Read Ebook: In the World War by Czernin Von Und Zu Chudenitz Ottokar Theobald Otto Maria Graf

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From these data, it is evident at a glance that 1 gram of fat is isodynamic with 2.27 grams of either carbohydrate or proteid; and since carbohydrate and fat are of use to the body mainly because of their energy value, it is obvious that 50 grams of fat taken as food will be of as much service to the body as 113 grams of starch. In view of the relatively high fuel value of fats, it follows that the physiological heat of combustion of any given food material will correspond largely with the content of fat therein. This is quite apparent from the data given in the table showing chemical composition of food materials, where the fuel value per pound is seen to run more or less closely parallel with the percentage of fat. Experience, as well as direct physiological experiment, teaches us, however, that fat and carbohydrate cannot be interchanged indefinitely, because of the difficulty in utilization of fat when the amount is increased beyond a certain point. Personal experience provides ample evidence of the difference in availability between the two classes of foodstuffs. Carbohydrates are easily utilizable, fats with more difficulty. Palate, as well as stomach, rebels at large quantities of fat; a statement that certainly holds good for most civilized people, though exceptions may be found, as in the Esquimeaux and certain savage races.

In the nourishment of the body, the various factors that aid in the utilization of food are of great moment and must not be overlooked. It is not enough that the body be supplied with the proper proportion of nutrients, with sufficient proteid to meet the demand for nitrogen, and with carbohydrate and fat adequate to yield the needed energy; but all those physiological processes which have to do with the preparation of the foodstuffs for absorption into the circulating blood and lymph must be in effective working order. There is an intricacy of detail here which calls for careful oversight, and it is one of the functions of the nervous system to control and regulate both the mechanical and the chemical processes that are concerned in this seemingly automatic progression of foodstuffs from their entry into the mouth cavity to their final discharge from the alimentary tract, after removal of the last vestige of true nutritive material.

Mastication; deglutition; secretion of the various digestive juices, saliva, gastric juice, pancreatic juice, bile, intestinal juice, etc.; peristalsis, or the rhythmical movements of the muscular walls of the gastro-intestinal tract; the solvent action of the several digestive fluids on the different types of foodstuffs; the absorption of the products formed as a preliminary step in their transportation to the tissues and organs of the body, where they are to serve their ultimate purpose in nutrition; the interaction of these several processes one on the other; and, finally, the influence of the various nerve fibres and nerve centres concerned in the control of these varied activities,--all must work together in harmony and precision if the full measure of available nitrogen and energy-yielding material is to be extracted and absorbed from the ingested food, without undue expenditure of physiological labor. Further, the various processes of cell and tissue metabolism, by which the absorbed food material is built up into living protoplasm, and the chemical processes of oxidation, hydrolysis, reduction, etc., by which the intra and extra cellular material is broken down progressively into varied katabolic or excretory products, with liberation of energy; all these must move forward harmoniously and with due regard to the preservation of an even balance between intake and outgo, if the nutrition of the body is to be maintained at a proper level, and with that degree of physiological economy which is coincident with good health and high efficiency.

We may well pause here and consider briefly some of these processes which play so prominent a part in the proper utilization of the three classes of organic foodstuffs. The first digestive fluid which the ingested food comes in contact with is the saliva. Sensory nerve fibres, chiefly of the glossopharyngeal and lingual nerves which supply the mouth and tongue, are stimulated by the sapid substances of the food, and likewise by mere contact of the food particles with the mucous membrane lining the mouth cavity as the food is masticated and rolled about prior to deglutition. Impulses communicated in this way to the above sensory nerves are transmitted to certain nerve centres in the medulla oblongata, whence impulses are reflected back through secretory nerves going to the individual salivary glands, thereby calling forth a secretion. The production of saliva is thus a simple reflex act, in which the food consumed serves as a true stimulant or excitant. Pawlow, indeed, claims a certain degree of adaptability of the secretion to the character of the food taken into the mouth. Thus, he finds that dry, solid food excites a large flow of saliva, such as would be needed to masticate it properly and bring it into a suitable condition for swallowing. On the other hand, foods containing an abundance of water cause only a scanty flow of saliva. The situation of this secretory centre in the medulla, and the many branchings of nerve cells in this locality would naturally suggest the possibility of salivary secretion being incited by stimuli from a variety of sources. This is indeed the case, and it is worthy of note that a flow of saliva may result from stimulation of the sensory fibres of the vagus nerves as well as of the splanchnic and sciatic, thus indicating how a given secreting gland may be called into activity by impulses or stimuli which come to the centre through very indirect and devious pathways. Further, the secretory centre may be stimulated, and likewise inhibited, by impulses which have their origin in higher nerve centres in the brain. These facts are of great importance in throwing light upon the ways in which a secretion like saliva is called forth and its digestive action thus made possible. The thought and the odor of savory food cause the mouth to water, the flow of saliva so incited being the result of psychical stimulation. Similarly, fear, embarrassment, and anxiety frequently cause a dry mouth and parched throat through inhibition of the secretory centre by impulses which have their origin in higher centres in the brain.

Pawlow: The Work of the Digestive Glands. Translated by Thompson. London, 1902.

Emil Fischer: Bedeutung der Stereochemie f?r die Physiologie. Zeitschr. f?r physiologische Chemie, Band 26, p. 60.

Another peculiarity of digestive enzymes is their extreme sensitiveness to changes in their environment. Powerful in their ability to transform relatively large quantities of a given foodstuff into simple products better adapted for absorption and utilization by the body, they are, however, quickly checked in their action, and even destroyed, when the conditions surrounding them are slightly interfered with. They require for their best action a temperature closely akin to that of the healthy body, and any great deviation therefrom will result at once in an inhibition of their activity. Further, they demand a certain definite reaction of the fluid or mixture, if their working power is to be maintained at the maximum. Indeed, many enzymes, like the ptyalin of saliva, are quickly destroyed if the reaction is greatly changed. Enzymes are thus seen to be more or less unstable substances, endowed with great power as digestive agents, but sensitive to a high degree and working advantageously only under definite conditions. Many perversions of digestion and of nutrition are connected not only with a lack of the proper secretion of some one or more digestive enzyme, but also with the lack of proper surroundings for the manifestation of normal or maximum activity.

With these statements before us, we can readily picture for ourselves the initial results following the ingestion of starch-containing foods properly cooked; and it may be mentioned here that the cooking is an essential preliminary, for uncooked starch cannot be utilized in any degree by man. With the mind in a state of pleasurable anticipation, with freedom from care and worry, which are so liable to act as deterrents to free secretion, and with the food in a form which appeals to the eye as well as to the olfactories, its thorough mastication calls forth and prolongs vigorous salivary secretion, with which the food becomes intimately intermingled. Salivary digestion is thus at once incited, and the starch very quickly commences to undergo the characteristic change into soluble products. As mouthful follows mouthful, deglutition alternates with mastication, and the mixture passes into the stomach, where salivary digestion can continue for a limited time only, until the secretion of gastric juice eventually establishes in the stomach-contents a distinct acid reaction, when salivary digestion ceases through destruction of the starch-converting enzyme. Need we comment, in view of the natural brevity of this process, upon the desirability for purely physiological reasons of prolonging within reasonable limits the interval of time the food and saliva are commingled in the mouth cavity? It seems obvious, in view of the relatively large bulk of starch-containing foods consumed daily, that habits of thorough mastication should be fostered, with the purpose of increasing greatly the digestion of starch at the very gateway of the alimentary tract. It is true that in the small intestine there comes later another opportunity for the digestion of starch; but it is unphysiological, as it is undesirable, for various reasons, not to take full advantage of the first opportunity which Nature gives for the preparation of this important foodstuff for future utilization. Further, thorough mastication, by a fine comminution of the food particles, is a material aid in the digestion which is to take place in the stomach and intestine. Under normal conditions, therefore, and with proper observance of physiological good sense, a large proportion of the ingested starchy foods can be made ready for speedy absorption and consequent utilization through the agency of salivary digestion.

As has been indicated, pepsin and hydrochloric acid are the important constituents of gastric juice. It is noteworthy, however, that it is the combination of the two that is effective in digestion. Pepsin without acid is of no avail, and acid without pepsin can accomplish little in the digestion of food. Pepsin and acid are secreted by different gland cells in the stomach, and gastric insufficiency, or so-called indigestion, may arise from either a condition of apepsia or from hypoacidity. It is worthy of comment that the amount of hydrochloric acid secreted during 24 hours by the normal individual, under ordinary conditions of diet, amounts to what would constitute a fatal dose of acid if taken at one time in concentrated form. At the outset of gastric secretion, the fluid shows only a slight degree of acidity, but as secretion proceeds, the acidity rises to 0.2-0.3 per cent of hydrochloric acid. The main action of gastric juice is exerted on proteid foods, which under its influence are gradually dissolved and converted into soluble products known as proteoses and peptones. It is a process of peptonization, in which the proteid of the food is gradually broken down into so-called hydrolytic cleavage products. The enzyme, like the ptyalin of saliva, is influenced by temperature, maximum digestive action being manifested at about 38? C., the temperature of the body. Further, a certain degree of acidity is essential for procuring the highest degree of efficiency. Ordinarily, it is stated that digestive action proceeds best in the presence of 0.2 per cent hydrochloric acid, but what is more essential for vigorous digestion is a certain relationship between the acid, pepsin, and proteid undergoing digestion. As pepsin and the amount of proteid are increased, the amount of acid, and its percentage somewhat, must be correspondingly increased if digestion is to be maintained at the maximum.

Another important function of gastric juice is that of curdling milk, due to the presence in the secretion of a peculiar enzyme known as rennin. The latter ferment acts upon the casein of milk,--the chief proteid constituent,--transforming it into a related substance commonly called paracasein. This then reacts with the calcium salts present in milk, forming an insoluble curd or calcium compound. From this point on, the digestion of milk-casein by gastric juice is the same as that of any other solid proteid, it being gradually transformed by the pepsin-acid into soluble cleavage products. Why gastric juice should be provided with this special enzyme, capable of acting solely on the casein of milk, can only be conjectured, but we may assume that it has to do with the economical use of this important food. As the sole nutriment of the young, milk occupies a peculiar position as a foodstuff, and being a liquid, its proteid constituent might easily escape complete digestion were it to pass on too hastily through the gastro-intestinal tract. Experiment has shown that when liquid food alone is taken into the stomach it is pushed forward into the small intestine in a comparatively short time. Curdled as it is by rennin, however, casein must stay for a longer period in the stomach, like any other solid food, and its partial digestion by gastric juice thereby made certain. For the reasons above stated, it is apparent why milk should not be treated as a drink in our daily diet. Remembering that when milk reaches the stomach it is converted into a solid clot or curd, there is obvious reason for sipping it, instead of taking it by the glassful, thereby favoring the formation of small, individual clots instead of one large curd, and thus facilitating instead of retarding digestion.

W. B. Cannon: The Movements of the Stomach studied by means of the R?ntgen Rays. American Journal of Physiology, vol. 1, p. 359.

According to the observations of Cannon, the contractile movements of the stomach commence shortly after the entrance of food, the contractions starting from about the middle of the stomach and passing on toward the pylorus. These waves of contraction follow each other very closely, certainly not more than one or two minutes apart, and perhaps less, while the resulting movements bring about an intimate commingling of food and gastric juice in the pyloric portion of the stomach; followed by a gradual diffusion of the semi-fluid mixture into the fundus accompanied by a gradual displacement of the more solid food in the latter region. These movements of the stomach are more or less automatic, arising from stimuli--the acid secreted--originating in the stomach itself, although it is considered that the movements are subject to some regulation from extrinsic nerve fibres, such as the vagi and the splanchnics. As digestion proceeds and the mass in the stomach becomes more fluid, the pyloric sphincter relaxes and a certain amount of the fluid material is forced into the intestine by the pressure of the contraction wave. This is repeated at varying intervals, depending presumably in some measure upon the consistency of the mass in the stomach, until after some hours of digestion the stomach is completely emptied.

Especially interesting and suggestive are the experiments made by Cannon on the length of time the different types of foodstuffs remain in the stomach. Using cats as subjects, he found that fats remain for a long period in the stomach; they leave that organ slowly, the discharge into the intestine being at about the same rate as the absorption of fat from the small intestine or its passage into the large intestine. Carbohydrate foods, on the other hand, te as understanding. On the other hand, music to him was simply a disagreeable noise, and he had an unspeakable contempt for poets. He could not bear Wagner, and Goethe left him quite cold. His lack of any talent for languages was peculiar. He spoke French tolerably, but otherwise no other language, though he had a smattering of Italian and Czech. For years--indeed, to the end of his life--he struggled with the greatest energy to learn Hungarian. He had a priest living permanently in the house to give him Hungarian lessons. This priest accompanied him on his travels, and at St. Moritz, for instance, Franz Ferdinand had a Hungarian lesson every day; but, in spite of this, he continued to suffer from the feeling that he would never be able to learn the language, and he vented his annoyance at this on the entire Hungarian people. "Their very language makes me feel antipathy for them," was a remark I constantly heard him make. His judgment of people was not a well-balanced one; he could either love or hate, and unfortunately the number of those included in the latter category was considerably the greater.

There is no doubt about it that there was a very hard strain in Franz Ferdinand's mentality, and those who only knew him slightly felt that this hardness of character was the most notable feature in him and his great unpopularity can doubtless be attributed to this cause. The public never knew the splendid qualities of the Archduke, and misjudged him accordingly.

Apparently he was not always like that. He suffered in his youth from severe lung trouble, and for long was given up by the doctors. He often spoke to me of that time and all that he had gone through, and referred with intense bitterness to the people who were only waiting day by day to put him altogether on one side. As long as he was looked upon as the heir to the throne, and people reckoned on him for the future, he was the centre of all possible attention; but when he fell ill and his case was considered hopeless, the world fluctuated from hour to hour and paid homage to his younger brother Otto. I do not for a moment doubt that there was a great deal of truth in what the late Archduke told me; and no one knowing the ways of the world can deny the wretched, servile egotism that is almost always at the bottom of the homage paid to those in high places. More deeply than in the hearts of others was this resentment implanted in the heart of Franz Ferdinand, and he never forgave the world what he suffered and went through in those distressful months. It was chiefly the ostensible vacillation of the then Minister for Foreign Affairs, Count Goluchowski, that had so deeply hurt the Archduke, who had always imagined that Goluchowski was deeply attached to him. According to Franz Ferdinand's account, Goluchowski is supposed to have said to the Emperor Francis Joseph that the Archduke Otto ought now to be given the retinue and household suitable for the heir to the throne as he--Franz Ferdinand--"was in any case lost." It was not so much the fact as the manner in which Goluchowski tried "to bury him while still living" that vexed and hurt him whom a long illness had made irritable. But besides Goluchowski, there were numberless others whose behaviour at that time he took greatly amiss, and his unparalleled contempt of the world which, when I knew him, was one of his most characteristic features, appears--partly, at any rate--to date from his experiences during that illness.

In connection with politics, too, this bitterness exercised a lasting influence on his entire mental outlook. I have been told by an authentic witness that the Archduke, when suffering and combating his terrible disease, saw one day an article in a Hungarian paper which, in brutal and derisive tones, spoke of the Archduke's expectations of future government as laid aside, and gloated openly, with malicious delight, over the probable event. The Archduke, who while reading the article had turned ashen grey with rage and indignation, remained silent for a moment and then made the following characteristic remark: "Now I must get better. I shall live from now only for my health. I must get better in order to show them that their joy is premature." And though this may not have been the only reason for his violent antipathy to everything Hungarian, there is no doubt that the episode influenced his mind considerably. The Archduke was a "good hater"; he did not easily forget, and woe betide those upon whom he vented his hatred. On the other hand, though but few knew it, he had an uncommonly warm corner in his heart; he was an ideal husband, the best of fathers, and a faithful friend. But the number of those he despised was incomparably greater than those who gained his affection, and he himself was in no doubt whatever as to his being the most unpopular person in the Monarchy. But there was a certain grandeur in this very contempt of popularity. He never could bring himself to make any advances to newspapers or other organs that are in the habit of influencing public opinion either favourably or unfavourably. He was too proud to sue for popularity, and too great a despiser of men to attach any importance to their judgment.

The Archduke's antipathy to Hungary runs like a scarlet thread through the political chain of his thoughts. I have been told that at the time when the Crown Prince Rudolf was frequently in Hungary shooting, the Archduke was often with him, and that the Hungarian gentlemen took a pleasure in teasing and ridiculing the young Archduke in the presence and to the delight of the considerably older Crown Prince. Ready as I am to believe that the Crown Prince Rudolf enjoyed the jokes--and little do I doubt that there were men there who would act in such fashion so as to curry favour with the Crown Prince--I still think that these unpleasant incidents in his youth weighed less in the balance with Franz Ferdinand than the already-mentioned occurrences during his illness.

The Archduke's antipathy to party leaders in Hungary was even stronger than that he felt for Tisza, and he showed it particularly to one of the most prominent figures of that time. I do not know for certain what took place between them; I only know that several years before the catastrophe the gentleman in question was received in audience at the Belvedere, and that the interview came to a very unsatisfactory end. The Archduke told me that his visitor arrived bringing a whole library with him in order to put forward legal proofs that the Magyar's standpoint was the right one. He, the Archduke, snapped his fingers at their laws, and said so. It came to a violent scene, and the gentleman, pale as death, tottered from the room.

Certain it is that Ministers and other officials rarely waited on the Archduke without beating hearts. He was capable of flying out at people and terrifying them to such a degree that they lost their heads completely. He often took their fright to be obstinacy and passive resistance, and it irritated him all the more.

On the other hand, it was extremely easy to get on with him if one knew him well and did not stand in awe of him. I had many scenes with him and often lost my temper, too; but there was never any lasting ill-feeling. Once when at Konopischt we had a scene one evening after dinner because, he said, I always worked in opposition to him and rewarded his friendship by treachery. I broke off the conversation, remarking that, if he could say such things, any further serious conversation would be impossible, and I also stated my intention of leaving the next morning. We separated without saying good night to each other. Quite early next morning--I was still in bed--he appeared in my room and asked me to forget what he had said the previous evening, that he had not meant it seriously, and thus completely disarmed my still prevailing vexation.

A despiser of men, with his wits sharpened by his own experiences, he never allowed himself to be fooled by servile cringing and flattery. He listened to people, but how often have I heard him say: "He is no good; he is a toady." Such people never found favour with him, as he always mistrusted them at the outset. He was protected more than others in such high spheres from the poison of servility that attacks all monarchs.

His two best friends, and the men to whom--after his own nearest relations--he was most attached, were his brother-in-law Albrecht von W?rtemberg and the Prince Karl of Schwarzenberg.

The former, a man of charming personality, great intelligence, and equally efficient in political as in military matters, lived on a footing of true brotherly unity with Franz Ferdinand, and also, naturally, on terms of perfect equality.

Franz Ferdinand was on very bad terms with Aehrenthal, who easily became abrupt and repellent. Still, there was another reason why two such hard millstones could not grind together. I do not believe that the many reproaches launched against Aehrenthal by the Archduke were consequent on political differences; it was more Aehrenthal's manner that invariably irritated the Archduke. I had occasion to read some of Aehrenthal's letters to Franz Ferdinand which, perhaps unintentionally, had a slight ironical flavour which made the Archduke feel he was not being taken seriously. He was particularly sensitive in this respect.

When Aehrenthal fell ill the Archduke made unkind remarks about the dying man, and there was great and general indignation at the want of feeling shown by him. He represented the Emperor at the first part of the funeral service, and afterwards received me at the Belvedere. We were standing in the courtyard when the procession, with the hearse, passed on the way to the station. The Archduke disappeared quickly into a cottage close by, the windows of which looked on to the road, and there, concealed behind the window curtain, he watched the procession pass. He said not a word, but his eyes were full of tears. When he saw that I noticed his emotion he turned away angrily, vexed at having given proof of his weakness. It was just like him. He would rather be considered hard and heartless than soft and weak, and nothing was more repugnant to him than the idea that he had aroused suspicion of striving to enact a touching scene. I have no doubt that at that moment he was suffering the torture of self-reproach, and probably suffered the more through being so reserved and unable to give free play to his feelings.

The Archduke could be extremely gay, and possessed an exceptionally strong sense of humour. In his happiest years he could laugh like any youth, and carried his audience with him by his unaffected merriment.

Some years ago a German prince, who was unable to distinguish between the numerous archdukes, came to Vienna. A dinner was given in his honour at the Hofburg, where he was seated next to Franz Ferdinand. Part of the programme was that he was to have gone the next morning with the Archduke to shoot in the neighbourhood. The German prince, who mistook the Archduke Franz Ferdinand for someone else, said to him during dinner: "I am to go out shooting to-morrow, and I hear it is to be with that tiresome Franz Ferdinand; I hope the plan will be changed." As far as I know, the expedition did not take place; but I never heard whether the prince discovered his mistake. The Archduke, however, laughed heartily for days at the episode.

The Archduke invariably spoke of his nephew, the present Emperor Charles, with great affection. The relations between the two were, however, always marked by the absolute subordination of the nephew to the uncle. In all political discussions, too, the Archduke Charles was always the listener, absorbing the precepts expounded by Franz Ferdinand.

Charles's marriage met with the full approval of his uncle. The Duchess of Hohenberg, too, entertained the warmest affection for the young couple.

The Archduke was a firm partisan of the Great-Austria programme. His idea was to convert the Monarchy into numerous more or less independent National States, having in Vienna a common central organisation for all important and absolutely necessary affairs--in other words to substitute Federalisation for Dualism. Now that, after terrible military and revolutionary struggles, the development of the former Monarchy has been accomplished in a national spirit, there cannot be many to contend that the plan is Utopian. At that time, however, it had many opponents who strongly advised against dissecting the State in order to erect in its place something new and "presumably better," and the Emperor Francis Joseph was far too conservative and far too old to agree to his nephew's plans. This direct refusal of the idea cherished by the Archduke offended him greatly, and he complained often in bitter terms that the Emperor turned a deaf ear to him as though he were the "lowest serving man at Sch?nbrunn."

The Archduke lacked the knowledge of how to deal with people. He neither could nor would control himself, and, charming though he could be when his natural heartiness was allowed free scope, just as little could he conceal his anger and ill-humour. Thus it came about that the relations between him and the aged Emperor grew more and more strained. There were doubtless faults on both sides. The standpoint of the old Emperor, that as long as he lived no one else should interfere, was in direct opposition to that of the Archduke, who held that he would one day have to suffer for the present faults in the administration, and anyone acquainted with life at court will know that such differences between the highest individuals are quickly raked together and exaggerated. At every court there are men who seek to gain their master's favour by pouring oil on the flames, and who, by gossip and stories of all kinds, add to the antipathy that prevails. Thus it was in this case, and, instead of being drawn closer together, the two became more and more estranged.

The Archduke had but few friends, and under the old monarch practically none at all. That was one of the reasons for the advances he made to the Emperor William. In reality, they were men of such a different type that there could be no question of friendship in the true sense of the word, or any real understanding between him and the Emperor William, and the question was never mooted practically. The only point common to both their characters was a strongly defined autocratic trait. The Archduke had no sympathy with the speeches of the Emperor William, nor yet with his obvious desire for popularity, which the Archduke could not understand. The Emperor William, on his part, undoubtedly grew more attached to the Archduke during his latter years than he had been originally. Franz Ferdinand was not on such good terms with the Crown Prince of Germany. They spent some weeks together at St. Moritz in Switzerland, without learning to know each other any better; but this can readily be explained by the difference in age and also by the much more serious views of life held by the Archduke.

The isolation and retirement in which the Archduke lived, and the regrettably restricted intercourse he had with other circles, gave rise to the circulation of some true, besides numerous false, rumours. One of these rumours, which is still obstinately kept up, was to the effect that the Archduke was a fanatic for war and looked upon war as a necessary aid to the realisation of his plans for the future. Nothing could be more untrue, and, although the Archduke never openly admitted it to me, I am convinced that he had an instinctive feeling that the Monarchy would never be able to bear the terrible test of strength of a war, and the fact is that, instead of working to encourage war, his activities lay all in the opposite direction. I recollect an extremely symptomatic episode: I do not remember the exact date, but it was some time before the death of the Archduke. One of the well-known Balkan turmoils threw the Monarchy into a state of agitation, and the question whether to mobilise or not became the order of the day. I chanced to be in Vienna, where I had an interview with Berchtold who spoke of the situation with much concern and complained that the Archduke was acting in a warlike spirit. I offered to draw the Archduke's attention to the danger of the proceeding, and put myself in telegraphic communication with him. I arranged to join his train that same day when he passed through Wessely on his way to Konopischt. I only had the short time between the two stations for my conversation. I therefore at once took the bull by the horns and told him of the rumours current about him in Vienna and of the danger of promoting a conflict with Russia by too strong action in the Balkans. I did not meet with the slightest opposition from the Archduke, and in his usual expeditious way he wrote, while still in the train, a telegram to Berchtold in which he expressed his perfect agreement in maintaining a friendly attitude and repudiated all the reports of his having been opposed to it. It is a fact that certain of the military party, who were anxious for war, made use of the Archduke, or rather misused him, in order to carry on a military propaganda in his name and thus gave rise to so wrongful an estimate of him. Several of these men died a hero's death in the war; others have disappeared and are forgotten. Conrad, Chief of the General Staff, was never among those who misused the Archduke. He could never have done such a thing. He carried out himself what he considered necessary and did it openly and in face of everybody.

In connection with these reports about the Archduke there is one remarkable detail that is worthy of note. He told me himself how a fortune-teller once predicted that "he would one day let loose a world war." Although to a certain extent this prophecy flattered him, containing as it did the unspoken recognition that the world would have to reckon on him as a powerful factor, still he emphatically pointed out how mad such a prophecy was. It was fulfilled, however, later, though very differently from what was meant originally, and never was prince more innocent of causing blood to flow than the unhappy victim of Sarajevo.

The Archduke suffered most terribly under the conditions resulting from his unequal marriage. The sincere and true love he felt for his wife kept alive in him the wish to raise her to his rank and privileges, and the constant obstacles that he encountered at all court ceremonies embittered and angered him inexpressibly. The Archduke was firmly resolved that when he came to the throne he would give to his wife, not the title of Empress, but a position which, though without the title, would bestow upon her the highest rank. His argument was that wherever he was she would be the mistress of the house, and as such was entitled to the highest position, "therefore she will take precedence of all the archduchesses." Never did the Archduke show the slightest wish to alter the succession and put his son in place of the Archduke Charles. On the contrary, he was resolved that his first official act on coming to the throne would be to publish a solemn declaration containing his intention, in order to counteract the ever-recurring false and biassed statements. As regards his children, for whom he did everything that a loving father's heart could devise, his greatest wish was to see them become wealthy, independent private individuals, and able to enjoy life without any material cares. His plan was to secure the title of Duke of Hohenberg for his eldest son. It was, therefore, in harmony with this intention that the Emperor Charles conferred the title on the youth.

One fine quality in the Archduke was his fearlessness. He was quite clear that the danger of an attempt to take his life would always be present, and he often spoke quite simply and openly of such a possibility. A year before the outbreak of war he informed me that the Freemasons had resolved to kill him. He even gave me the name of the town where the resolution was passed--it has escaped my memory now--and mentioned the names of several Austrian and Hungarian politicians who must have been in the secret. He also told me that when he went to the coronation in Spain he was to have made the journey with a Russian Grand Duke, but shortly before the train started the news came that the Grand Duke had been murdered on the way. He did not deny that it was with mixed feelings that he stepped into his compartment. When at St. Moritz news was sent him that two Turkish anarchists had arrived in Switzerland intending to murder him, that every effort was being made to capture them, but that so far no trace of them had been discovered, and he was advised to be on his guard. The Archduke showed me the telegram at the time. He laid it aside without the slightest sign of fear, saying that such events, when announced beforehand, seldom were carried out. The Duchess suffered all the more in her fears for his life, and I think that in imagination the poor lady often went through the catastrophe of which she and her husband were the victims. Another praiseworthy feature in the Archduke was that, out of consideration for his wife's anxiety, he tolerated the constant presence of a detective, which not only bored him terribly but in his opinion was absurd. He was afraid that if the fact became known it would be imputed to timidity on his part, and he conceded the point solely with the view of calming his wife's fears.

But he anxiously concealed all his good qualities and took an obstinate pleasure in being hard and disagreeable. I will not endeavour here to excuse certain traits in his character. His strongly pronounced egotism cannot be denied any more than the hardness of character, which made him insensible to the sufferings of all who were not closely connected with him. He also made himself hated by his severe financial proceedings and his inexorable judgment on any subordinate whom he suspected of the slightest dishonesty. In this connection there are hundreds of anecdotes, some true, some false. These petty traits in his character injured him in the eyes of the great public, while the really great and manly qualities he possessed were unknown to them, and were not weighed in the balance in his favour. For those who knew him well his great and good qualities outweighed the bad ones a hundredfold.

The Emperor was always very perturbed concerning the Archduke's plans for the future. There was a stern trait also in the old monarch's character, and in the interests of the Monarchy he feared the impetuosity and obstinacy of his nephew. Nevertheless, he often took a very magnanimous view of the matter. For instance, Count St?rgkh, the murdered Prime Minister, gave me details respecting my nomination to the Herrenhaus which are very characteristic of the old monarch. It was Franz Ferdinand's wish that I should be in the Herrenhaus, as he was anxious for me to be one of a delegation and also to profit by my extensive training in the province of foreign policy. I must mention here that it had been impressed on the Emperor on all sides that the Archduke's friends and trusted men were working against him; a version of affairs which to a certain degree he obviously believed, owing to his numerous disputes with Franz Ferdinand. On St?rgkh mentioning my name as a candidate for the Herrenhaus, the Emperor hesitated a moment and then said: "Ah, yes. That is the man who is to be Minister for Foreign Affairs when I am dead. Let him go to the Herrenhaus that he may learn a little more."

Political discussions with the Emperor Francis Joseph were often very difficult, as he kept strictly to the Government department in question and only discussed what referred thereto. While I was ambassador the Emperor would discourse to me on Roumania and the Balkans, but on nothing else. Meanwhile, the different questions were often so closely interwoven that it was impossible to separate them. I remember at one audience where I submitted to the Emperor the Roumanian plans for a closer connection with the Monarchy--plans which I shall allude to in a later chapter--and in doing so I was naturally bound to state what the Roumanians proposed respecting the closer connection with Hungary, and also what changes would be necessitated thereby in the Hungarian administration. The Emperor at once broke off the conversation, saying that it was a matter of Hungarian internal policy.

The old Emperor was almost invariably kind and friendly, and to the very last his knowledge of the smallest details was astonishing. He never spoke of the different Roumanian Ministers as the Minister of Agriculture, of Trade, or whatever it might be, but mentioned them all by name and never made a mistake.

I saw him for the last time in October, 1916, after my definite return from Roumania, and found him then quite clear and sound mentally, though failing in bodily health.

The Emperor Francis Joseph was a "Grand Seigneur" in the true sense of the word. He was an Emperor and remained always unapproachable. Everyone left his presence feeling he had stood before an Emperor. His dignity in representing the monarchical idea was unsurpassed by any sovereign in Europe.

He was borne to his grave at a time of great military successes for the Central Powers. He lies now in the Imperial vault, and a century seems to have elapsed since his death; the world is changed.

Day by day streams of people pass by the little church, but no one probably gives a thought to him who lies in peace and forgotten, and yet he, through many long years, embodied Austria, and his person was a common centre for the State that so rapidly was falling asunder.

He is now at rest, free from all care and sorrow; he saw his wife, his son, his friends all die, but Fate spared him the sight of his expiring Empire.

Franz Ferdinand's character held many sharply defined corners and edges; judging him objectively, no one can deny his great faults. Though the circumstances of his death were so tragic, it may well be that for him it was a blessing. It is hardly conceivable that, once on the throne, the Archduke would have been able to carry out his plans. The structure of the Monarchy which he was so anxious to strengthen and support was already so rotten that it could not have stood any great innovations, and if not the war, then probably the Revolution, would have shattered it. On the other hand, there seems to be no doubt that the Archduke, with all the vehemence and impulsiveness of his character, would have made the attempt to rebuild the entire structure of the Monarchy. It is futile to comment on the chances of his success, but according to human foresight the experiment would not have succeeded, and he would have succumbed beneath the ruins of the falling Monarchy.

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.

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.

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