96 
Assassination
A message arrived in Vienna from Serbian premier Pashich to his minister in the Austrian capital.
Archduke Franz Ferdinand, nephew of Austro-Hungarian emperor Franz Joseph and heir to his throne, must be warned, Pashich urged. He must cancel his planned visit to Sarajevo. A plot was brewing. His life could be in danger.
The minister in Vienna, however, himself a Serbian nationalist, did not deliver the premier’s message.
Thus, the trip went on as planned. With his wife, Sophie, the duchess Chotek of Hohenberg, Archduke Franz Ferdinand traveled south to the province of Bosnia for the ceremonial visit to view the military maneuvers.
The provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina were far more Serbian than Austrian. Their inclusion in the empire of the Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy had been a matter of bitter resentment in Serbia for years. Most Serbs cherished the dream of a Greater Serbia, which would one day unify all Serbian peoples.
When the fifty-one-year-old archduke stepped from his train onto the platform of the Sarajevo station on June 28, 1914, therefore, he stepped into the middle of a city where he represented the accumulated hatred of the entire Serbian race against the Habsburg dynasty.
General Potiorek was at the station to meet the royal party. A brief stop followed at the Philipovic army camp. Franz Ferdinand reviewed the troops. Everything seemed calm and orderly.
The party got into six waiting cars for the drive along the Appel Quay to the City Hall. There they would be received by Sarajevo’s mayor. Franz Ferdinand and Sophie rode in the backseat of a grey touring car, whose fabric top had been rolled back so that they might be seen by the people along the route. The day was warm and sunny.
The streets were crowded. Among the spectators, mingling unnoticed, moved seven young men who had long trained for this moment. Their backgrounds and nationalities were diverse, but their purpose was one. Each of the seven carried a vial of cyanide wrapped in cotton to swallow when their business was done. None planned to live beyond this fateful morning.
Near the Austro-Hungarian Bank next to the Cumurja Bridge stood Muhamed Mehmedbasic.
A few steps away stood Nedjelko Cabrinovic.
Farther toward City Hall were positioned Vaso Cubrilovic and Cvijetko Popovic.
Still farther on, near Lateiner Bridge, stood Gavrilo Princip, whose friend Trifko Grabez paced impatiently along the street nearby.
Their organizer, Danilo Ilic, moved about between the others.
As the automobile bearing the royal couple moved in the direction of City Hall, Mehmedbasic’s hand went to the bomb inside his coat. But as the second car of the processional drew even, a policeman stepped up behind him.
Mehmedbasic froze. To make a move now, and be immediately apprehended by the policeman, would undo the whole plot.
He continued to hesitate.
Within seconds it was too late. The car passed. As it continued along the thoroughfare, so too passed Mehmedbasic’s chance for immortality.
The procession now approached Cabrinovic’s position. This time there was no hesitation. Cabrinovic removed the bomb from his own tightly buttoned coat, struck its percussion cap on a lantern post, and hurled it straight for Franz Ferdinand’s green-feathered helmet.
But the alert driver heard the pop of the cap. Instinctively his head spun and he detected something flying through the air!
He jammed his foot to the floor. The car lurched forward with sudden acceleration.
At the last instant, the archduke also saw the object flying toward them. His hand jerked up to protect his wife. The bomb struck his arm, fell behind them against the folded roof of the car, and bounced into the street.
A deafening explosion followed.
Within seconds pandemonium broke loose. Smoke billowed up from the blast. Screams erupted everywhere.
The two lead cars drove on. But those behind were forced to stop. As the archduke’s car sped away Franz Ferdinand glanced back at the commotion.
“Stop the car!” he cried. “Sophie’s face has a cut. I want to know if anyone else has been hurt.”
The car lurched to a halt. As the archduke tended to his wife and then inquired about other injuries, the driver jumped out to inspect the car. A few flying fragments had struck it, but the damage was not severe.
A number of spectators had been hurt from the blast. No one was dead, but some injuries were serious. Several of those in the following car were bleeding badly.
Cabrinovic, meanwhile, swallowed his cyanide and leapt into the river Miljacka. But by now he had been seen. Several spectators jumped in after him, pulled him out and back onto the quay, then proceeded to beat him severely. The police arrived in time to prevent his being killed on the spot. They took him to the station, sick but still alive.
Back at the scene, once the wounded and injured were attended to, the badly shaken archducal party continued on toward City Hall.
When Gavrilo Princip heard the explosion from his own vantage point, and saw the smoke and confusion, he thought the mission had been completed before it reached him. But then after the delay the procession continued on. Now his position was all wrong. He could not see the archduke anywhere.
At City Hall, Mayor Fehim Effendi Curcic attempted to launch into his welcoming speech. But before he could utter a word, Archduke Franz Ferdinand burst forth with an angry rebuke against his city’s lax security measures. Apologies and assurances followed. Again the mayor began to speak.
“Your Royal and Imperial Highness, and Your Highness,” he said, turning briefly toward Sophie, altering not a word of his planned remarks as a result of what had just transpired, “our hearts are full of happiness over the most gracious visit with which Your Highnesses are pleased to honor our capital city. All the citizens of Sarajevo find that their souls are filled with happiness and they most enthusiastically greet Your Highnesses’ most illustrious visit with the most cordial of welcomes. . . .”
The lengthy speech continued, serving at least the purpose of calming everyone’s nerves. When the mayor was finished, Franz Ferdinand gave his planned reply.
The official delegation turned and entered City Hall. Several telephone calls were placed to the hospital. The rest of the day’s plans were discussed.
Perhaps, someone suggested, they should remain at City Hall until troops could be brought in. There may be more conspirators.
No, insisted Mayor Curcic, the troops were not in proper dress for the occasion. There could not possibly be a second attempt on the same day. Plans would proceed, but along a different route. They must stop first at the hospital, insisted the archduke, to visit the wounded of their party.
When plans were finalized, and when Sophie’s reception with a delegation of Muslim ladies was completed, once again the royal party and dignitaries climbed into their cars.
The drivers of the first two cars, however, had not been informed of the change of plans. According to the route originally mapped out, they mistakenly turned onto Franz Joseph Street.
“Wait . . . stop!” cried General Potiorek. “We’re going to the hospital. Turn around. Back to Appel Quay.”
The driver obeyed the command, stopped, backed up, and began to turn and retrace the way back to the main boulevard.
————
During the goings-on at City Hall, Gavrilo Princip had wandered aimlessly from Lateiner Bridge down to Franz Joseph Street. Here there were not so many people gathered about. He still carried a bomb and a pistol, but assumed he would not see the procession again.
All at once, about half an hour after Cabrinovic’s arrest, suddenly he saw the two lead cars of the archduke’s procession stopping and turning around right in front of him!
Gavrilo Princip’s moment of destiny had come. He did not hesitate.
He ran straight toward the stopped touring car. He pulled out his pistol as he went and fired several times into the open backseat.
The following cars had also stopped. Seeing a man running and hearing the report of gunfire, the cars instantly emptied.
Two or three men rushed Princip. They threw themselves upon him. Screaming and yelling, the assassin now attempted to shoot himself. But they were on him before he could pull the trigger.
Screams and shouts and confusion were everywhere. Someone pulled a sword and struck at Princip’s head. As he scuffled with those beating him and holding him down, somehow Princip managed to get his cyanide out of his pocket and into his mouth. But it proved as ineffective as Cabrinovic’s.
When they were able, the cars sped off in the direction of the governor’s residence across the river. Still no one realized that Franz Ferdinand and Sophie had been hit, he through the neck, she in her abdomen. Sophie’s face was white, and blood gushed from her husband’s mouth.
“What has happened to you!” cried Sophie. Her head fell to the archduke’s knees.
“Sophie, Sophie,” said Franz Ferdinand weakly. “Sterbe nicht . . . bleibe am Leben für unsere Kinder.—Don’t die . . . stay alive for our children.”
They arrived at the governor’s. Doctors were waiting. A dozen people ran out and converged on the car. Hurriedly they carried the archduke and his wife inside.
But Sophie’s wound had split her stomach artery. She was already dead.
Four regimental doctors performed what emergency aid they could on her husband. But Franz Ferdinand was bleeding badly from neck and mouth.
Within fifteen minutes, the archduke had gone to join his wife.