Florian (15 page)

His impatience had grown from day to day, from year to year. Franz Joseph clung to life entirely too long to suit him. He said it at home, said it quite openly to courtiers, to politicians and friends. Naturally it reached Franz Joseph's ears. Both true and invented utterances were brought back to the Emperor. Franz Ferdinand's plan, formulated during this period of waiting, during these years of burning impatience to ascend the Throne, grew and developed to its minutest details. It provided the Czechs with state sovereignty and a coronation at Prague, the new form of monarchy to be a federation of states which would guarantee to all its nations equal rights. Franz Ferdinand entertained seriously the possibility of an alliance with Russia, dreamed of reestablishing the old alliance of three emperors and the reinstallation of the world-wide power of the Vatican. Hungary, of course, would resist to the last. He knew how jealously Hungary's politicians guarded the special privileges granted them by the compromise of 1867, and knew well how little love the Hungarians bore the Russians. The Magyars had not yet forgotten that Russian soldiers had crushed their successful revolution and forced them to lay down their arms at Vilagos.

Franz Ferdinand feverishly waited for the day of his succession. The alliance of Russia, Germany and Austria would be unassailable, or at least unconquerable; a realm reaching from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific which could scoff at any attempted blockade. Perpetual peace would be assured, and the Hapsburg dynasty would be secure for centuries to come.

For the sake of this vast dream he even accepted the friendship of the Protestant, Wilhelm II. Besides, Wilhelm had treated the Duchess von Hohenberg as the future Empress and thereby gained Franz Ferdinand's gratitude. True, in his eyes Wilhelm was a heretic and wore the Holy Roman Crown of Charlemagne—illegally. For half a thousand years it had rested on Hapsburg heads, and even now reposed, with all the other crown insignia, in the Imperial Palace at Vienna. Wilhelm wore it in name due to the breach of faith Friedrich II had started, and Bismarck, in another war against Austria, had finished. Franz Ferdinand cared little about the Germanic cause. Of first moment, to him, was the influence of the House of Hapsburg which had been thrust outside the purely German sphere of interest. He could do nothing against this historical development; he thought of the many nations the Hapsburgs had ruled at one time or another, and felt Slavic sympathies stirring in his heart. He always received Wilhelm II cordially. But each time Wilhelm departed he had his rooms fumigated of the desecrating presence of a Protestant and consecrated anew by a Catholic priest.

The Hungarians were not to disturb or interfere with his plans. He'd handle them.

There was a story told to Franz Joseph: One day, during maneuvers, the Heir Apparent had stood in Bruck on the River Leitha which divides Austria from Hungary, pointed across to the other bank, and exclaimed: “We'll have to conquer Hungary all over again.”

The more pronounced Franz Ferdinand's hostility to the régime became, the more openly he admitted how fiercely he longed for the day when he would have the power to do away with the “old trash” of a misguided reign, the deeper grew Franz Joseph's resentment against his heir. He had never cared for his brother's children anyway, had always referred to them as the “Carl Ludwig brood.” He realized, of course, how helpless he was before the future, which would begin only with his death; but as long as he lived he did all in his power to embitter the existence of Franz Ferdinand, did it with finesse and relish. The Duchess of Hohenberg had to appear at formal Court functions and take her place behind the youngest of the archduchesses. As a result, Franz Ferdinand, who was entitled to the first place directly behind the Emperor, had to make a display of joining his wife. The Emperor did not tamper with that. He left it to the first chamberlain, who could be sure at the slightest opportunity to make the Heir feel the continual pinpricks of Imperial disfavor and his complete divorcement from any influence. And the first chamberlain was always certain of Franz Joseph's approval. Often scenes between Franz Joseph and Franz Ferdinand were engendered in this fashion. An irritable, touchy atmosphere pervaded the Imperial household.

Today, however, Franz Ferdinand appeared as the soft-spoken charming, obedient servant of his sovereign. He didn't want to be stubborn. What he wanted was to plead and to soften the Emperor by his abject subservience. Franz Joseph immediately read his intention, somewhat too stickily put on, and became the frostier for it.

The Heir Apparent pleaded, he practically begged, for Florian. Heavens, a horse, a single horse! What could that mean to the monarch? He, on the other hand, wanted it so badly and would truly be eternally grateful.

“If it is possible, gladly,” Franz Joseph said this in such a friendly tone that the distance between him and the Heir widened immeasurably. “I shall talk to the prince about it.”

The audience was over. There was nothing more to be done. Franz Ferdinand went away almost suffocating with rage. Florian would never be his.

K
ING EDWARD CAME TO VIENNA.

Major von Neustift was in the Emperor's retinue when he received the English ruler at the station. Franz Joseph wore the uniform of a British marshal, the brilliant red coat, the bronze helmet. He cut an unfamiliar figure. If he wore anything but the uniform of an Austrian general, which is in every Austrian's mind identified with the Emperor, he invariably appeared foolishly disguised.

Neustift witnessed a slight mishap at this reception which his memory retained forever after.

The moment for reporting to the Emperor that the train bearing the visiting sovereign was about to arrive, had been calculated to a nicety. It allowed the Emperor time to inspect the Guard of Honor, to hold a short
cercle
for the various officials, and to take his position on the small carpet leading to the gala car of the royal guest.

Thus it was. From the narrow side of the station, where the Court waiting room was located, the Emperor walked along the platform at the end of which, already half in the open, the Guard of Honor and the military band had been stationed; beside them the city commandant, the chancellor, the stadholder of Lower Austria, and the mayor.

In the van of the Emperor marched a master of ceremonies in a gold-braided uniform, white-plumed, two-cornered hat, white breeches and patent-leather boots, the gold-crested ceremonial baton in his white-gloved hand. Behind the Emperor came the adjutants.

The captain in charge of the Guard of Honor stood ready, his saber drawn, looking toward the approaching monarch. It was his duty to order the salute as soon as his Emperor reached a certain point. Instead, the captain simply stood and stared, totally unnerved by the sight of the sovereign whom he had never seen before at such close range. He stood there dumb, intimidated by a paralyzing impression of majesty, robbed of his senses.

Franz Joseph, who knew the precise distance prescribed, knew intuitively when the salute should have come. He took two additional halting steps, stopped, made an impatient gesture with his hand, and muttered angrily: “What's the matter?”

The city commandant strode to the fore and bawled “ 'Tention! Company. . . . Eyes right!” Drums rolled. The national anthem blared solemnly to the sky. The soldiers stood stiffly to attention.

The captain got hold of himself, saluted with his saber and stepped forward to make the prescribed report. But Franz Joseph did not listen, passed him by scornfully, and inspected the Guard of Honor, man by man, with stern and thorough gaze.

Major von Neustift recognized the unhappy captain. They had been cadets together. The son of bourgeois parents, a capable soldier, an honest man; he was now finished, his career cut short forever. And Neustift did not protest, even inwardly, could not see injustice in the man's automatic dismissal and immediate retirement on pension. An officer lacking presence of mind simply lacked the qualifications expected of any soldier.

Thus was a career broken in two by very awe of Franz Joseph. Even awe could turn to guilt.

Neufstift collected all sorts of experiences during his term as adjutant.

“It's the most taxing service of all,” he told Elizabeth subsequently.

“But the most interesting, too.”

“Certainly. And not without its dangers. Present and future.”

“Danger? Present danger, that I understand,” Elizabeth conceded. “With an Emperor like Franz Joseph you must be always on the alert, isn't that so? Always in control of your nerves, your memory, and your tact, too . . . and sharpen them. . . .”

“I must be a mind reader,” Neustift pursued. “I must forget I am a gentleman, and at the same time never forget it—else I become a lackey.”

Elizabeth smiled: “That doesn't worry me, my dear.”

“Well, it isn't so simple,” he said thoughtfully. “You need patience, patience and still more patience.

“How incongruous the whole thing is: He who is always and under all circumstances right—to him nothing can ever happen. While the other fellow—myself, for instance—to him anything, even the worst, can happen.”

Elizabeth laid her hand on his shoulder. “What silly ideas!” She shook her head. “His Majesty! Don't forget—that is no empty phrase.”

“I dare say!” Neustift exclaimed. “Especially with him. Majesty such as his is unmatched on earth.” After a few moments of silence, he concluded hastily: “But it breeds austerity. . . . For months, since that time in the carriage—you remember—when we talked about Florian . . . not a single word! In the course of my duties, yes, one or two syllables, an order—nothing else. Not one word! It makes me panicky.”

“Not panicky, surely!”

He kissed her. “Oh, no, don't worry. I merely talk. I can say anything to you, can't I? After I've talked to you, I feel easier.”

“Don't be heavyhearted.” Elizabeth stroked his hair.

“It's not so bad as all that.” He laughed.

“Many envy you.”

“Do you really think so?” He sounded doubtful. “Many—maybe. But many more are saving themselves for later.”

“Can it be—?” she broke off.

“Naturally!” he cried, not without a trace of anger in his voice. “All the younger officers, all the younger diplomats, the ministers are split into two factions. The ones want to achieve whatever they can now, the others wait for tomorrow or the day after.”

“They will have a long wait,” Elizabeth replied, but her tone lacked conviction.

“A long wait?” repeated Neustift. “Who knows? Who can pretend to know in advance? Seventy-seven . . . an old age. You can't deny that.”

“Wilhelm I lived more than ninety years,” she rejoined. “And Friedrich II ruled but three months.” She breathed deeply. “Franz Ferdinand . . . I can't tell you why, but I cannot, I simply cannot picture him as Emperor.”

“Oh,” Neustift snapped his fingers, “it's easy enough to explain that feeling. We were born, went to school, grew up, married, had children. . . . And during all that Franz Joseph was Emperor. For us there just is no other. His face, his figure, his manner . . . they call it knightly. Wrong! Imperial, it is, imperial! Majesty . . . you yourself spoke of it a moment ago. He is in our brain, in our blood, in our soul!” The major smiled. “Just like our military horses, we all carry his name indelibly stamped on us. No wonder, then, we have no room to picture another as Emperor.”

“Habit.” Elizabeth stared down at the ground. “Habit. Perhaps something more. Perhaps we are the last who . . .”

“What do you mean?” Neustift checked her. “After us there will be others. And others will be sitting on the throne.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “But I mean, perhaps we are the last who shall have such a deep-rooted conception . . . something so personal . . . such a personification of an Emperor. Franz Joseph was eighteen when . . .” She hesitated. “And Franz Ferdinand is already past fifty.”

Neustift rubbed his chin. “If he should get the scepter today, tomorrow . . . that might happen any time and he is eating his heart out for it . . . then—then everything is over for me.”

“For you?” She was astonished. “Why for you?”

“Franz Joseph's adjutant,” he said briefly. “What could I expect? In the face of the hatred the Archduke feels for everybody—he calls us all Franz Joseph's creatures. I am one of them.”

“Are you ambitious?” Elizabeth asked lightheartedly.

He did not jest. “Right now I am. I should like to become a general. A long way from major. A very long way.” He sighed. “Oh, if only a war came.”

Elizabeth half shrieked: “War!”

“Have no fear,” he reassured her. “As long as Franz Joseph is alive there won't be any war. He is too old.”

She laughed, at ease again. “And he has never been lucky with his wars.”