SEVEN YEARS IN VIENNACHAPTER IKING EDWARD AT ISCHL—THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
Itwas mid-August in 1907. King Edward of England, who had been undergoing a “cure” at Marienbad, was expected at Ischl, where the Austrian Court was in residence. The whole place was hung with flags that were put up at the last moment, as the “Gem of the Salzkammergut,” as Ischl is often called, is one of the wettest spots in the country. The local trains brought large numbers of peasants, in their picturesque costume, who wanted to take advantage of the opportunity of seeing the King of England. Other “peasants,” in badly-fitting costumes, also came down in the Vienna night express. Their white knees, left bare beneath the short leather breeches, plainly showed thatthey were not accustomed to wearing the Styrian costume. The peasant girls eyed them dubiously; one suggested that a little walnut-juice would improve matters, while their little brothers whispered “police.” The real peasants crowded around the station, and watched the red carpet being laid, ready for royalty. They then turned to see Emperor Francis Joseph drive up to the gates. He arrived twenty minutes before the train was expected, as usual, for being a great stickler for etiquette he always feared that some accident orcontretempsmight delay him, and the visitor reach the station before the host. He dreaded nothing so much as a breach of etiquette or good manners, and was willing to take any trouble to avoid even the possibility of such a thing. The train from Marienbad steamed into the station, the monarchs embraced; their intercourse had always been most cordial. The King respected the simple old man, who had until then guided the destinies of his country with great astuteness; while the Emperor of Austria esteemed the statesman, for in Austria-Hungary and the Balkans King Edward was reckoned as the most skilful diplomatist of his time. As the Imperial carriage, with the gilt wheels, drove through the streets, the people cheered heartily.King Edward was the most popular of foreign monarchs in Austria, and the minimum of precautions were taken for his safety. In spite of this the Austrian police, ever watchful, took stock of every fresh arrival in the place for days before the King appeared. On the morning of the visit they ascertained what persons would be seated in windows commanding the line of route, and carefully watched the houses that might harbour anarchist or other assassins. The uninitiated suspected nothing of all this. The long line of firemen that lined the streets looked like members of the local brigade. It was not suspected that they were specially trained men, who knew how to act and to co-operate at the right moment with the “peasants,” also members of the same highly-organised force. They all stood apparently careless and inattentive. Presently a carriage, in which a spare, tall, pock-marked man was seated, drove through the street. He was the Emperor’s private detective. His appearance always heralded that of the monarchs, and the firemen braced themselves for a combined movement, either to the right or left, forwards or backwards, as previously arranged. The police behind helped with the work, and just as the Imperial carriage flashed by, everyone in the crowd pushed forward,sideways, or backwards, as though by accident. Any intending assassin would have lost his place at the front, and have missed the golden opportunity, through this clever manœuvre of the police. These precautions were always taken for every Royal visitor, for although Emperor Francis Joseph himself was accustomed to stroll about the Ischl woods, and went hunting in the forests quite unattended, he took care that his guests were exposed to no risks.
Everything went off as arranged, although there was a strained feeling in the air, partly due to the thundery weather. It was known, too, that King Edward was on a diplomatic tour throughout Europe, and the people knew that meetings of monarchs in summer are often of great importance, even when they are unaccompanied by their Ministers. Emperor Francis Joseph is practically a despotic monarch, for the Austro-Hungarian Constitution exists merely on paper. He alone decides the foreign policy of the country, and determines whether there shall be peace or war. Thus he is in a position to make decisions for his country, without consulting his Ministers. Austria-Hungary had long been quiet, almost to the point of stagnation. Her statesmen had been fully occupiedin paying off the burdens incurred during the last war, and were now delighted that, after a succession of deficits, they could at length turn out Budgets with surpluses at the end of the financial year.
There was trouble with Servia, it is true, Austrian machinations had deprived Servia of an outlet to the sea. Servia, being a pastoral and agricultural country, wished to sell her products, and Austria, the natural market, was closed to her.
The Austrians, who were very short of meat, promised to take over Servian meat, but the Hungarian agrarians, or large land-owners, who wanted to keep up the prices of their own products, managed to prevent this. They appointed veterinary surgeons to examine imported meat; and by unjustly condemning the Servian meat at the frontier, they succeeded in preventing its import. This line of conduct caused much greater discontent among the Servs than a downright refusal to admit their products would have done. They naturally objected to being cheated by their powerful and unscrupulous neighbours, and the friction caused by the “Servian Pig” question was continual. Otherwise the Balkans were strangely, almost uncannily, quiet. There were no massacresto report, no bands who roamed the country and committed depredations. It seemed that the two monarchs could have nothing to discuss. As the Emperor brought the King back to the Hotel Elisabeth in the afternoon, the faces of both monarchs could be seen very plainly in the blaze of the sun that was pouring down with great fierceness. Emperor Francis Joseph looked much older than he had done that morning. His face was drawn, the fine lines on the parchment-like skin were deepened. It did not need any unusual acuteness to see that something had gone wrong. King Edward walked up to his suite of rooms with something weary in his step. The Emperor, freed from the restraint of the King’s presence, returned to the Imperial villa, his slight frame shrunken to half its usual size, his soldierly bearing gone.
All Ischl went home to dress for the gala performance at the tiny Court theatre. It was always difficult to get tickets at the bijou theatre when members of the Imperial family were expected; on the night of King Edward’s visit it was impossible to obtain them. The police excluded all foreigners by careful manipulation. By evening it was already known in Ischl that the Emperor and the King had quarrelled violently. Attendants, posted behind doors, readyto spring to attention, overhear many things. They could give no details of what the subject under discussion had been, but they said that Emperor Francis Joseph had lost his temper in the presence of a foreign King, and although outbursts of this kind were common enough within the family, it was an unprecedented thing in the presence of a stranger. They knew that the occasion had been no ordinary one, and that the future policy of the country had been under consideration.
Just as the curtain went up for the performance of some light musical comedy, the sort of play that is at its very best in Vienna, the thunderstorm that had been threatening all day long, broke outside. The rain rattled down on the roof of the theatre. The real heroine of the piece, who had been brought down from the capital on purpose, was a dazzlingly beautiful woman; she laughed, danced, and pirouetted all over the stage. She was the very embodiment of Vienna “cheek.” Just at the end of the first act—royalty never sees a piece through when on State visits—she abruptly turned her back towards the Imperial box. She was lightly clad, even for the Austrian stage, as she tripped laughingly to the front, and carried out her instructions. A thrill went through the audience.Would the King understand? His British phlegm stood him in good stead. He remained in his seat, although he was sufficiently acquainted with Austrian manners and customs to comprehend the somewhat heavy witticism. Only when the curtain fell did he rise and leave the theatre. “What was the meaning of the insult?” asked all Ischl. “What did it portend?” They learnt the answer just seven years later to the very day.
The people about the palace discussed the incident at the theatre. They understood that it was meant as a hint to the King that his presence in Austria was not desired, if he came to discuss politics. As a private friend and a brother monarch he was always welcome. He had attempted to show the Emperor that the close alliance with Germany was not for the good of Europe. Not merely that, but Austria-Hungary herself would imperil her existence as a great Power if she allowed herself to become merged in Germany. The aged Emperor, who had long been accustomed to depend upon Germany for assistance against the Slavs, would not listen to the King. He was perhaps aware that his policy was wrong, but being obstinate, like all the Habsburgs, he would not acknowledge it. He did not intend to alter his policyat the eleventh hour, in any case. If there must be a change let his successor see to it. King Edward made due allowance for the Emperor’s age, but it is doubtful whether he ever again made any direct effort to turn Austria from her fatal path. She stood at the parting of the ways. Her Emperor chose her destiny that summer day in Ischl. Diplomatists and Ambassadors took up the King’s task; they repeatedly pointed out the disastrous consequences of the close alliance with Germany. Instead of discussing the situation with Italy, Austria-Hungary informed Germany of what was happening. Instead of keeping the balance equal between Italy and Germany, Austria-Hungary really concluded a partnership with Germany; the Triple Alliance degenerated into a Dual Alliance that kept up an understanding with the third partner. Italy was quick to realise this. So long as Russia and France were allied, and occupied a position that was a set-off to that held by Germany and an Austria that had not given up her liberty of action, European peace was assured. Great Britain and Italy were not bound to their Allies to any great extent.
The result of the meeting at Ischl soon made itself felt. Italian diplomatists began to backout of their obligations towards Germany and Austria-Hungary. Their policy of “cooling down,” at first barely perceptible, took form somewhat later, at the renewal of the Triple Alliance, when Italy promised very little in return for the many “benefits” heaped upon her by Germany. Great Britain, aware of the danger of the centre of the European chessboard being occupied by one vast State, stretching from the North Sea and Baltic to the Adriatic, was more inclined to listen to advances from France and Russia, and to deliberate upon the advantages of a closer contact with Germany’s enemies. The suggestion made by France, that Great Britain should introduce conscription, prevented the understanding becoming anything more. France pointed out the necessity of preparing for an aggressive move on the part of Germany, but Great Britain would not even consider a proposition so far from her theories of government as was conscription.