No ruler has experienced a fate so ill as that which befell the Emperor Karl. He accepted his fate with dignity, and the way he bore himself in a crucial test did him honor as man and Hapsburg. . . he was thoroughly good, brave, and honest and a true Austrian. . .
Kurt Schuschnigg,
My Austria
Can a man live well in a palace, as Marcus Aurelius wondered? Can a man live a wise and saintly life, though tempted by high birth, prestige, power, and a great wealth? The life of Karl, emperor of Austria and king of Hungary, demonstrates that such a life is possible. And though wisdom and holiness are related, since the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, we can, for the purpose of analysis, consider these two qualities separately in the life of Emperor Karl.
I.
Was Karl, of the House of Hapsburg, wise? In 1916 Archduke Karl, after a strict Catholic, aristocratic, and military upbringing, inherited the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, a realm of eleven major races and fifty million people. He was still only twenty-nine; — handsome, popular, charming prince married to a lovely young woman, Zita of the royal house of Bourbon-Parma — when he became the direct successor to the Holy Roman Emperors of past ages. World War I was raging, and the Dual Monarchy of Austria and Hungary was weakened by “time and fate.” How did Karl handle himself?
His biographers tell us that he was intelligent, consistent, and also progressive by the conservative standards of his time and dynasty. This young Hapsburg not only was convinced of the aristocracy’s mission to rule, but also accepted its duty to serve. With his imperial vision, he feared the egotism and arrogance of nationalism, and so he distrusted and watched carefully his German allies, while in certain respects he could admire his Western enemies of the Entente — France and England. Then, too, Karl worried over the trials of political agitators by Austrian military courts, considering the sentences too severe. He ordered a review of all recent trials and commuted four death sentences to prison terms. Another humanitarian measure was the granting of an amnesty in 1917, from which over 2,500 prisoners benefited. Do not these actions show a wise concern for justice? In similar vein, he banned the bombing of open cities, churches, and museums. Long before Berlin could see it, Karl foresaw defeat for the Central Powers, for his own empire, and for Kaiser William’s Germany. He attempted to stop the press from forever trumpeting about victory, because he knew the war was lost as soon as America declared war on Germany, and because his people knew the situation was desperate since they were getting poorer and hungrier. For this admirable objectivity, Karl and Zita were labeled perfidious “royal renegades.”
An autocratic ruler (one whose authority is uncontrolled) is not so wise and good as he should be, because his mistakes will not be corrected in time and the people will suffer. But Karl is considered to be the first Hapsburg ruler who was not autocratic. In certain areas, especially in matters of public authority, wisdom often carries with it the quality of goodness, so that they are commingled. For example, in April 1917, the Emperor Karl learned of a plan of the German High Command to use revolution as a weapon by sending Lenin and other Bolsheviks into Russia so that Russia would be turned upside-down by revolution and thus knocked out of the war. Karl strongly opposed this dismal and short-sighted plan and refused to allow the train carrying Lenin’s entourage to cross the Austrian frontier. (What an infamous train-load! The Russian people needed it like they needed a shipment of bubonic plague germs.) Rebuffed, the German government sent the train through Sweden instead. Years later, the Empress Zita said her husband had refused to act in a way that would be “unfair and irresponsible” to the Russian people. Surely, here is wisdom and goodness blinded into a courageous stand against powerful Berlin.
His efforts to end World War I most clearly demonstrate his commitment to Catholic principles. No war is justified that does not have a reasonable prospect of success. And, therefore, a morally responsible ruler cannot countenance the useless shedding of blood. In his own words, let us hear the pious emperor justify his peace efforts: “Since my accession to the throne I have unceasingly tried to spare my nations the horror of the war, for the outbreak of which I bear no responsibility.” But, apparently, the same mysterious forces who were responsible for the starting of the war, had in view an appointed destiny for the Catholic dynasty. As a result, all the emperor’s efforts were invariably frustrated, and his motives predictably misinterpreted.
Listen to Catholic historian Warren Carroll comment on Karl’s February 1917 peace initiatives: they were “by far the most genuine and unselfish peace offer by the head of government of a belligerent state in the whole course of the war.” Here is the famous French writer Anatole France speaking:
“L’Empereur Charles a offert la paix; c’est le seul honnete homme qui ait paru, au cours de cette guerre — on ne l’a pas ecoute. . . L’Empereur Charles veut sincerement la paix, aussi tout le monde le deteste. . . “ (“The Emperor Karl has offered to make peace; here is the only decent man who has appeared in the course of this war — they didn’t listen to him. . . he sincerely wants peace, so everyone detests him. . .”)
On November 11, 1918 (Armistice Day), Karl was obliged to renounce the Austrian throne; however, he never abdicated, only relinquished power. After Austria rejected him, he planned to reign as king of Hungary, whose anointed and crowned sovereign he was. Then the new Hungarian parliament asked Karl for his renunciation of the scepter of St. Stephan. Again, the young Hapsburg monarch refused to abdicate. As Zita put it, “One cannot forfeit one’s ancestral rights!” Hence, Karl announced, “I am voluntarily abandoning power.” After a few years of exile, he made two restoration attempts in 1921, trying to regain the throne of Hungary. Both failed, but the two bids for control of what was rightfully his reveal his moral goodness shining forth under conditions of great pressure and danger.
During Eastertide, 1921, Karl enters Hungary in disguise, meets with his loyalist followers, and speaks these noble words: “Following the dictates of my heart, I have re-entered my beloved country, to shoulder its government from this day forth.” His supporters urge him to march on Budapest with a brigade of loyal troops, but, amazingly, the king refuses the army’s help, saying, “I am not usurping a throne.” He refuses to shed a drop of Magyar blood. Instead, sleepless for thirty-six hours, he goes to see the Regent of Hungary, Admiral Horthy, alone, without even his service revolver! Horthy declines to return power to the king, which he is obliged to do. 1 And so the restoration bid fails, largely because Karl with genuine Catholic idealism, refused to march to his throne in the manner of a foreign conqueror, but rather trusted in the loyalty of his people — a loyalty that had been undermined by mysterious forces, opposed both to his faith and to his ideals. Brook-Shepherd thinks that even a handful of armed men might have forced the Regent to yield. Yet who can be sure of that? The move could have led to a bloody civil war, and might have rekindled the world strife.
II.
As wise actions tend to become morally good actions, so good actions sometimes lead to holiness, or what seems to be such, “Holiness consists in doing God’s will,” a good priest said. Did the Emperor Karl possess genuine piety? While recognizing that only the Church can declare one a saint, the faithful can look for signs of sanctity in a man’s life. The first sign in Karl’s life appeared early, for even as a boy he looked after his own little brother, Max, with kindly solicitude. Such loving concern, for a boy, is impressive. And all through his life, straightforwardness and loyalty marked his character. As soldier and statesman he attended daily Mass when possible. During the war he lived frugally; in fact, he never fattened his own purse with imperial money, and in exile there was little money for his household. Karl had never built up a royal nest-egg at some foreign bank, as many kings have done.
He had sought peace during the war because it was “his solemn duty before God, towards the peoples of his Empire and all the belligerents.” This statement is no insincere platitude; Karl meant it. Warren Carroll notes that he showed “a concern for all Christendom”; a concern, by the way, very fitting in the heir to the Holy Roman Emperors. Karl served God not only in private worship but also in his lifelong mission of serving others. Then, too, he was horrified by illegal and immoral profiteering in war-time, while the people suffered. He said, “Gentlemen, war must not be a boom period for business, otherwise capital would have an interest in fomenting trouble.” He also opposed all-out submarine warfare, and stood up to Germany’s Admiral Holtzendorff. His stand against U-boat terrorism went ignored by Austria’s Cabinet: “I shall not consent to the indiscriminate drowning of helpless civilians!”
This “intensely religious man,” who in March, 1922, died with the holy name of Jesus on his lips, was the last of two sacred chains of rulers linked to the anointing of Charlemagne and the crowning of St. Stephan, both passing through the Hapsburg line. Speaking in exile, Karl said: “As long as God gives me strength to carry out my duty, I shall not abdicate the throne to which I am bound by sacred oath.” Are these only insincere words, easily mouthed off? You cannot think so, after reading this man’s life and reflecting on his character. His genuine piety is neatly expressed by Brook-Shepherd: “The two — his Catholic faith and his working life — were fused together by his crown.” When Karl was dying, he called his son Otto, the heir, to his bedside for a last talk; next day he said of Otto: “He has to know how one conducts oneself in such situations — as Catholic and as Emperor.” In that order. Karl of Hapsburg had a way of putting first things first.
Karl has been declared “venerable” by the Church, and after fifty years his body was examined and discovered incorrupt, which can be taken as a sign of divine favor. The bodies of many saints of the Catholic Church have remained incorrupt, some for centuries, in a state of remarkable preservation. Only supernatural intervention can account for a dead body retaining its physical integrity for so long a time. 2
III.
Some feel, had the Emperor Karl not been rejected by his people and exiled, he would have been a very strong force — both as head of a large federation of states within his empire and as a man of resolute, Christian character — to stop the spread of atheistic Communism in Western Europe. And what a future foe of organized naturalism, of that international Freemasonry which is the secret enemy of man and God! Furthermore, Karl would have been appalled by the rise of Hitler. Would he not have resolutely opposed the Nazi movement? Consider the consequences of even one great ruler of integrity standing up to Hitler and moving sharply against him, early on. 3
But many people who should have known better (for example, Austrians, Hungarians, various left-wing groups, the diplomats of the Entente) sent Karl into exile. Of course, if Karl had stayed in Vienna, he might never have gotten pneumonia — on damp, misty Madeira. Too many people rejected their birthright of an anointed sovereign who could have done much good in years to come. If people spurn what God sends, they must accept the consequences.
1 This was Horthy’s crucial moment. T.S. Eliot’s line from Prufrock is here appropriate of Horthy, not Karl: “I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker.”
2 See The Incorruptables by Joan Carrol Cruz, Our Sunday Visitor, Inc., Huntington, Indiana
3 I am indebted for these opinions to Brother Francis, M.I.C.M.
