The secret of an empress

Preface

Two questions have often been asked me by people who have known part only of my life-story; and it seems to me that before I begin to tell the whole of that story I should do well to answer them. The first question is, Why did the Empress Elisabeth wish to bring me up as she did, away from the Court? The second is, Why does the Emperor Francis- Joseph refuse me recognition?

Why, then, did the Empress bring me up as she did? It is, I suppose, fairly well known that the Court of Vienna is still under the rule of a code of etiquette which dates from the sixteenth century. But I doubt whether more than a very few outside the Court itself realise how crushing the code is. I shall have occasion later to refer to it in some detail, and shall here speak only of that portion of it which concerns the Empress's position. In Austria the sovereign's wife is a person standing entirely by herself. The Emperor himself is above her, and she is not permitted to go to see him as she wishes. There are always the ceremonies of asking permission before a meeting, and of announcing the approach. All the rest of the Court is below the Empress, and not one of her relatives even may see her without obtaining leave some time beforehand, through the Grand Mistress or her deputy.

This may not be considered a great hardship so far as ordinary relatives are concerned, nor indeed anything out of the way in a high rank of society. But, in so far as the rule applies to the intercourse of mother and child, it becomes tragic in its cruelty. Mere archdukes and archduchesses may associate freely with their children, who are of the same status as themselves. The Emperor and Empress, on the other hand, are hedged round with restrictions. This is not the case, so far as I am aware, in any other country than Austria, other empresses and queens having their children's apartments close to their own and spending hours with them daily.

The Empress of Austria is constantly on a pedestal above the rest of the world, and her children are drilled to look upon her in that way. If she should wish to be present at their lessons, there is no such thing for her as going straight to the schoolroom. Her visit must be announced twenty-four hours in advance, teacher and pupils are dressed for the occasion, questions and answers are prepared, and at the end of the visit her Imperial Majesty graciously expresses her satisfaction to the teacher.

The Empress may not even select the persons who are to be about her children, nor the subjects which they are to be taught. She may never have a simple, informal meal with them nor indulge in a ramble with them out of doors. At all times they must remember that they are in the presence of the almost sacred person of the Empress. The inevitable result is that they are really hardly her children at all; neither has the natural affection of a child for its mother any opportunity for development.

Maternal love being the deepest and most unselfish feeling in the world, the imposition of such restraints as these is a cruel outrage. There are some natures which can seek consolation in a frivolous and trivial life; others to which the mere dignity of rank is a solace ; and yet others (as is shown in the histoiy of many a hapless Empress of Austria) which can bow down and accept what appears to be a necessity.

My mother, the Empress Elisabeth, belonged to none of these classes. She had an individuality in the fullest sense of the word. She wished to live her life in perfection. The unnatural was as poison to her, the incomplete like a physical defect. In the artificiality of the existence forced upon her, and the impossibility of her accomplishing what she set her hand to, lay the whole tragedy of her soul.

When she would have surrounded her children with her care and interest, they were torn away from her, one to be made wretched and finally destroyed, the others to be reduced to mediocrity. At last, finding how she had been deceived in her hopes about her fourth-born child, Marie- Valerie, she resolved that for once she would have her own way, and that at any rate one of her family should be as she had wished them all to be.

That is why I was brought up as I was, away from the Court.

There remains the other question: Why does the Emperor Francis- Joseph refuse to recognise me?

All I can say is that I do not believe that it is the Emperor himself who refuses. It is the Court of Vienna which looks upon me as dangerous. Having been brought up by my mother in the free and broad-minded ideas of modern education, I must, I suppose, be regarded as a menace to the traditions of the Imperial House, and therefore recognition must be absolutely denied me.

The Emperor, I must point out, is by no means a free agent ; and least of all is he free to give scope to the kindness of heart which by nature he possesses. Since the days of his youth, when he was ruled by his mother, the Archduchess Sophia, he has been compelled to yield to the wishes or, I should rather say, the will of others, and has thereby more than once been robbed of his chances of happiness in life.

To-day the Emperor Francis-Joseph is the saddest and most to be pitied figure in modern history through the tragedies which have befallen him. The hapless Maximilian of Mexico was the first victim, immolated by those who wished him away from his Imperial brother's side. The Crown Prince Rudolf was a second victim, under circumstances I shall relate in the course of this book. My mother the Empress was a third victim, martyred because of the freedom of her ideas and her great love of Hungary. Of the recently murdered Archduke Franz-Ferdinand * and his consort, it is too early yet to speak with certainty ; but the events connected with their burial are suffi-

i The death of the Archduke Franz-Ferdinand, I may say, has changed the situation somewhat for me as well as for the others. Will those members of the family who are faithfully trying to help me succeed now in their endeavours ?

cient alone to give rise to suspicion of the most serious kind.

And all the time the most unfortunate victim of all has been the Emperor Francis-Joseph, who has lived while others have died.

Only quite recently I have been told that the Emperor shed tears when he learnt that he was not allowed to meet me and my two children. Of children he is very fond, and this in itself is a proof of a kind heart. As for myself, I can but wonder if it is my fate never to meet him. Who can tell?

So my mother's determination to mould the character of at least one of her children involved that I should be born in obscurity. But that very obscurity was light to me. She taught me to realise the beauty of life, and that there is in life nothing so sorrowful, nothing so unfortunate that I should not be able to see the beautiful side of it. All such things are but incentives for us to strive toward perfection. The effect of her teaching upon me has been enduring. More and more every day I feel that in the extraordinary existence which has been mine there must be some definite purpose. The experiences through which I have gone, in the comparatively short space of thirty-two years, experiences sufficient for three lives of many people, must have been imposed upon me to enable me to accomplish a mission. And to open the way for my fulfilment of that mission I have now written this book.

C. F. M. Zanardi Landi.

VI

THE SECRET OF AN EMPRESS

Chapter I My Birth

I was born in 1882, at the chateau of Sassetot, near Petites-Dalles, in the department of Seine-Inferieure, Normandy. I have never seen the place again since my earliest days, and can give no description of it. With regard to the circumstances of my birth, naturally, the little that I know is learnt from others. I therefore give the details with all reserve, though I have endeavoured as far as possible to test their accuracy by comparison and inquiry.

Semi-officially it was given out that my mother, the Empress of Austria, had met with an accident while out riding. The Emperor Francis-Joseph came secretly to see her, his presence in Normandy at the time being known at the Elysee but concealed carefully in all other quarters. My mother herself had been living at Petites-Dalles under her incognita of the Countess Hohenembs. What passed between her and the Emperor now will never be revealed. A few weeks later, when my mother was restored to health, I had to undertake a long journey — the first of the many long journeys which have been mine in this life. I travelled from Normandy to Vienna.

Foremost in the party was Professor Karl Braun von Fernwald, my mother's physician, a stout friendly man, who had not only assisted to bring me into this world of sorrow, but had also undertaken the responsibility for all arrangements during the opening years of my life. Then there were the Countess Goess, one of my mother's most intimate women-friends; Alois Pirker, who was to be for so many years to come my faithful head-servant; and finally, Theresa Schedivi, my nurse, a Bohemian by race.

The first thing necessary for me in Vienna was a home. As it was my mother's intention to bring me up in perfect secrecy, but not to train me for a life of obscurity, when I should be grown up, the task was no easy one. She had particularly expressed her objection to putting me into some aristocratic family in Vienna having a footing at Court, for it would be impossible for such people to keep the secret to themselves. Moreover, the control of the clergy in those circles is complete, and it was her fixed intention that I should not be exposed to undue clerical influence. Prominent Austrian families outside Vienna were also considered unsafe. The instructions given to Professor Braun had been short and unmistakable. I was to be placed with strangers in some well-educated, cultured, and refined family of standing in the place from which they came, but unknown in Vienna.

So it came about that I was taken to the house of Mr. and Mrs. Kaiser, both great friends of Professor Braun, and especially the wife. The Kaisers moved in good circles in Berlin, where the husband had been manager of the Deutsche Bank. But they were not known in Vienna when they arrived, and therefore answered my mother's requirements excellently well. It has occurred to me in later years that the name of Kaiser was in itself a lucky coincidence, for even did I overhear as a child such expressions as " Kaiserliche Mutter, Kaiserliches Kind" (Imperial mother, Imperial child), they were nothing more to me, before I reached years of sufficient discretion to share the secret with her, than plays upon words, and gave no hint of my mother's exalted rank.

It cannot have been an easy task to introduce my infant person into the Kaiser household, and quite a comedy seems to have been played for the purpose. After due preparations, Mrs. Kaiser was suddenly taken ill. Her children had already been sent out with their French bonne. The servants were now all hurriedly despatched on various missions — one to fetch the midwife, who lived at a distance, another for Professor Braun, and yet another for Mr. Kaiser, who " very unfortunately " happened to be out at the time. Imagine the amazement of the whole household, when at length they returned, to hear that in the meanwhile poor Mrs. Kaiser had given birth to a little girl, only the nurse, that clever Theresa Schedivi, having been present at the important moment! In this way I was born a second time.

My earliest recollections of childhood are bright and fair. I lived with my foster-parents in a fine suite of rooms at No. 5, Opernring, near the Imperial Opera House. On the first floor was the business of Frau Caroline Brayer, my mother's dressmaker. The suite above had been expressly taken to enable my mother to come to see me without difficulty or suspicion. It was at the time one of the finest suites of its kind in Vienna. To those unacquainted with the city it may appear strange that fine rooms like these should be located over a dressmaker's establishment, but Vienna is an exceptional place in this respect. It has no particular residential quarter, no particular business centre, no special characteristics in its different parts. One wealthy man, for instance, might live in Section No. 3, and his equally wealthy friend in Section No. 18, at the other end of the city; and a foreigner coming to Vienna on business might have three addresses at which to call, one in the third, another in the sixth, and another in the eleventh section, so that he would have to take half a day over what in London or New York would take him half an hour.

Everybody in the home in the Opernring was kind and good to me, and I was surrounded by all that the heart of a child could desire. Certainly no child living could have had a larger and pleasanter nursery than I had, nor more beautiful dolls and amusing toys. And if I broke my toys or ill-treated my dolls, no one grumbled at me for doing so. Nor yet was I elaborately dressed or annoyed with a multiplicity of frills and ribbons, such as vex the souls and bodies of some little unfortunates and put them in perpetual terror of " spoiling their clothes." There was nothing to be spoilt about my plain little white frocks.

Sometimes, however, I was dressed up in more than usual splendour. Then I always knew that I was going to see that day a beautiful, tall lady. I was very shy in the presence of this lady, although she kissed and caressed me again and again when she paid her visits to us.

Although Mrs. Kaiser was tall and elegant, the visitor appeared even more so, probably because she was slimmer. Her voice was low and melodious, giving to me at least the impression that she could never be cross or angry or unkind. Somehow this only made me the more timid. The lady also seemed rather embarrassed, as though she were at a loss what to say to the child whom she only saw at infrequent intervals. Another thing which contributed to my feeling of awe was the very profound bow with which Mrs. Kaiser always received the lady, for she was not one who usually put herself out, and at all other times was herself the person who received the most respect in the whole household.

All that I have told hitherto concerning my personal recollections is hazy and indefinite in my mind. I move in memory like a traveller making his way through a dark and heavy night. I have to rack my brain to seize upon anything vivid enough to be put into words. But now events begin to grow more distinct. My road lies before me with increasing clearness to the end — to that sad end of another's life, which brought such sorrow upon mine and left me to face the world all alone.

Chapter II Some Early Impressions

In the authumn of 1888, when I was six years of age, I lived awhile (for the first time since my birth as far as I know) under the same roof as my mother. Although I was unaware of it at the time, the place in which we stayed was the chateau of Lainz, originally a hunting-box in the neighbourhood of Vienna, which she had bought from its owner and transformed into a beautiful home for herself. On my arrival here my mother said to me: " Weiberl, 1 now you are going to stay with mother for a time. You will love me very much, won't you, darling? "

I did not understand, for up to then I had always called her Xante Elly (" Aunt Elly "), so I looked at her without speaking, my heart beating fast, and began to cry. My childish mind could not grasp the idea of having another mother besides Mrs. Kaiser, to whom I was then very attached, although she spent but little of her time with me or her own children. Perhaps, in a way, this was only an additional reason for my fondness. Anyhow, she often brought home boxes of sweets for us, and that, of course, is a ready road to a child's sympathy.

My real mother, however, as now I learnt her to be, knew so well how to win my heart that I soon lost my shyness, and before many days had passed every other person was put quite in the background. And didn't I have a splendid time with her! Just imagine for a moment how delightful it was to sit on her lap every morning, while another lady, dressed in black silk and a white apron, stood for hours brushing and combing her beautiful hair. All the time she would enthral my soul with stories of Cinderella, Little Hed Riding-hood, and the like. Still better did I love her singing, and how often would I beg, " Mummy, dear, sing me ' Wenn I komm, wenn I komm ' (' When I come ') ! " And when she had sung that twice or more, she must go on to something else, generally Schubert's " Lindenbaum," every shade and emotion of which was so faultlessly rendered that even I, small child as I was, was deeply moved.

But so quick to change is the mind of children that, I remember, some article upon the dressing-table would suddenly attract my attention and grow infinitely desirable in my eyes — a small crystal bottle, it might be, a little

i " Little woman." This is an affectionate diminutive used in Austria, and was my mother's most usual form of address to me. I have for that reason kept it untranslated in this book.

silver box, some exquisite toilet-tray; or perhaps only a flower in one of the ever-filled vases, a few violets or some rare mountain blossom. Then, without the slightest apology or excuse, I would slip off her knees and straightway go towards the object of my desire, sometimes so impatient that I would not wait till the song was finished. But my loving mother had nothing but smiles for this ill behaviour, and would call me back and cover me with kisses. Neither did she become cross when one morning I spilled almost the entire contents of one of her perfume bottles, intending to put some on myself. And it was her favourite scent, too — expressly made up for her — a mixture of roses, violets, and amber.

Every day we went out for a walk in the park. At that time I used to turn in my toes — a habit which was a source of much annoyance to my mother, who was a remarkable walker and famous for her elegant carriage. She would always be saying to me, " Come now; walk like a soldier! One, two; one, two."

During this visit she also tried to teach me dancing, in the learning of which I displayed considerable aptitude, as I had not only a good ear for music but also took delight in exercise. By her special order, when I returned to my foster-parents' home I received regular lessons from a Madame Crombe.

In the winter after this visit an event took place which was the means of turning my growing love for my mother almost to veneration. It was a grey, foggy day in January, 1889, about two o'clock in the afternoon. I had just finished dinner and was in the nursery with the nurse and Laura, my little foster-sister, who was the nearest in age to me of the Kaiser children. Probably we were dressing to go out; I do not remember distinctly. Suddenly Mrs. Kaiser's maid rushed into the room.

"The Crown Prince has been shot . . . killed!" she cried in a terrified voice.

" Not killed," said the nurse incredulously. " You must mean wounded."

The Crown Prince was so extremely popular, so beloved by his subjects, that she could hardly credit the news of his death.

" No, no; dead — quite dead," persisted the maid.

These words impressed me as they would have done any other child. How could I have foreseen what in after years this would mean to me? After this, nothing more was said upon the subject to me for days. Had I not seen the black flags in the streets and the general mourning, I should have forgotten all about it at once.

But this was merely the preface to what was to come; and that I recall more clearly than anything else in childhood. Several days afterwards my nurse dressed me in a white frock with a black cashmere sash. This struck me as a strange proceeding. The black sash oppressed and bewildered me, for I had never worn black before. In reply to my question why I must wear this I received the answer, " Don't you know everybody is in mourning for the Crown Prince? "

When all were ready, I drove with my nurse and Pirker in a carriage to a great palace, which I afterwards learnt to be the Hofburg. Here we got out, and my nurse and I passed through a long white vestibule, carpeted with red velvet; then up a big marble staircase, through several large rooms, all richly furnished, coming finally to a drawing-room, where my nurse pushed me gently forward through the door. I thought her behind me still, but on turning my head found that I was alone and that the door had closed. I was dismayed at my loneliness in the strange room, but on recovering from the agitation of the first moments I perceived a dark figure lying on a sofa. How it startled me! Was this my mother, all in black clothes and looking as pale as wax? Her figure seemed shrunken to half its size, a shadow of her former self, almost ghostlike. Never afterwards did I see her looking like that. She did not rise to greet me, as she ordinarily would have done, but held out her arms weakly and feebly to me. I felt that something terrible must have happened, and in spite of my fright ran towards her, clasping my arms around her neck. What followed made an ineff aceable impression upon my mind. My poor mother hid her face upon my little shoulder, while for a moment her whole body quivered with heart-breaking sobs. They pierced my very soul, and caused me to remain perfectly silent, trembling with emotion.

When at last she could control her voice, she begged me not to let anyone know, not to tell even the Kaisers, about her weeping like this. I did my best to comfort her, and she cried, in words that I remember so well, " Oh, you darling little woman, if I could only have you with me, it would be so much easier to bear! "

Could I not come very often to see her? I asked. But she said she must go away again, for she was obliged to travel to Budapest.

I would have loved to say, " Take me with you, mother," but I did not dare.

A few days after this she came to see me at my guardians' home. She was still very pale and sad, but did not cry, and, young as I was, I could feel that her heart would have ached less if she only could have done so.

Still another impression of this period remains in my mind. One night, about twelve o'clock, I was awakened by the sound of horse-hoofs in the street and an unusual stir in our house. I jumped out of bed and rushed to the window, where, spellbound, I watched mounted soldiers filing like phantoms before the house — their long black cloaks shrouding the horses and leaving little of the animals visible but their feet. The gas-lamps in the streets had all had their tops removed, and with their torch-like flames illuminated in a most impressive, and really quite ghostly, way the sombre cavalcade. It was the escort bearing the body of the Crown Prince from Mayerling to Vienna. This apparition passed with extreme rapidity, and but for the vividness with which it was imprinted upon my memory, might have seemed but a dream of the night.

For a long time after this I could not recover my childish cheerfulness. Although I told no one, at night I remained with wide-open eyes, staring into the darkness, while cold drops of perspiration covered my forehead.

These strange events completely confused my mind. The ghastly cavalcade haunted me. Why did mamma wear so much deeper mourning than " Mimeli " (this was the name I now called my foster-mother), who also wore black, like the rest of the people? Why was she so deeply grieved, while "Mimeli" was quite cheerful again? I could not fathom the mystery; yet, strange to say, I was perfectly convinced that my mother's sorrow could spring from no other source than the death of the Crown Prince. Of this I shall have more to say later.

Chapter III A Home Of My Own

In the year whose early weeks witnessed the events described in the last chapter, a change was made in my surroundings, and my little household (if I may call it by such a name) was increased in size. First came the installation of an English nurse, Miss Ives, who was also entrusted with the care of Laura Kaiser. Soon after the appointment, however, trouble arose. Miss Ives had occasion once to punish Laura for stamping her foot, which she did by striking the offender across the legs with a strap. Upon this Laura rebelled, biting Miss Ives severely on the hand. The English governess at once tendered her resignation. This was not accepted, for she was in possession of my mother's secret, and was, moreover, much trusted by her. Unfortunately for myself, as will be seen, I was of much less warlike a nature than my foster-sister, and so Miss Ives was prevailed upon to continue in charge of me, provided that Laura's nursery and mine were entirely separated. This gave my mother a long-desired opportunity of making an alteration in my place of residence, so as to bring me nearer to her. In the course of a few weeks I was taken away from the Kaisers' house and installed in a home of my own, with me going Miss Ives, a French governess called Mademoiselle Pidon, who had been engaged by Mrs. Kaiser to superintend my education, Alois Pirker, and some women-servants.

My new home was at Lainz, not then, as it is now, a suburb of Vienna. Here I had been before. But this time it was not in my mother's chateau that I lived. A house near by had been taken for me, a two-story building in the middle of a fine park, within whose bounds I took my walks. On the ground floor was the hall, a big sitting-room, a dining-room, a study for me, and a small drawing-room for my governess. On the first floor were the bedrooms of my governess, my nurse, and Pirker; and my own bedroom, which, to my great vexation, was called the nursery. This was a huge, bright room, decorated entirely in white, the furniture as well as the walls, while over the floor extended a dark blue carpet. The atmosphere of the whole house was peculiar, arising partly, no doubt, from the absence of an effectionate personal presence in control, and partly from the fact that it was wholly a child's establishment. All provisions for comfort — nay, for luxury — were there ; but everything was subordinated to the ideas of discipline and instruction. In fact, it was a superior educational institution, not a home. The actual mistress of all was Miss Ives, in spite of Mademoiselle Pidon, in spite of old Pirker. Mademoiselle willingly let Miss Ives have the reins of the whole household, for it meant to her relief from certain responsibilities and the lessening of a restraint which she was unwilling to endure. Pirker, the valet, on the other hand, gave a grudging consent, being sufficiently philosophical to know that a woman always has the last word.

Under Miss Ives's rule I was forced to arise at 6.30 in the morning, winter or summer. She would come to the bed in which I slept, and, tearing off the coverings, would cry in her abrupt manner, " It's half -past six — get up ! " at the same time shaking me by the arm and giving me no opportunity to go to sleep again. Only half awake, I would creep to my prie-Dieu, and, kneeling mechanically before it, murmur my morning prayers. Her regime was probably designed for my good, but I certainly did not appreciate it then. Her method of punishment showed to my childish mind a refinement of cruelty. I was compelled to be present at the selection and purchase of the whips which were afterwards to be used on me. I can see now that it was not intentional cruelty, but she had been trained in a school where implicit obedience was exacted, and where the slightest lapse was severely punished. Hence she could never see that a rule might sometimes be relaxed with advantage. So I lived in daily fear. Never did I dare to tell anyone of my sufferings, being afraid of further punishment, and thinking, in n^ childish foolishness, that my mother both knew and approved of the methods employed. Far from intervening, Mademoiselle frequently seconded Miss Ives. Thus my share of correction was doubled. I was punished not only when Miss Ives found me in fault, but also when Mademoiselle reported to her some childish misdemeanour. In fact, my French governess was by far the more culpable, being lazjr as well as deceitful. While in the absence of my mother and foster-parents she had not a kind word for me, in their presence she would show the utmost solicitude for my welfare. This, coupled with the natural deference and reserve of Miss Ives, combined to give those who were primarily interested in my training, and especially my mother, a totally wrong impression of the discipline to which I was subjected. The servants, including Pirker, dared not lift a voice in my favour, Miss Ives being all-powerful.