Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (58 page)

On Saturday there were
perceptibly more uniforms to be seen about in the cafés and gardens. Overnight,
hundreds of thousands of reservists all over the country had laid aside their
civilian clothes and got out tunics, breeches and shakos that had been packed
away with moth balls in tin boxes. The Duke had no doubt at all that ever since
July 7th, the day on which von Hötzendorf had first demanded mobilization,
every military establishment in the Empire had been making frantic secret
preparations. This influx into the streets of men in creased and often shabby
uniforms was the beginning of the final phase. Austria-Hungary still refrained
from openly mobilizing the whole of her Army, so as not to provoke Russia
deliberately; but she had mobilized eight Army corps and was now ready to set
about the chastisement of her small neighbour.

That afternoon de Lazalo
was allowed nearly an hour to make a real start on his portrait of Ilona.
Before leaving, she complimented him on his masterful brush work, but warned
him with a smile that she did not want him to finish it too quickly; then
reminded him that she expected him to tea next day.

Being summer-time, she
was occupying her apartments in the Schönbrunn Palace and, as on this occasion
De Richleau was waiting on her officially, he again donned his sky-blue Hussars
uniform to go there. In Ilona’s drawing-room he found a dozen people, the
Aulendorfs and Adam Grünne among them. Sárolta was not present, but Ilona
introduced him to a Fraulein Nopsca who, she said with a twinkle in her eye,
had consented to take Paula von Wolkenstein’s place for a while, as the ‘poor’
Baroness had asked for leave to take the waters at Homburg on account of her
health. The new lady-in-waiting was a tall, fair-haired young woman with
serious expression and a Roman nose too large for her face. But on talking to
her De Richleau found her intelligent and pleasant.

Everyone there was
discussing the Serbian reply to the ultimatum. In spite of the brutal challenge
to Serbian independence that it answered, it had been completed within the
stipulated forty-eight hours and handed to Baron Giesel, the Austrian Minister
in Belgrade, at six o’clock the previous evening. For any Cabinet to have
agreed a reply in so short a time, when on it hung the fate of their nation,
was remarkable; but more remarkable still was the pacific tone of the answer.
The Serbs accepted all the demands made upon them, except one which would
infringe their constitution; and even that they were willing to submit for
arbitration to the Hague Tribunal.

The Aulendorfs and
another elderly couple were of the opinion that once the measures stipulated
had been carried out, there would be no more to fear from Serbia, and the Dual
Monarchy should rest content with having won a fine bloodless victory; but the
younger people were greatly disappointed at their enemy bowing the neck so
humbly, and hoped that some excuse might yet be found to launch a war. De
Richleau was amazed that the Serbs had turned the other cheek. He could account
for it only on the theory that the Serbian Government had, although
unwillingly, been to some extent privy to the murders and, having been freed
from Dimitriyevitch’s strangle-hold upon it, was now both able and willing to
do its utmost to make amends. If he was right in his belief, since it was he
who had removed that strangle-hold, his mission had, after all, paid an
incalculably high dividend; but he knew only too well that its final value
still hung in the balance, and that if von Hötzendorf had his way it would prove
worth nothing.

By mid-day on Monday the
Austro-Hungarian Government had not expressed its satisfaction at the Serbian
reply, and a spate of special editions informed the waiting crowds that excitement
was intense in every capital in Europe. The foreign papers, which were still
flowing freely into Vienna, showed from their Sunday editions that the great
bulk of opinion outside the Dual Monarchy was that she now had no cause
whatever to complain further; and that Serbia was considered to have made great
sacrifices in a most laudable effort to keep the peace.

That afternoon De
Richleau and Ilona met again in de Lazalo’s studio; but she could tell him
nothing of her Government’s intentions. Since moving back to Sacher’s he had
resumed his old round of entertaining and being entertained by his many
Austrian friends. On that evening he dined with the Liechtensteins. After
dinner another special edition was brought in and handed round. It stated that
the Kaiser had returned from his Norwegian cruise the previous night, but
otherwise appeared to contain nothing fresh. However, a heading to one of the
smaller paragraphs caught the Duke’s eye. It read:

“British Naval Measures.
No Manœvre Leave.” There followed an official Admiralty statement to the effect
that the First Fleet would remain concentrated at Portland and that the vessels
of the Second Fleet would remain at their home ports in close proximity to
their balance crews.

Again, it was a measure
which could give offence to nobody; but once more that vigilant guardian of
Britain’s shores, Mr. Churchill, was making it plain for all who had eyes to
see that no German Fleet could hope to attack the French Channel ports without
encountering overwhelming opposition.

Tuesday, the 28th, proved
to be the fatal day. At eleven o’clock that morning Count Berchtold telegraphed
to Belgrade that, “The Royal Serbian Government not having answered in a
satisfactory manner the note of July 23rd, Austria-Hungary consequently
considered herself in
a
state
of war with Serbia”.

The news was all over
Vienna by mid-day. There was a rumour that Serbian troops had already fired
upon an Austrian detachment the previous afternoon. Indignation at this
unprovoked attack, coupled with relief that they were not to be robbed by
unwelcome mediation of their longed-for revenge, drove the people of Vienna
into a frenzy of excitement. Military bands paraded the streets, blaring forth
martial music. The crowds waved flags and wore paper hats, as though at a
carnival. Shop-girls, laundry-hands and seamstresses left their work to dance
in the squares and fling their arms round any soldier they could see. Flowers
rained upon every detachment of troops that marched through the streets, and
smart young officers strutted about with garlands round their necks. Night came
down upon a saturnalia, excusable as a demonstration of relief after a great
national deliverance; but made possible now only through an utter lack of
understanding of what war meant, and of the endless distress, anxiety and
tragedy which must follow in its train.

On Wednesday morning the
streets were as crowded as on the previous day. Business had come to a
standstill and hordes of people besieged the newspaper offices for tidings of
the first clash of the armies. The great Austrian siege guns firing a 19
centimetre shell, which were made at the famous Skoda works in Bohemia, were
believed to be the most powerful land guns in the world and superior in
performance to anything that even Krupps could produce. It was said that these
monster cannon were already in operation and bombarding Belgrade across the
Danube. Thoughtless of death and havoc, people who a month before had lived
only to hear the new rendering of a classical sonata, howled with delight.

Meanwhile, bodies of
smiling troops swung through the streets, lustily singing gay marching songs.
The great majority of them were reservists, or young conscripts, on their way
to training camps, where they would spend several weeks, if not months, being
knocked into shape before they were called on to face an enemy. But the crowds
gave them an ovation the equal of any triumph granted by a Roman Senate to a
Caesar, after long years of desperate and successful struggle to keep barbarian
hordes beyond the boundaries of the Empire.

De Richleau watched it
all with unsmiling eyes. He was no pessimist by nature, but ever since he had
reached manhood war had been his game. He had seen too many youngsters,
grinning, vigorous, determined at one moment, and screaming like maniacs from
shell-rent flesh or smashed bone the next; too many still, twisted corpses and
pulped, messy heads. But his own effort to prevent the colossal madness had
failed, and there was nothing more that he could do.

In the afternoon he went
to de Lazalo’s, and after Ilona’s sitting had twenty minutes alone with her. So
far none of the other nations had made any move to intervene in the
Austro-Serbian conflict, and this made Ilona optimistic that they would
continue to refrain from doing so. Eagerly, she pointed out a passage in a
paper she had brought with her. It stated that the British Foreign Secretary,
Sir Edward Grey, had not given up hope of inducing the two warring countries to
cease hostilities and submit their differences to a conference of the Powers;
and he was said to be doing his utmost to persuade Germany to agree to support
this proposal. Ilona took the statement as an indication of Britain being so
anxious to maintain the peace that, whatever happened, she would not allow
herself to be drawn in.

Out of love for his
Princess, De Richleau did not contest her arguments, but secretly he did not
agree with them. He was still convinced that, reluctant as Britain might be to
go to war, if France were attacked, she would fight. He realized too, better
than most people, the terrible hidden forces that seethed and bubbled beneath
the thin, fair crust of apparent good will. However confident any of the great
nations might be in its power to achieve victory in the end, all were terrified
that an enemy might move a jump ahead of them and deliver the first stunning
blow. To guard against that, every Chief of Staff must now be imploring his
Government to authorize him to mobilize; and, like a chain of fireworks, once
one nation mobilized, the others would follow suit within a matter of hours. Then,
kings and ministers might still strive to maintain the peace, but it would need
only a few shots between frontier patrols for the peace-time masters to be
thrust aside, like puppets who had outworn their use. Automatically, the
Generals would take charge and throw their mighty machines into gear. Almost
before the shots on the frontier had ceased to echo, the cannon would thunder
and the nations be at death grips, which could be severed only after one or
other side had become too weakened by loss of blood to continue the struggle.

So strongly did this
foreboding weigh on the Duke’s mind that, although he told Ilona nothing of his
intention, he decided to begin that evening saying good-bye to his friends.
Since leaving the nursing home he had purposely refrained from calling on Count
Tisza, as he was most averse to being made the recipient of further confidences
by that statesman. But, as a man, he liked him better than anyone he had met
for a very long time, and he was loath to leave without expressing the hope
that they would meet again in happier circumstances. So, at about half past
ten, after he had seen off two couples who had dined with him at Sacher’s, he
ordered a cab, had himself driven round to the Minister-President’s little
palace, and sent up his card.

Count Tisza had been
entertaining half a dozen Hungarian Deputies to dinner, but two of them left as
the Duke entered the hall, and the others were just about to do so. When they
had gone, the Count took his visitor up to the library and reproached him in a
friendly way for not having been to see him before. The Duke excused himself on
the plea that he had not liked to intrude during a time of such acute anxiety,
and added that he did so now only to make his farewells.

Having poured him a glass
of wine, the Count nodded sadly. “Yes, it is tragic beyond words that it should
have come to this, but I fear there is still worse to come; so I think you wise
to return to France.”

“I am going to England,” replied
the Duke. “Most of my friends here are aware that I was expelled from France
for participation in a political conspiracy when quite a young man. I thought
you would have heard that much of my history. It was one of the main reasons
for my becoming a rolling stone and a soldier of fortune; but I took British
nationality.”

“No, I had not heard
that. When poor Sophie von Hohenberg introduced us, I assumed that you were a
Frenchman. But it makes little difference. If Russia, Germany and France are
drawn in, as I fear they will be, I consider it as good as certain that Britain
will come in too.”

“I agree; although what
is called ‘informed opinion’ in the Austro-German press appears to think
otherwise.”

“So, too, do most of my
colleagues. Once again I am in a minority. But the British are not fools. They
dare not stand by and see France defeated. To do so would be to court war
single-handed against an infinitely more powerful Germany in a few years’ time.”

The Duke took the long
cigar that his host offered him, and remarked: “I am sure that is how they view
it themselves, and I should have thought that Mr. Churchill’s having held the
First and Second Fleets together would have made it plain to others.”

“There are none so blind
as those who do not wish to see, my friend. If the war spreads we shall have
that mountebank, William Hohenzollern, to thank for it. His war-monger Generals
are always dangling before him the picture of himself as another Frederick the
Great, and he is a born wishful thinker. He is convinced that France is in no
state to put up a serious resistance to his armies, and I would wager on it
that he regards the continued concentration of the British Fleet merely as a
bluff.”