In the World War. Graf Ottokar Theobald Otto Maria Czernin von Chudenitz
resignation? Germany stood at the height of her success. I do not pretend to say that her success was real. In this connection that is of no moment; but the Germans were persuaded that they were quite near a victorious end, that after leaving the Eastern front they would throw themselves on to the Western front, and that the war would end before America had time to come in. Their reckoning was at fault, as we all know to-day. But for the German generals the will to victory was the leading spirit, and all decisions arrived at by Germany against the defection of Austria-Hungary proceeded from that dominant influence.
As already mentioned, I stated in my speech of December 11, on foreign policy, that neither the Entente nor Germany would conclude a peace of renunciation. Since then I have had opportunity to speak with several men of the Entente, and consequent on the views that I obtained, I feel I must formulate my previous opinion in still stronger terms. I came to the firm conclusion that the Entente—England above all—from the summer of 1917 at any rate, had formed an unbending resolve to shatter Germany.
From that time onwards England, with the obstinacy which is her chief characteristic, appears to have been determined not to treat further with Germany, nor to sheathe her sword until Germany lay crushed to earth. It makes no difference in the matter that the German military party—though for other reasons—from a total misconception of their chances of victory, steadily refused a peace involving sacrifice at a time when it might have been possible. This is an historical fact, but as an upholder of truth I must distinctly state that I doubt whether concessions would have changed the fate of Germany. We could have gone over to the enemy—in 1917 and also in 1918; we could have fought against Germany with the Entente on Austro-Hungarian soil, and would doubtless have hastened Germany's collapse; but the wounds which Austria-Hungary would have received in the fray would not have been less serious than those from which she is now suffering: she would have perished in the fight against Germany, as she has as good as perished in her fight allied with Germany.
Austria-Hungary's watch had run down. Among the few statesmen who in 1914 wished for war—like Tschirsky, for instance—there can have been none who after a few months had not altered and regretted his views. They, too, had not thought of a world war. I believe to-day, nevertheless, that even without the war the fall of the Monarchy would have happened, and that the assassination in Serbia was the first step.
The Archduke Heir Apparent was the victim of Greater Serbia's aspirations; but these aspirations, which led to the breaking away of our Southern Slav provinces, would not have been suppressed, but, on the contrary, would have largely increased and asserted themselves, and would have strengthened the centrifugal tendencies of other peoples within the Monarchy.
Lightning at night reveals the country for a second, and the same effect was produced by the shots fired at Sarajevo. It became obvious that the signal for the fall of the Monarchy had been given. The bells of Sarajevo, which began to toll half an hour after the murder, sounded the death knell of the Monarchy.
The feeling among the Austrian people, and especially at Vienna, was very general that the outrage at Sarajevo was a matter of more importance than the murder of an Imperial prince and his wife, and that it was the alarm signal for the ruin of the Habsburg Empire.
I have been told that during the period between the assassination and the war, warlike demonstrations were daily occurrences in the Viennese restaurants and people's parks; patriotic and anti-Serbian songs were sung, and Berchtold was scoffed at because he could not "exert himself to take any energetic steps." This must not be taken as an excuse for any eventual mistakes on the part of the leaders of the nation, for a leading statesman ought not to allow himself to be influenced by the man in the street. It is only to prove that the spirit developed in 1914 appears to have been very general. And it may perhaps be permitted to add this comment: how many of those who then clamoured for war and revenge and demanded "energy," would, now that the experiment has totally failed, severely criticise and condemn Berchtold's "criminal behaviour"?
It is, of course, impossible to say in what manner the fall of the Monarchy would have occurred had war been averted. Certainly in a less terrible fashion than was the case through the war. Probably much more slowly, and doubtless without dragging the whole world into the whirlpool. We were bound to die. We were at liberty to choose the manner of our death, and we chose the most terrible.
Without knowing it, we lost our independence at the outbreak of war. We were transformed from a subject into an object.
This unfortunate war once started, we were powerless to end it. At the conference in London the death sentence had been passed on the Empire of the Habsburgs and a separate peace would have been no easier a form of death than that involved in holding out at the side of our Allies.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Supposed to be the Counts Berchtold, Tisza and Stürgkh and General Conrad von Hohendorf.
[2] See Appendix, p. 325.
[3] See page 275.
CHAPTER IIToC
KONOPISCHT
1
Konopischt has become the cradle of manifold legends. The lord of the castle was the first victim of the terrible world conflagration, and the part that he played before the war has been the subject of much and partly erroneous commentary.
The Archduke and heir to the throne was a man of a very peculiar nature. The main feature of his character was a great lack of balance. He knew no middle course and was just as eager to hate as to love. He was unbalanced in everything; he did nothing like other people, and what he did was done in superhuman dimensions. His passion for buying and collecting antiquities was proverbial and fabulous. A first-rate shot, sport was for him a question of murdering en masse, and the number of game shot by him reached hundreds of thousands. A few years before his death he shot his 5,000th stag.
His ability as a good shot was phenomenal. When in India, during his voyage round the world, and while staying with a certain Maharajah, an Indian marksman gave an exhibition of his skill. Coins were thrown into the air which the man hit with bullets. The Archduke tried the same and beat the Indian. Once when I was staying with him at Eckartsau he made a coup double at a stag and a hare as they ran; he had knocked over a fleeing stag, and when, startled by the shot, a hare jumped up, he killed it with the second bullet. He scorned all modern appliances for shooting, such as telescopic sights or automatic rifles; he invariably used a short double-barrelled rifle, and his exceptionally keen sight rendered glasses unnecessary.
The artistic work of laying out parks and gardens became in latter years his dominating passion. He knew every tree and every bush at Konopischt, and loved his flowers above everything. He was his own gardener. Every bed and every group was designed according to his exact orders. He knew the conditions essential to the life of each individual plant, the quality of the soil required; and even the smallest spot to be laid out or altered was done according to his minute instructions. But here, too, everything was carried out on the same gigantic lines, and the sums spent on that park must have been enormous. Few people had the varied artistic knowledge possessed by the Archduke; no dealer could palm off on him any modern article as an antique, and he had just as good taste 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