enumerated (omitting Mexico, against which the USA was preparing an ultimatum). This high-minded aria, euphonious with metaphor and legato vowels, he repeated for twelve performances. In an interview, his Excellency explained that only through fees for extra undertakings such as this could he foot the high representational expenses of his office. The Tyrolean received much less for his yodels. But then a Tyrolean yodeler was not an American gentleman, and an American gentleman-said Diamond Jim Brady in New York during an interview much quoted in the Vienna press that fall-an American gentleman required an income of $1,000 a day, plus expenses.
This, of course, was the sort of zany flash typical of America. But in the course of autumn of 1913, Vienna saw the international horizon brighten in a more important way. At Belvedere Palace the First Lord Chamberlain of the Crown Prince issued an auspicious statement. An arrangement informally discussed during the summer had been confirmed and could be publicly announced: His Imperial and Royal Highness, the Archduke and Heir Apparent Franz Ferdinand and his consort had been asked to join Their Majesties, the King and Queen of England, at Windsor Castle, for a shoot during the third week of November.
To be sure, this was to be a 'private stay' for the Austrian couple-not a state visit, which would have implied an altogether august elevation for a morganatic wife. Still, the last time Franz Ferdinand's spouse had seen the English King, two years earlier, she had almost been smuggled into Buckingham Palace as an incognito luncheon guest under the name of Countess of Artstetter. But now, at Windsor, the Archduke would have her officially at his side as the Duchess of Hohenberg. It was a protocol breakthrough; a coup scored by the Crown Prince over Prince Montenuovo, First Lord Chamberlain of the Emperor; an event registered instantly by Vienna gossip as a bulletin from the invisible front line running through the Court.
And there was that other arena, much less accessible to rumor, in which the Crown Prince did combat. Here the contest was waged through memos, usually top secret and livid; special couriers scurried from backstairs at the War Ministry to the 'confidential door' of Franz Ferdinand's Military Chancellery at Belvedere Palace and back again. The temperatures sank in Vienna in the course of autumn. The thrust and parry heated up between Army Chief and Crown Prince, between Serbia's unappeasable foe and the volcanic apostle of restraint.
Earlier in the year the Archduke had mentioned that he might attend the Army's summer exercises planned for summer of 1914 at Sarajevo. Presently definite notice of his intention to participate was transmitted to the Chief of Staff by General Oscar Potiorek, Governor of Bosnia. The Crown Prince had chosen to convey 'highest' information to the Chief of Staff through an officer of less senior rank. It was a pointed disregard of channels.
And the Chief of Staff, General Conrad, retaliated with some anti-Serb ammunition pointed directly at the Archduke's heart. Austrian intelligence in the United States had been watching Michael Pupin, the well-known professor of electromechanics at Columbia University and the head of Srpska Slega, an organization of Americans of Serbian descent. A student of Pupin's, one Dusan Trbuhovic, had left America for Serbia at the end of summer and during a farewell dinner for him at the Hotel La Salle in Chicago, the possibility of an attempt on Franz Ferdinand's life had been discussed in detail. This report Conrad sent on to the Archduke. It seems fair to assume that the purpose was not just to warn but to rattle His Highness, to shake him into a tougher stance toward the Serbs.
There is no evidence of a specific response on Franz Ferdinand's part. But that month he made devastatingly plain his position vis-a-vis Conrad.
For three days starting September 14, large-scale war games involving six divisions of the Austro-Hungarian Army were to unfold in Bohemia, on a terrain about fifty miles south of Prague. Conrad arrived on September 11 to prepare mock battles involving field telephone and telegraph as well as bomber aircraft. The exercises were to show how well the Empire could fight a twentieth-century war.
On the thirteenth, the Crown Prince's automobile roared up, followed by a huge detachment of horse. Instantly, brutally, he asserted his new rank of Inspector General, which gave him supreme command over all maneuvers. He cancelled a number of troop movements and changed the timing of all others-everything that Conrad had mapped out with such care. A three days' program was squeezed into little more than one, in order to make room for the Archduke's own plan.
Most of the second day went into a rehearsal over which the Crown Prince presided, frowning triumphantly astride his Lippizaner. On the sixteenth, he let his operation explode before the eyes of his wife and an assembly of Bohemian princes watching from a grandstand: Down the slope of Mount Tabor galloped tier upon tier of cavalry. It was a dust wreathed extravaganza of hussar bravado. In real war it would have been mowed down-drawn swords, flowing capes, plumed shakos, and all-by laconic bursts from a few machine gun batteries.
The impresario of this passe magnificence was not one of your backward-minded Viennese. On the contrary, Franz Ferdinand preferred a powerful motorcar over the fastest thoroughbred. And in ordnance beyond the Army Chief's immediate sphere-the Austrian Navy, for example-the Archduke urged the most modern armaments. Franz Ferdinand had turned these maneuvers into a historial joke not because he liked antiquated valor but because he hated the Chief of Staff. To undo Conradian policy, the Crown Prince must undo Conrad himself in every way.
The horse droppings left by the hussar commotion had not yet been scooped when the Crown Prince barked at the Chief of Staff: Why hadn't he attended field Mass? Five minutes later, he barked at him again, this time in front of other generals: Why had he permitted cars to park in the path of the cavalry attack?
Conrad listened mutely. His handsome mustache twitched with his tic. He saluted and excused himself. He boarded alone his command train back to Vienna. He did not want to share his humiliation with his brother officers. But to his beloved Frau von Reininghaus he could pour out his heart about'. this battle-farce' the Archduke had put on, '… this ludicrous spectacle for amateurs and children' which'… the Archduke must have anticipated and intended because he must have known that I can accept all this no longer.'
***
The day after his return from 'the farce,' on September 17, Conrad addressed to the Archduke a written request to accept his resignation, leaving it 'to your Imperial and Royal Highness to most graciously decide what official form or reason should be assigned to my voluntary removal.'
Franz Ferdinand had already picked out Conrad's successor-General Karl von Tersztyansky, head of the Budapest Army Corps. But at this juncture the Emperor himself intervened. At the moment the Balkan situation was still too unsettled, the military contingencies too unpredictable, for Austria to dispense with a seasoned commander like Conrad.
The Crown Prince was summoned to a discreet audience at the Hofburg. He returned to Konopiste where he exercised, furiously, his famed marksmanship on over a hundred heathcocks. Then he sat down to do something unusual, for him. Something quite Viennese: He smiled a fine smile over clenched teeth. 'Dear General Conrad,' he wrote on September 23, 'Much as I understand your wish not to remain much longer in office, I do hope and trust that you shall be able to display in some other high position your inestimable abilities, your patriotic commitment and your generally admired qualities as a soldier for which we are much indebted to you. But for the moment I would like to ask you most earnestly, in the interest of a good cause and in my own name, not to change your command and to remain in your thorny office at least until spring, and thereby make a sacrifice to the Army and to all of us entrusted with its leadership.'
The tone suggests anything but vintage Franz Ferdinand. These phrases are not only too humble, they are far humbler than the Emperor required. Strategy, not sincerity, produced the Archduke's compliments. If their intent was to tempt the General into overconfidence, they did their work well within a month.
Conrad, of course, withdrew his resignation. He had retained power with his dignity vindicated; his foe was beaten back, his opinion bolstered by the news of the day. Each week in October brought new reports of fighting along Albania's border with Serbia. Serbia claimed it was repelling an invasion. Albania, which consisted of tribal war lords shooting off Austrian rifles, accused Serbia of aggression. Conrad felt that the mounting chaos could only be resolved by a showdown with Belgrade. Since that might mean war with Russia, however, Austria needed to be backed by its own strong ally, Germany. Yet on just that point Berlin had been evasive, or worse.
On October 1, Wilhelm, writing to Franz Ferdinand, had been rather sympathetic to the Serbs; he had actually referred to 'Albania's habit, incited by Turkey, of pouncing on Serbia. ' This implied that the real inciter and protector of the Albanians, Austria, would ignite a needless conflagration from which Germany had a right to remain apart.
Conrad had been trying to enroll Berlin on Vienna's side. At an audience some months ago, he had-cautiously and respectfully-asked Franz Joseph to obtain some personal commitment from the Kaiser in case of a wider conflict. Franz Joseph's reply had been one short, brusque sentence. 'It is the duty of kings to keep peace.'
But that had been much earlier in the year, at a time less favorable to Conrad's cause, with Serb
