914 that, in view of his great age, the worst was feared, many at the Vienna Court, in Hungary, and in all the extreme national strongholds of the Monarchy, must have trembled, not because of their affection for the Emperor, but because of their fear of his heir, in whom they recognised their most powerful opponent. Other hearts must have beat high with hope because at last the Habsburg throne was to be occupied by the man who alone was capable of saving from destruction the Empire now rocking on its foundations. But their wish was not destined to be fulfilled; the Emperor recovered, and Franz Ferdinand's enemies could breathe again.

During those critical spring days the hour of the Monarchy had struck; Franz Josef's life signified Franz Ferdinand's death. If Franz Josef had died then, instead of two years later, his successor would probably not have gone to Serajevo and would not have been assassinated there; the world war, if inevitable, would have broken out at another time and under different conditions; and the Habsburg Empire might still have been in existence to-day. These are, it is true, fruitless speculations after the event; but they may well be correct, for it is quite probable that, if Franz Ferdinand had ascended the throne he would have endeavoured to arrive at an understanding with Russia, and he would have made a special effort to be on friendly terms with England, for which country he had a special affection and to which he had paid a protracted visit not long before his death. The murderer of Franz Ferdinand did not know that he had killed a man who not only was no enemy to Serbia, but was also one who, when on the albums at Belvedere were placed at my disposal, in which all the references to the Archduke which had appeared in the papers since the year 1895 had been collected and pasted. Among these-and this is the significant point -were included those in which mention was made of the miserliness of himself and his wife, and even one, from a French newspaper, in which he was described as a crétin. It is obvious that the officials entrusted with the collection of these cuttings would never have dared to show him any of such a nature if they had not had strict orders to include every mention of him, even the most insulting.

It is questionable whether Franz Ferdinand would have escaped his fate in any case. His name had long been on the death-list, not only of the actual conspirators but also on that of the continental Freemasons.

Vol. 235.-No. 466.

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throne, would have restored their rights to the Southern Slavs. But he did know that in striking him he struck at Austria, for Franz Ferdinand was the embodiment of the idea of the Austrian State.

III. KARL THE FIRST AND LAST.

When Archduke Karl, son of Archduke Otto, the younger brother of Franz Ferdinand, found himself unexpectedly, through the assassination of the latter, in the position of heir apparent, he scarcely realised the difficulty and magnitude of the task which presumably awaited him in the near future, and entered upon his office to all appearances without misgiving. All his portraits of this period and of the period immediately following his accession wear a contented, smiling expression, showing clearly how pleased he was with his new and exalted dignity, and how little, in spite of the terrible war which raged around him and shook his kingdom to its deepest foundations, he felt as yet the burden he had taken upon his shoulders. Not so much his youth as the easy-going temperament inherited from his father prevented him from realising the immense difficulties of his task and the fearful possibilities of his situation. If he is to be blamed at all for this lack of perception, a great part of the responsibility must fall on those who encouraged him in his optimism by fooling him with Byzantine flatteries and concealing the dangers which threatened him on every side. He was greeted with enthusiasm wherever he appeared; and those who read the daily papers and considered them worthy of credence must have thought the young Emperor and his wife the most popular royal couple under the sun. This Byzantine cult reached its climax on the occasion of Karl's coronation as King of Hungary, which was staged with a display of magnificence worthy of the Middle Ages, and, in the 20th century, had the effect of a provoking anachronism, which, moreover, was a positive mockery of the terrible gravity of the situation at that time.* The young Emperor and his consort

As a matter of interest it may be mentioned that the Byzantine manner was extended even to the menu cards for the banquet, which furnished remarkable examples of servility and bombast.

were the centre of orgies of servility. If he had not possessed so modest and unassuming a nature, these endless panegyrics, these stifling clouds of incense must have completely stupefied him and deluded him into the idea that he was an omnipotent and omniscient being. He was even glorified as a great general, at the expense of the real generals who had carried out the successful offensive in South Tirol in May 1916.

If, in these circumstances, it might almost be called a miracle that the young sovereign did not give way to crazy dreams of his own greatness, it was quite natural, nevertheless, that he should cherish pleasing illusions as to the position of himself and his kingdom, and that he should be quite unable to realise how closely disaster was dogging his footsteps. The glamour of the celebrations, however, was quickly followed by cruel disillusionment; and only a few months later, in the spring of 1917, he knew that his country would not be able to bear the strain of the war much longer, and that the time was approaching when peace would have to be considered, whether it was to be a 'victorious' peace or not.

When Count Czernin had explained to him the gravity of the situation, he made it clear to the Emperor Wilhelm that Austria-Hungary could only hold out until the autumn of the year 1917. Full of anxious fears for his throne and Empire, no doubt he would have preferred to conclude peace with the Entente at once, especially since co-operation with Germany was growing increasingly difficult to him. He, too, experienced the well-known Prussian arrogance and quarrelsomeness, which must have wounded his self-conceit all the more because, though not naturally excessive, it had become sensitive from constant flattery. He felt most bitterly of all the subordination of the joint armies in the East to the command of Hindenburg and Ludendorff. It can readily be understood, therefore, that he was anxious to be delivered as soon as possible from this oppressive and insulting tutelage.

This state of mind furnishes the explanation of his letters to his brother-in-law Prince Sixtus of Parma, the publication of which were to do him so much harm and to cause Germany to reproach him with treachery. A storm of resentment passed through Austria and

Germany when these letters were made public, a storm which was aroused and kept going factitiously by the Pan-German party, and did more to shake the Habsburg throne than any previous event. Quite wrongly, for the Emperor's good intentions were obvious; and it was ungrateful and foolish of the people, who never ceased to wail for peace and to grumble at the unbearable burden of the war, to reward with reproaches and abuse their Emperor's efforts to obtain this peace for them.

This was the first severe shock sustained by the Habsburg throne. The second was not long in coming. It was the failure of the offensive on the Piave in June 1918. The foolish and disastrous system of deception in force in Austria shrouded this tragic catastrophe in mysterious darkness, which, naturally, had far worse consequences than the truth, however sad, would have brought in its train. For out of this darkness there crept sinister rumours which, encouraged by Pan-German and socialistic agents, crystallised into the legend that the Empress Zita, in league with her two brothers fighting in the opposite camp, had betrayed the offensive to the enemy. To this story an air of false probability was given by the fact that the two Princes of Parma were really serving in a foreign army, and that the Empress came of an Italian royal house and had been brought up as an Italian. 'The Empress has betrayed us!'-such was the explanation found by the people for the defeat on the Piave, an explanation which, encouraged by the hatred of the Pan-Germans and Social-Democrats for the Habsburgs, and rooted in the ignorance of the masses, became a smouldering fire which ate away the foundations of the Habsburg throne.

If the people-and this applies not only to the uneducated masses but also to the so-called intelligent classes-had not been deprived of all power of judgment by this hypnosis, they would surely have realised that the Empress would not do anything so mad as to undermine the throne occupied by herself and her husband, to which her eldest son would presumably succeed. And, if they had only known a little history, they would have been aware that, although the Empress was an Italian, yet she came of a royal house which had been deprived of