But in areas other than security Potiorek launched preparations aplenty. Throughout June telegraph keys kept clicking between Potiorek's office and the archducal chancellery at Belvedere Palace in Vienna. What wines would His Imperial Highness prefer at various dinners? Would Highness like to approve the seating at all the tables? Did Highness wish to specify menus? As for the horse His Imperial Highness would grace, what would be the best saddle and which the most comfortable stirrup length? And what was Highness's exact weight, so as to select the proper mount?
There was a moment, peculiarly enough, when all these questions seemed to be asked in vain.
That moment had come the day before the Serbian envoy's visit to Bilinski. On June 4, Franz Joseph received his Heir Apparent in audience. It was the first meeting between uncle and nephew since the older man had recovered from his illness. In contrast to some previous encounters, this one seemed to proceed quite cordially. But after expressing his pleasure at seeing the Emperor so well, the Archduke made a rather unexpected reference to his own health. He had not felt very fit lately, he said. The weather down in Bosnia was bound to be hot in mid-summer. He had been asking himself whether he was in a condition to undertake the journey.
Franz Joseph looked at Franz Ferdinand. The Archduke appeared to be as robust as ever. A bit curtly the Emperor asked if the purpose of this conversation was to inform him that Franz Ferdinand did not wish to go to the Sarajevo exercises.
Oh, he did wish to go, Franz Ferdinand said. But he would be grateful if he could bring Sophie along; his wife was always a boost to his constitution.
The Emperor confessed himself puzzled. After all, he said, Sophie usually came along on maneuvers-Franz Ferdinand needed no special permission for that purpose. Yes, the Archduke said, but what he meant was that with His Majesty's gracious approval he, Franz Ferdinand, would like to have Sophie with him during the subsequent state visit to Sarajevo itself. Her presence would certainly lighten the burden.
Franz Joseph was ancient but not slow. He understood what Franz Ferdinand really meant: to make Sophie the Crown Princess at least while the two were in Sarajevo. At her husband's side she would share all the homage shown to the Crown Prince.
A tiresome issue, a tiresome audience. "Very well," Franz Joseph said. "If you go, let her go with you everywhere. Now do as you like."
That ended Franz Ferdinand's reluctance about Sarajevo, which had been no reluctance at all but rather a basis for negotiations now successfully concluded. Never mind the old man's gruffness-it was his consent that mattered. As the Archduke took his leave he kissed the Emperor's hand heartily as never before.
Never before-certainly not on Habsburg soil-had Sophie received the ceremonial respect she would soon be shown at Sarajevo. And never before had the Archduke been quite so confident of himself and of his future. The tubercle bacillus was the only assassin he truly feared. Some years earlier he'd asked his personal physician for a hand-written note: " I, Dr. Viktor Eisenmenger, hereby certify that His Imperial and Royal Highness the Archduke Franz Ferdinand has been entirely cured of tuberculosis and that he will never suffer a relapse again." When anxious, he would reach for the pocket where he always carried "my life certificate."
His staff saw him reach for it much less often in the spring of 1914. His hypochondria was receding. As for bullets or bombs, he had always been a fatalist. "Precautions?" he'd once said to his secretary. "Bodyguards? I put up with them, but that's all rubbish. We are at all times in God's hands. Worry paralyzes life."
Of course, he was not nearly as philosophical about chal lenges thrust at him by sworn enemies-the likes of General Conrad or the Emperor's First Lord Chamberlain Prince Montenuovo. Yet in June the Archduke scented victory even in that arena. He discerned it in the Emperor's consent on Sophie. He saw it-ever since the Emperor's illness-in the quality of bows and curtsies greeting him. They seemed less rigid, more spontaneous. He didn't crave acclaim as the Kaiser did, nor encourage it even indirectly like Franz Joseph. Playacting the Lord Affable was not his forte. He disliked indulging the people unnecessarily because he hated indulging himself (even his hunting mania was a pursuit as relentless on his comfort as it was on the lives of ducks and deer). But now he sensed, if not popularity, a readier acceptance of his imperial destiny.
23
FOR THE ARCHDUKE IT WAS A EUPHORIC MONTH. ON SUNDAY, JUNE 7, three days after his audience at the Palace, he attended the Vienna Derby. Last year he'd stayed away. In 1913 the occasion had still been blighted by the Redl spy case. This year the young military elite was back with its dash restored.
The grandstands swaggered with hussars and dragoons, with kepis and capes, with slim captains blowing smoke rings at baronesses whose smiles were half-shadowed by their saucy hats. Perhaps Redl had never happened. Perhaps the Empire would last. Perhaps it would not rain.
The day began quite cloudy. But when the future, in the form of the Crown Prince and his consort, entered the Imperial Box, the sun pushed through and the stands burst into ap plause. Not an overwhelming ovation, it was still a salute livelier than the kind usually tendered to Franz Ferdinand. And who must join it, willy-nilly? Prince Montenuovo in the neighboring box.
Still more satisfying was the press next morning. It revealed a certain burgeoning of the Archduke's image. In the coverage of ladies' fashion at the track, the Duchess of Hohenberg- Franz Ferdinand's Sophie-took up more space than the Archduchesses. Most reports went on and on about Sophie's white voile frock with the black sash, her long black jacket brimming with white lace, her black hat with the white visor, topped by black feathers in-regal! — tiara style…
For once, the two left Vienna with pleased faces. Arrived at their Bohemian estate at Konopiste, the Archduke toured his gardens. It was here that he would make a gesture to the populace-his very first. He had decided on it hesitantly some weeks ago. Now he briskly proceeded with its implementation.
For fifteen years he had been developing at Konopiste the greatest rose garden in Central Europe. This spring he would open its gates to the public at the very height of the blossoming. The people had begun to welcome him as their sovereignto-be. In return he would welcome them into his pleasance on June 15, from morning to night.
First, though, he must do some summit politicking over the weekend of June 12. The Kaiser was coming to Konopiste. With this visit, the display of horticulture mattered less than the cultivation of peace.
Since the occasion centered on Wilhelm, nothing about it was quite calculable, not even his choice in excess of dress. Expecting something martial, the Archduke appeared at the railroad station in the uniform of a Colonel of the 10th Prussian Uhlan Regiment. However, the Kaiser stepped out of the train in a hunting costume he'd overcoutured himself-brassbuttoned green jacket; shining black leather boots aglitter and ajingle with spurs; and the Order of St. Hubertus, patron saint of the chase, hanging from his neck. In Wilhelm's wake followed Grand Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz, the creator of Germany's huge new navy, as well as Wadl and Hexl, two ferocious dachshunds.
Tirpitz's appearance made Vienna's leading newspaper comment, "How quickly the ravishing floral scent [of the Konopiste garden] can change into the smell of gun powder." As for Wadl and Hexl, they rushed off into the bushes and emerged dragging between them the body of a beautiful golden pheasant. Their kill was the only such bird in the estate, meant to be admired, not hunted.
Franz Ferdinand had to shrug off the loss. The point was to concentrate on bigger game, namely detente in Europe. He resolved not to be deterred by von Tirpitz, bristling braid, forked beard, and all. Fortunately no military retinue accompanied Kaiser or admiral. Indeed Wilhelm said that he had brought along "the sailor boy" because, like Franz Ferdinand, Tirpitz was a breeder of roses. And Franz Ferdinand took Wilhelm very firmly at his word: He sent the rose-loving Grand Admiral away on a walk into the vasts of the garden. Then he led Wilhelm to his automobile.