by Theo Aronson
Crowns in Conflict
The Triumph and the
Tragedy of European
Monarchy 1910-1918
Theo Aronson
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © Theo Aronson 1986, 2015
First published in 1986 by John Murray
This edition published in 2015 by:
Thistle Publishing
36 Great Smith Street
London
SW1P 3BU
www.thistlepublishing.co.uk
For
STELLA and COLLIE HILL
in memory of La Rimade
Contents
Author's Note
Prologue: 'The Pomp of Kings'
Part One 'THE OLD WORLD IN ITS SUNSET'
1 The All Highest
2 Constitutional King
3 King Emperor
4 Heir to the Caesars
5 Autocrat of All the Russias
6 Royal Meetings
7 His Imperial and Royal Apostolic Majesty
Part Two THE BALKAN POWDER KEG
8 League of the Balkan Kings
9 The Balkan Wars
10 Regicide
Part Three THE CROWNS AND THE CANNON
11 Divided Houses
12 Taking Sides
13 Uneasy Heads
14 'Thrones at a Discount'
15 The Gathering Storm
16 The Beginning of the End
17 The Fall of Kings
Epilogue: Victors and Vanquished
Notes
Bibliography
Author's Note
THIS BOOK is not a history of the First World War. Nor is it a political, economic and social survey of Europe from 1910 to 1918. It is a study of European monarchy in the final years of its last great flowering and, more particularly, of the twelve monarchs involved in the conflict of 1914–1918. The focus, throughout, is on the personal fortunes of these sovereigns; it is biography rather than history.
Whereas the falls of the Romanov, Habsburg and Hohenzollern dynasties have been dealt with before, this is the first time that the entire cast of embattled monarchs – including the lesser-known but no less interesting personalities such as the sovereigns of Bulgaria, Montenegro, Romania and Serbia – has been assembled in one book. It is the story of eight momentous years viewed, as it were, from the monarchical standpoint. The characters are dealt with in relation to each other, as members of an inter-related and international brotherhood, rather than as individual national sovereigns. It is an account of the passing, not only of their particular world, but of the entire monarchic and dynastic order of the Continent. It describes the brilliant sunset and the dramatic break-up of the Europe of the Kings.
I have received a great deal of help during the writing of this book. I am grateful to Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother who very kindly gave me her impressions of Queen Marie of Romania; and to the late Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone, for her memories of so many of the characters portrayed in this book, particularly Kaiser Wilhelm II and King Albert and Queen Elisabeth of the Belgians.
Then I must thank those many people who, to a greater or lesser extent, have given me information and assistance. They are, in alphabetical order: Sir Alastair Aird; Dr Becker of the Staatsarchiv Sigmaringen; Dr Horst Brettner-Messler of the Haus- Hof- und Staatsarchiv, Vienna; Mr Gordon Brook-Shepherd; Dr Francesca Di Cesare, Director of the Biblioteca di Storia Moderna e Contemporanea, Rome; Mr S. Clout of the Imperial War Museum; Miss Frances Dimond, Royal Archives, Windsor Castle; Mr Oliver Everett, the Librarian, Windsor Castle; Mrs Irmgard Flett; Dr S.R. Foister; Dr E.G. Franz, Director of the Hessisches Staatsarchiv, Darmstadt; Angela Griffiths; Doreen and Malcolm Jones; Dr Letkemann, Director of the Geheimes Staatsarchiv, Berlin; the Countess of Longford; Mr Antonio Spallone, Librarian at the Instituto Italiano di Cultura, London; Professor Norman Stone; Sir Roy Strong; Mr Emile Vandewoude, Archivist of the Palais Royal, Brussels; Mr R.I.B. Webster; Mr Peter Wilson.
As always, Brian Roberts has given me invaluable advice, encouragement and assistance.
I am grateful to the staffs of the British Library, the Newspaper Library at Colindale, the Bath Reference Library, the Bristol Reference Library, and the Department of Printed Books at the Imperial War Museum. To Mrs S. Bane and the staff of the Frome Library, I am, as always, deeply indebted for their unfailing patience and efficiency.
I must acknowledge the gracious permission of Her Majesty The Queen for the republication of material from the Royal Archives which is subject to copyright. Although I have listed all books consulted in the Bibliography, I am particularly grateful to the authors of the following books: The Last Habsburg by Gordon Brook-Shepherd, Foxy Ferdinand, Tsar of Bulgaria by Stephen Constant and The Fall of the House of Savoy by Robert Katz.
Prologue
'The Pomp of Kings'
OF ALL THE PAGEANTRY that marked the funeral of King Edward VII on 20 May 1910, nothing was more spectacular than the famous 'Parade of Kings'. This was the cavalcade, not only of kings and emperors but of crown princes, archdukes, grand-dukes and princes, that followed the slowly trundling coffin through the streets of London.
Never, declared The Times, had the British capital seen anything 'more splendid, more stately or more impressive'. Over fifty royal horsemen–nine monarchs, five heirs-apparent, forty imperial, royal and serene highnesses – rode through the densely packed streets. Three by three, with plumes fluttering, orders flashing, gold braid glinting and accoutrements all a-jingle, these 'visions', as The Times effusively put it, 'of gold and scarlet and blue and green' passed by in the bright spring sunshine. Behind, in twelve crimson and gold state carriages, came a galaxy of queens and princesses.
Here was a moment of supreme monarchical glory. Never before had such a concourse of royalty been gathered together in one place. What Queen Victoria used to call 'the Royal Mob' was out in force. Republican envoys, no matter how powerful the countries they represented, were firmly relegated to the end of the procession.
To the crowds lining the route from Westminster Hall to Paddington station, some of these royal figures were instantly recognisable. Beside the new British King, George V, rode the German Emperor, Wilhelm II. His features – the waxed moustache, the steely gaze, the aggressive bearing, the crippled left arm – were as familiar as were the warlike pronouncements by which he regularly sent shivers down the spines of Europe's diplomats. Behind, flanking old King George I of the Hellenes, came two younger sovereigns: King Haakon VII of Norway and King Alfonso XIII of Spain. Between Tsar Ferdinand I of Bulgaria and young King Manoel II of Portugal rode King Frederick VII of Denmark. Finally, with the heir to the Austro-Hungarian empire on his left hand and to the Ottoman empire on his right, came the Continent's newest sovereign, King Albert I of the Belgians.
Here and there, among the assorted royal and imperial highnesses that followed, could be spotted some particularly arresting figure: a Russian grand duke; a Japanese or Chinese prince; the brother of the Khedive of Egypt in a fez; a clutch of Balkan princes in their flat, round caps; a strikingly uniformed Italian duke; a honey-skinned prince of Siam and an olive-skinned prince of Persia; the Crown Prince of Bavaria in a scarlet sash; an Austrian archduke; the Dutch Prince Consort; Prince Danilo of Montenegro who, to the dismay of his British hosts, had arrived in London with an extremely attractive young woman whom he introduced as his absent wife's lady-in-waiting. When the harassed officials expressed grave doubts about the possibility of finding the lady a room in the crowded capital, Prince Danilo remained, they said, remarkably unperturbed.
In the twelve state carriages that followed drove no less than seven queens. With them were assorted princesses and royal duchesses, as well as the younger childr
en of the new British sovereigns, King George and Queen Mary.
Who, seeing this collection of royalty clattering by, could doubt that the institution of kingship was flourishing? Indeed, nothing could better have symbolised the extraordinary early twentieth-century flowering of European monarchy than this swaggering cavalcade. And, with the exception of the more exotic eastern princes, most of these royals were related to each other. The late Edward VII had been known as the Uncle of Europe: and where he had not been the uncle of Europe's various kings and queens, they had been his cousins, or cousins-by-marriage, at several removes. There was hardly a Continental court that did not boast at least one of Edward VII's Coburg relations.
So Edward VII's grandiose funeral served both as a domestic occasion and as a public flourish. It was, as one of the late King's equerries put it, 'as much a family gathering as the mustering of a profession'. It marked, or seemed to mark, an apogee in the long history of Europe's reigning houses.
This famous 'Parade of Kings' illustrated something else. It was tangible proof of the tenacity of the ideal of monarchy. Who would have thought that well over a century after the French Revolution had threatened to sweep away the whole concept of kingship, the crowned heads of Europe would still be so firmly ensconced? Some thrones had fallen and others been shaken but the principle of monarchy had survived. And not only had it withstood the French Revolution and the revolutions that had followed it, but it had weathered the nineteenth-century spread of liberal, democratic, socialist and radical ideas.
How had this been achieved? Amazingly resilient, the reigning houses had come to terms with the liberal tenor of the times. It was as though they had an unspoken pact with liberalism. Because the burgeoning middle classes had persuaded themselves that the ruling dynasties had been converted to liberalism, the dynasties – by accomplishing some of the objects of liberalism – had contained it. When their subjects had demanded constitutions, they had granted them. Where there had been a clamour for extended suffrage, they had agreed to it. Nineteenth-century monarchs, as one historian has put it, 'excelled at selectively ingesting, adapting and assimilating new ideas and practices without seriously endangering their traditional status, temperament and outlook'.1 The art which monarchy practised with more skill than any other was the art of self-preservation.
The monarchy, as one disgruntled British politician complained, 'has been sold to the democracy as the symbol of itself.
Indeed, not only had monarchy ridden out the political storms of the nineteenth century, it had emerged from them with heightened prestige. Instead of diminishing, thrones had multiplied. The second half of the nineteenth century and the early years of the twentieth had seen the setting up of some half a dozen new thrones. Even as late as 1905, when Norway declared its independence from Sweden, it seemed inconceivable that the new head of state should be anything other than a king. The crowned heads of Europe lost no time in elevating a Danish prince, as King Haakon VII, to this 'revolutionary' throne.
By the year 1910, there were more monarchies than there had ever been. Without counting the sovereigns whose kingdoms and duchies went to make up the German empire, there were twenty reigning monarchs in Europe. Every country other than France and Switzerland (and even France had re-established the monarchy four times during the last century) was ruled by a sovereign.
Kings might no longer reign by divine right but, as hereditary monarchs, whether they be all-powerful autocrats as in Russia or virtually powerless constitutional monarchs as in Britain, their prestige and positions remained almost intact. A crowned and anointed sovereign was still generally regarded as someone mystical, unassailable, divinely guided.
Whatever their powers, the monarchs remained the glittering centrepieces of the hierarchical political systems of Europe. A reigning sovereign was the supreme national figure. He was the personification of the state, the symbol of continuity, the emblem of permanence, the magnet of all loyalties, the embodiment of the past history and the present identity of the nation. Laws were passed, orders issued, treaties signed and war declared in their names. Their portraits appeared, not only in all public offices and many private homes, but on banknotes, coins and stamps. So sacred was the image of the monarch that in certain areas of the Russian empire post office officials were said to be afraid to overstamp the Tsar's head.
The great ceremonies of state were all designed to exalt the monarchy. King, emperor or tsar was the focal point of meticulously stage-managed public appearances. No matter how wise or foolish, weak or strong, impressive or insignificant these sovereigns might be as individuals, the matrix of ceremonial ensured that they never appeared as anything less than demigods. There was nothing like a bemedalled uniform, a couple of handsome equerries and a row of obsequiously bowing officials to add lustre to even the most undistinguished-looking royal figure.
As commanders-in-chief of their armies, these soldier-kings could command an extraordinary degree of loyalty and adulation. They were forever reviewing troops, attending manoeuvres, taking part in military parades. Soldiers were invariably regarded as the sovereign's own men, and this was how many of the men regarded themselves. The Emperor Franz Joseph always referred to the Austro-Hungarian army as 'My Army'. In turn, his elegantly uniformed officers tended to walk with their heads thrust forward and their shoulders slumped in imitation of the ageing, round-shouldered Emperor.
'Don't think, officers,' declaimed one British general with more theatricality than accuracy, 'that I take orders from those swines of politicians! No, I only take orders from the Sovereign. '2
As well as being head of state, the monarch was head of society. During the first years of the twentieth century, reigning sovereigns remained the apex of a social pyramid, of a class structure that appeared fixed and immutable. Bolstered by the nobility, the aristocracy and a growing bourgeoisie increasingly anxious to emulate and identify itself with the upper classes, the monarchy seemed impregnable. Shrewdly, as the only institution that could legally confer titles and honours, the monarchy used this power to buy off any possible opposition. On the Continent, and in Germany especially, the rising middle classes were showered with orders and decorations. There was the Order of the Black Eagle, the Order of the Red Eagle, the Prussian Order of the Crown, the Order of the House of Hohenzollern and countless others.
'These orders, in turn,' noted one bemused American diplomat, 'are divided into numerous classes. For instance, a man can have the Red Eagle Order of the first, second, third or fourth class, and these may be complicated with a laurel crown, with swords, and with stars, and so on. Even domestic servants who have served a long time in one family receive orders . . .'3
The monarchs themselves were hardly less obsessed with decorations. Kaiser Wilhelm II, with all the audacity of the pot calling the kettle black, once described Tsar Ferdinand of Bulgaria as 'festooned with decorations like a Christmas tree'. And King Edward VII would be annoyed for hours if he spotted an order incorrectly worn or a uniform wrongly chosen.
Few things delighted these sovereigns more than the opportunity of wearing yet another uniform. Every state visit gave them the chance of buttoning themselves into the uniform of one of their host's regiments. 'What sort of dress for our meeting?' cabled an excited Wilhelm II to Nicholas II before their yachts dropped anchor for an informal get-together off the coast of Finland. No matter how outlandish a uniform the Tsar might suggest, the Kaiser's valets would be able to find it in one of his gleaming mahogany wardrobes.
But it was not only the political and social structures that ensured that the monarchy held the central position in national life. The very cities and palaces in which they lived emphasised the fact. Their capitals, which had burgeoned so spectacularly during the course of the nineteenth century, were monuments to traditionalism. The banks looked like Florentine palazzi, the museums like Greek temples, the railway stations like Gothic cathedrals. Every public building, whatever its style, recalled the glories of the past. And the focal
point of these grandiose cities was the palace. More than the cathedral, more than the parliament house, these palaces dominated the capital. Reached by processional ways and triumphal arches, offset by vast squares and flamboyant statuary, built – for the most part – in the richly assertive Renaissance style, they were guaranteed to glorify and impress.
And where it was felt that yet more glorification was called for, there were additional civic tributes to the virtues and strengths of kings. Every other square boasted a statue of an elaborately helmeted monarch on a precariously rearing horse. In the Siegesallee in Berlin, Wilhelm II had erected thirty-two statues of past rulers as a memorial to the House of Hohenzollern from which he sprang. In Rome a white marble monument, looking like a giant wedding cake, was dedicated to the achievements of King Victor Emmanuel II. In London, plans had already been drawn up for the erection, outside Buckingham Palace, of a triumphant memorial to Queen Victoria.
In their portraits, by Fildes, Noster or Angeli, the sovereigns were depicted as the very personifications of power. Against backgrounds of swagged red velvet, they stood proud and masterful in their ermine-trimmed robes: one hand gripping a sceptre, the other the hilt of a sword, while on the gilded table beside them rested the supreme symbol of their office, a richly jewelled crown. These portraits could just as well have been painted in the Grand Siècle.