The Wrong Turn in Sarajevo

It is a Sunday morning in late June, and Sarajevo smells of river water and grilling meat. The year is nineteen fourteen. The streets near the Appel Quay are lined with people in their summer clothes — women with parasols, men in shirtsleeves, children crowding the curbs to catch a glimpse of the royal procession. Church bells have already rung for the morning service. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, is riding in an open Graf und Stift touring car with his wife Sophie. The leather seats are warm. His uniform is heavy with medals. They have been in the city for less than a day — an official visit, inspecting troops, attending ceremonies. The day is clear. The motorcade moves slowly enough that people can wave. Earlier that morning, a young man named Nedeljko Čabrinović had thrown a bomb at the Archduke's car. The bomb bounced off the folded convertible roof and detonated under the vehicle behind. Two officers were wounded. The motorcade sped away. Franz Ferdinand arrived at the town hall shaken but unharmed.