His two best friends, and the men to whom—­after his own nearest relations—­he was most attached, were his brother-in-law Albrecht von Wuertemberg and the Prince Karl of Schwarzenberg.

The former, a man of charming personality, great intelligence, and equally efficient in political as in military matters, lived on a footing of true brotherly unity with Franz Ferdinand, and also, naturally, on terms of perfect equality.

Karl of Schwarzenberg was the most sincere, honourable and straightforward character I have ever encountered; a man who concealed the truth from no one.  Rich, independent, and devoid of personal ambition, it was quite immaterial to him whether the Archduke was pleased with what he asserted or no.  He was his friend, and considered it his duty to be honest and open—­and if necessary, disagreeable.  The Archduke understood, appreciated, and valued this attitude.  I do not think there are many monarchs or heirs to the throne who would have suffered, as the Archduke did, Schwarzenberg’s sayings and doings.

Franz Ferdinand was on very bad terms with Aehrenthal, who easily became abrupt and repellent.  Still, there was another reason why two such hard millstones could not grind together.  I do not believe that the many reproaches launched against Aehrenthal by the Archduke were consequent on political differences; it was more Aehrenthal’s manner that invariably irritated the Archduke.  I had occasion to read some of Aehrenthal’s letters to Franz Ferdinand which, perhaps unintentionally, had a slight ironical flavour which made the Archduke feel he was not being taken seriously.  He was particularly sensitive in this respect.

When Aehrenthal fell ill the Archduke made unkind remarks about the dying man, and there was great and general indignation at the want of feeling shown by him.  He represented the Emperor at the first part of the funeral service, and afterwards received me at the Belvedere.  We were standing in the courtyard when the procession, with the hearse, passed on the way to the station.  The Archduke disappeared quickly into a cottage close by, the windows of which looked on to the road, and there, concealed behind the window curtain, he watched the procession pass.  He said not a word, but his eyes were full of tears.  When he saw that I noticed his emotion he turned away angrily, vexed at having given proof of his weakness.  It was just like him.  He would rather be considered hard and heartless than soft and weak, and nothing was more repugnant to him than the idea that he had aroused suspicion of striving to enact a touching scene.  I have no doubt that at that moment he was suffering the torture of self-reproach, and probably suffered the more through being so reserved and unable to give free play to his feelings.

The Archduke could be extremely gay, and possessed an exceptionally strong sense of humour.  In his happiest years he could laugh like any youth, and carried his audience with him by his unaffected merriment.