The Austrian Court returned to Vienna as soon as the first snows on the mountains round Ischl gave warning that the summer season was at an end. Emperor Francis Joseph, who is a strenuous worker, and carries on the business of State daily, whether in residence in Vienna or in the country, began his life as usual. On certain days of the week he held general audiences, and received anyone, high or low, aristocrat or peasant, who wished to present a petition. He was always up at 4 a.m., and had got through most of his State duties by 8 a.m., when he began to receive Ministers and others. In the month of October it was suddenly announced that the Emperor was ill. The news caused great consternation, as the monarch had never been ill in his life. He had been confined to his room for some time as a young man after an attempt made on his life, when he was stabbed in the neck, but he had never had the slightest ailment since. His life was carefully regulated by the Court physician, Doctor Kerzl, a military surgeon, a rough doctor of the old school, who had grown old with the Emperor. Members of the Imperial family frequently tried to have a younger and more up-to-date man appointed as Court physician. They considered that the Emperor’s health was so precious that its care ought not to be confided to a man who had gained his experience with the Army. The Emperor, however, stood firm, and the results of the somewhat draconic treatment have certainly justified his decision. The Emperor sleeps on a camp-bed, eats the heavy Vienna food with relish, and is always accustomed to drive in an open carriage without his military cloak. It is probable that he took the chill during the drive.

Specialists were summoned to the Emperor’s bedside, and they found that the Royal patient was suffering from inflammation of the lungs. He, however, refused to go to bed. Crowds of people went out to the summer palace of Schönbrunn, where he was staying, and waited under his window until he appeared to reassure them, when cheers rang out and echoed along the arched corridors beneath the palace. The anxiety felt by the common people was shared by everyone in Austria-Hungary, and the one hope of high and low was that the Emperor might live. This was not so much on account of his personal popularity, although this was great, as because of the dread of the future. The heir to the throne, Archduke Francis Ferdinand, was the most hated man in Austria-Hungary. The Emperor’s death meant that he would succeed to the throne. The Emperor himself felt a profound hatred for his heir, and it was a matter of common knowledge that he was filled with a firm determination not only to recover from his illness, but to outlive his heir. Day after day the struggle went on within the white walls of Schönbrunn Palace; the daily papers spoke of the Emperor’s illness as a slight cold, for the monarch was not satisfied with reading extracts from the official organs, as was his ordinary custom, but insisted upon having all the papers, opposition organs as well as bounty-fed periodicals, brought to his room. He wished to find out whether the doctors were telling the truth about his illness. The three specialists came to the conclusion that he could not recover; Doctor Kerzl alone stood firm and said that he would get well again. The Emperor refused to take to his bed, having a superstitious horror of lying down in the daytime. Kerzl supported him in this, and it is probable that he owed his recovery to it. The disputes among the doctors were unseemly, and the specialists insisted on calling the family to Vienna. Archduchess Gisela, the Emperor’s elder daughter, arrived in great haste, and his younger daughter, Valerie, also appeared on the scene. Both women are very pious, and they immediately wished the Emperor to receive Extreme Unction. The Archbishop of Vienna, with a retinue of priests, actually came out to Schönbrunn to administer it, but they were met downstairs by Frau Catherina Schraatt, who told them that it would frighten him to death, and induced them to return without carrying out their mission. Archduke Francis Ferdinand arrived at the capital. He and his morganatic wife, Duchess Hohenberg, established themselves at the Belvedere Palace for the season. The Archduke, a man who lacked refinement and who was utterly devoid of tact, immediately began to act as if he had already succeeded to the throne. Statesmen, fearing that the Emperor would never recover, were afraid to oppose him, and he got an insight into affairs of State during the Emperor’s illness that enabled him to assume a position that he never gave up afterwards. The Habsburgs were obliged to look on while Duchess Hohenberg, then merely Countess Chotek, took a position that would never have been conceded to her had the Emperor been in his usual health. Kaiser Wilhelm, ever watchful, began to count on the possibility of the Emperor’s death, and the friendship between him and the Archduke dates from this epoch. Kaiser Wilhelm did not like the heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary; he recognised the fact that he would have to deal with a determined man, who knew exactly what he wanted and would refuse to believe the flattering assurances that satisfied Emperor Francis Joseph, who, although still in full command of his mental faculties, was beginning to feel the weight of years. The Emperor was never so acute a man as his heir; the Archduke, too, had a wife whose intelligence was remarkable. Countess Chotek was ambitious, and her husband was accustomed to following her advice in State affairs. Kaiser Wilhelm therefore shared the wish of the Austrian people, that the aged Emperor might long be spared to them. Week after week went by. People from all parts of the monarchy sent the Emperor quaint remedies, charms, and specifics of all kinds to cure his illness; several officials were engaged all day in writing to thank the senders, who were not even aware of what ailed the Emperor. When it was finally announced that he was out of danger there was great jubilation throughout the realm; the people poured scorn upon the specialists, and acclaimed Dr. Kerzl as the saviour of the country whenever they could catch sight of his rough, honest face, bronzed by exposure upon many a battlefield. The Emperor had given his attendants great trouble during his illness and convalescence, as he had refused to allow anyone to enter his rooms except Dr. Kerzl, his soldier-valet, who slept upon a rug in the antechamber of his bedroom, and the sentry, who always paced to and fro outside the Emperor’s bedchamber, and watched through a spyhole, cunningly made in the door, for any change. No woman was allowed to enter the suite of rooms during the night hours, the patient saying he preferred an orderly to nurse him.

Gradually the Emperor recovered his powers. He was never the same man again; his vigour was gone, and, although he was little changed in appearance, his grasp upon affairs had weakened. The Archduke, who disliked Vienna cordially, remained in town, a thorn in the Emperor’s side. The latter, however, could find no pretext for dismissing him to the country. Councillors, already anticipating the probable demise of the reigning monarch at no distant date, advised the Emperor to consult with his heir and to try to inculcate the inexperienced man with some of his statecraft. The Emperor was induced to bestow some powers upon the Archduke, although much against his will, and a new era in the history of the country began.