In this little castle, or hunting-lodge, among these blue firs, the age-old history of the Hapsburgs came to an end; for here the last Emperor, Charles, abdicated. The people of Trieste called him Carlo Piria, “piria” being a funnel, on account of his love of wine, and the current image of him is of a limited but good-natured man. He was not only good-natured, however, but really good; and goodness, in this life, is an imperial virtue. When he visited the front-line, on the Isonzo, and saw the frightful, futile massacre, he exclaimed that he would stop the war at all costs. The courage to put an end to a war, to see the abysmal stupidity of it, is certainly no less than that needed to start one – it is courage worthy of a true emperor.
The little castle has the air of a peaceful domestic dwelling, and on the roof there is a reassuring stork’s nest. This pleasant, discreet simplicity is a fit setting for the end of the Hapsburgs, of a dynasty abounding in motherly and fatherly figures, from the great Maria Theresa to the last symbolic Emperor, Francis Joseph, with his grand-fatherly charisma, wise and a trifle absent-minded. In the park there is a huge tree, the branches of which create a mighty hall, grander than the royal chambers within. This tree has never thought of abdicating. In the country round a number of posters announce the cultivation of Sieglinde, a Wagnerian-sounding name for a particular variety of potato.