rone, showed clearly that her rise would
not stop half-way.

[Sidenote: Domestic life of the Archduke.]

The Archduke, like William II himself, was reputed to be an exemplary
father and husband. He was one of those princes who adore their own
children, but, under the spur of political ambition, are very prone to
send the children of others to the shambles. A fine theme for Socialist
and Republican preachers to enlarge upon!

I often met the heir to the Imperial crown, especially at Vienna in
1910, where I had the honour of accompanying my Sovereign, and two years
later at Munich, the Prince Regent's funeral.

On each occasion this Hapsburg, with his heavy features, his scowling
expression, and his rather corpulent figure (quite different from the
slim build characteristic of his line), struck me as a singular type.
His face was certainly not sympathetic, nor was his manner engaging. The
Duchess of Hohenberg, whom, after having known her as a little girl when
her father was Austrian Minister at Brussels, I found gracefully doing
the honours in the Belvedere Palace, had retained in her high station
the genial simplicity of the Chotek family. This probably did not
prevent her from cherishing the loftiest ambitions for herself, and
above all for her eldest son, and from coveting the glory of the double
crown.

II

[Sidenote: Assassination of Francis Ferdinand.]

The news that an assassin's hand had struck down the Archduke and his
wife, inseparable even in death, burst upon Berlin on the afternoon of
Sunday, June 28, like an unexpected thunderclap in the midst of a calm
summer's day. I went over at once to the Austro-Hungarian Embassy, in
order to express all the horror that I felt at this savage drama. Count
Szoegyen, the senior member of the diplomatic corps, was on the eve of
resigning the post that he had held for twenty years, honoured by all
his colleagues. It was whispered that his removal had been asked for by
the Archduke, who was anxious to introduce young blood into the
diplomatic service. I found the Ambassador quite overcome by the
terrible news. He seemed stricken with grief at the thought of his aged
Sovereign, who had already lost so many of his nearest and dearest, and
of the Dual Empire, robbed of its most skillful pilot, and with no one
to steer it now but an octogenarian leaning on a youth of twenty-six. M.
Cambon had come to the Embassy at the same time, and we left together
discussing the re