B008AITH44 EBOK (51 page)

 

“
I
was … certainly not raised to be an empress, and I know that a great deal is lacking in my upbringing—but I have never done anything improper, as God is my witness. I had opportunity. They would have liked to separate me from the Emperor,” Elisabeth told her lady-in-waiting in 1872
¹
—and said much the same thing to other intimates at other times in similar words. There is no reason to doubt the truth of her statements, even if the gossip in Vienna dealt at length with alleged affairs of Elisabeth with other men, and even if, in her book, Elisabeth’s niece, Marie Wallersee, who became Countess Larisch by
marriage,
mentioned such alleged affairs, though always only in obscure hints. In examining all these allegations, it turns out that no solid proof underlies any of the gossip.

Empress Elisabeth was one of the most beautiful women of the day, unhappy in her marriage, unfulfilled and without an occupation.
Furthermore,
she was almost always away from home, shy and unsociable, and surrounded by an aura of mystery. All these circumstances were calculated to quicken the imagination. Wherever she was, she was under the watchful eye of a great many people, from the chambermaid through the footmen to the ladies-in-waiting and members of the family.

Given these circumstances, secrets were impossible. Thus, everyone at court knew all about the imperial marriage. Quarrels and reconciliations were noted and commented on. Since the Emperor and the Empress had separate quarters, any time the two were with each other had to be won by a veritable running of the gauntlet (or so, at least, it was felt to be by Elisabeth).

Of the many gossipy stories, only one example is given here. It is particularly telling because even the Empress’s closest confidants, her chief chamberlain, Baron Nopcsa, and Valerie’s governess, Miss Throckmorton, were involved. Marie Festetics could hardly contain her outrage when Miss Throckmorton—without Baron Nopcsa, who was also present, objecting—asked the lady-in-waiting “whether my night’s rest had not been
disrupted?”
Marie Festetics: “Of course I asked why, and now, with a
sweet-sour
expression, she told me that Their Imperial and Royal Majesties had quarreled, and the Empress would not open the door to him and barricaded
le
passage!
” A gardener was said to have related the story. “These people are paid to know everything that happens to Their Supreme Majesties.”
²

Many at court who were engaged in shady dealings formed parties and stirred up dissension even in the imperial family for their own profit. Countess Festetics was not the only one to bemoan such behavior, and she repeatedly stressed how difficult it was for any individual at court to steer clear of all the intrigues or even to find out the truth. Her diary was the only place where the Countess could confide what annoyed her. “The beehive is the monarchic principle, the only difference being that there the worker bees kill the useless drones and cast them out—here it is otherwise—the drones kill the worker bees and live off what those have amassed.”
³

On their travels, conditions were not very different from those in Vienna—though, of course, there were differences of degree. While
traveling,
at least, the Empress could choose whom to take along, and her worst enemies were left behind in Vienna. But the size of the entourage was considerable each time: chief chamberlain, ladies-in-waiting, lady’s maids, secretaries, hairdressers, bathing women, cooks, a pastry chef, coachmen, stablehands, and “dog boys.” Usually, little Valerie was of the party, and
with her came governesses and tutors. A doctor and a clergyman were usually also in the party. Of course, all of the more high-ranking servitors brought their own staffs (maids and valets). Thus, the Empress’s traveling retinue consisted of fifty to sixty people, who were always quartered in the same building or nearby. It is quite unthinkable that, under these circumstances, the Empress would have been able to keep an affair secret.

Nevertheless, Elisabeth’s unusual way of life provided plenty of food for gossip. Her shyness and the measures she took because of it gave her “almost a
ridicule,
” as Marie Festetics wrote—that is, made her a figure of fun. Furthermore—and probably the most serious consequence—her strange behavior aroused suspicion. In an effort to penetrate the game of hide and seek, the most fantastic stories were invented. Marie Festetics: “one looks for other reasons, or at least one hands the reins over to those who are quick to think the worst.”
⁴

Given the circumstances, the truth that the marriage of the Emperor and Empress was not harmonious could not be concealed. Their reconciliation at the time of the Hungarian coronation and Valerie’s birth remained an isolated episode. Quarrels erupted time and again. Most of the time, the discussions ended in Elisabeth’s departure, wherever the flight might take her.

In her diaries, Marie Festetics was discretion itself. The reader has to supply the backgrounds that incited her to entries, such as one from 1874: “Yesterday it was questionable for a moment whether she would remain here. She wanted to get away. How and why I am not allowed to say. But her good angel won out, and she remained!”
⁵

Everyone at court also knew how strong Elisabeth’s influence on her husband was, how much she dominated him—and how humbly he courted her favor. She was the adored one, in whose moods he acquiesced—and she was extremely frugal with proofs of her favors. When the Emperor was close by, she usually suffered from some indisposition—headache, toothache, stomachache, and the like—so that he, always considerate, did not dare to make any demands. Two excerpts from Elisabeth’s letters of 1869 may serve as examples. “I miss you very much, my little one, the last few days I have again trained you so nicely. Now I will have to start educating you all over again when you come back.”
⁶
And two weeks later, “I miss you very much, my little one, but when we are alone even more. You know me and my habits and
extinction
de
roi
[approximately, “
extinguishing
the king”]. But if you do not like me the way I am, I will simply go into retirement.”
⁷

Repeatedly, she responded to Franz Joseph’s jealousy with teasing. For
example, she wrote him from Zurich in 1867, “One other thing is famous here, and that is such neat students from every nation, all of whom greet your loving wife so very politely.”
⁸

And from Hungary in 1868: “came home late from the theater, where, you will be reassured to learn, handsome Bela was not in attendance.”
⁹

From Possenhofen in the same year: “Bellegarde has arrived. Calm down, I do not flirt with him, any more than with anyone else!”
¹⁰

From Rome in 1870: “My great favorite here is Count Malatesta. You cannot imagine what a nice, pleasant person he is. What a pity that I cannot bring him back to you.”
¹¹

On the other hand, she left no doubt that she knew all about Franz Joseph’s weakness for the female sex. After the spectacular crisis in their marriage and her flight from Vienna, she never again gave signs of jealousy. Rather, she cultivated a mocking understanding. “Last night I was … at the Red Mill, where we ate Schmarren [shredded sweet pancakes] and I saw a very pretty person. A good thing that you were not there. You would have run after her.” Or: “You must have some very entertaining audiences, since you constantly receive beautiful girls…. I know why Agatha Ebergenyi was with you, how do you like her? Do not forget to tell Andrássy to come to Paris with me.”
¹²

This generosity was also a sign that, for Elisabeth (though by no means for Franz Joseph), the love of the early years of the marriage was
irrevocably
over. She recorded her hurt in many poems.

Elisabeth—an excessively sensitive, highly cultured woman given over to fantasy—was tied to a man who was practical and industrious but had no understanding for her complicated emotional life. As husband and wife grew older, abysses opened to separate them, chasms that could be bridged only precariously by outward cordiality and formal politeness. The more eccentric Elisabeth grew, the more pedantic and sober, taciturn and
impersonal
grew Franz Joseph. More than ever, Elisabeth complained of his obstinacy and lack of sensitivity.

Marie Festetics was extremely close to the Empress for more than twenty years but did not witness the early days of the marriage. She gave her impression of Elisabeth’s relation to the Emperor. “The Empress valued her husband and was deeply devoted to him. No … he did not bore her, that is not the right word. But she felt it to be natural that he took no part in her spiritual life and was unable to follow her flight to higher things, her ‘eccentricities’ [sky-scraping]…. On the whole, I must say that she respected him and liked him, but I doubt that she loved him.”
¹³

It was Gyula Andrássy who was considered by contemporaries to be the
Empress’s great love. Without a doubt, to the end of his life, he held a special place in Elisabeth’s affections. The events surrounding the
coronation
of Franz Joseph as King of Hungary speak for themselves. But it can be considered quite certain (as far as a biographer can make such a statement after careful examination of the sources) that even this deepest feeling that united Elisabeth with a man was a platonic one. In later years, Elisabeth emphatically and proudly told various people, “Yes, it was a true
friendship,
and it was not poisoned by love.”
¹⁴
By this word she meant physical love; all her life, the Empress was unable to find anything good in it.

None of the other men in Elisabeth’s life got beyond the stage of unsuccessful suitor. Elisabeth accepted their homage as a tribute to her beauty, enjoyed their veneration, but remained the unapproachable
sovereign.
Marie Larisch described Elisabeth’s position very accurately.

In spite of her sense of being one of the elect and of her sovereign position, Elisabeth nevertheless never lost her desire to know the life of the common people. Life outside court protocol held a powerful attraction. There she sought simplicity, straightforwardness, and truth. This pleasure in playing Harun al-Rashid and finding out everything that did not reach the select circles of the imperial court also played a part in the biggest adventure the Empress allowed herself: Once, masked and disguised, she secretly attended a costume ball, the Rudolfma Ball held in the Musikvereinsaal on Mardi Gras of 1874. Only a few were privy to the adventure—Ida Ferenczy, who accompanied the Empress; Fanny Feifalik, the hairdresser; and Schmidl, the lady’s maid, who got the Empress ready for the big event.

Many documents have allowed this story to survive. Elisabeth, for one, considered the outing so important that she composed several long poems on the subject. Her beau of the evening, Friedrich Pacher von Theinburg,
preserved the ensuing correspondence (with letters written by Elisabeth herself in a disguised handwriting); he also gave a detailed report to Elisabeth’s biographer, Corti. Marie Larisch and Marie Valerie also
recorded
the adventure, which they heard about from the Empress herself.

The significance the Empress gave to this outing surely justifies the conclusion that it was the only one of its kind and that it made perhaps too strong an impression on her. It happened the winter after the Vienna World Exhibition, before she traveled to England to hunt, when she was thirty-six years old and had just become a grandmother for the first time.