CHAPTER X
“The Martyrdom of an Empress”—Correction of inaccuracies contained in that popular work—Francis Joseph’s friends—“A Polish Countess”—Frau Katti Schratt—Enduring attachment—Rumour of morganatic marriage—Interview with Frau Schratt on that subject—“Darby and Joan.”
Of the many Lives of the Empress Elizabeth the most widely circulated has been the one entitled “The Martyrdom of an Empress”—a work which purports to give an authoritative “inside” view of the Habsburg Court. Even M. Jacques La Faye, the author of the very latest of the Lives, appears to have accepted it as a source of trustworthy information. The writer, who is known in America as a journalist, and implies that she was on terms of intimacy with the Empress, has doubtless raked together a good deal of floating Viennese gossip, but she nevertheless makes, on nearly every page, statements which it is hard to believe that she would have made if she had ever conversed with Elizabeth, or even been in the same room with her.
A copy of “The Martyrdom of an Empress,” annotated in pencil by a lady once attached to the Austrian Court, is now lying on the writer’s table. “To read this book,” runs the first note, “is a martyrdom for one who knows”; and corrections of points of detail follow quickly—corrections, in many cases, of statements of little importance in themselves, but none the less completely destructive of the claim of the writer corrected to have studied the life of the Hofburg, or even of Gödöllo, from within. The Empress’s eyes, according to the author of “The Martyrdom of an Empress,” were “glorious dark blue orbs”—or, in another passage, “luminous sapphire-hued”: her eyes were actually brown. The Empress, according to the same authority, stamped “her little foot”; she actually had large feet, as became an energetic pedestrian, and is reputed to have been very jealous of the tiny feet of that rival beauty, the Empress Eugénie. Bismarck’s reptile Press, at one time, derided her for the size of her feet.
And so forth. A few further passages of text, with the annotator’s gloss appended to each of them, will most effectually show the claim to inside knowledge evaporating under the incisive examination of one whose knowledge was really acquired inside:—
AUTHOR: “The Duke (in Bavaria) was by no means a wealthy man, and all his disposable means were lavished upon the education of his older daughters.”
COMMENTATOR: “There was only one older daughter, Helen, Princess of Thurn and Taxis.”
AUTHOR: “She hunted and shot with her brothers.”
COMMENTATOR: “The Empress never took a gun in her hand—never touched one.”
AUTHOR: “All her love became centred upon little Archduchess Gisela, who had made her appearance in the world in 1856.”
COMMENTATOR: “She never looked at the baby, and Archduchess Sophia took care of it.”
AUTHOR: “A very unpalatable adventure of which her husband was the hero ... broke the last restraint upon her indignation, and, without informing anybody of her intentions, she hurriedly left the imperial palace of Vienna for Trieste, and set sail for the Ionian Islands on board her yacht, fully resolved never to allow her husband to approach her or to speak to her again.”
COMMENTATOR: “She had no yacht of her own at that time, and travelled with the consent of the Emperor. Her brother accompanied her to Trieste.”
AUTHOR: “In the summer following Baby Valérie’s birth, the Empress spent several months with the Crown Prince and his two sisters.”
COMMENTATOR: “Baby Valérie was quite separated from the others, the Empress being very jealous about Valérie. Gisela and Rudolph were mostly kept in Laxenburg.”
AUTHOR: “Elizabeth walked over to a large harmonium which stood near the open window. She sat down before it, and after striking a few chords which echoed through the stillness of the chamber, she sang Schubert’s ‘Serenade.’ She was a great musician.”
COMMENTATOR: “The Empress never touched a harmonium nor a piano. She was not a bit musical, and never sang.”
AUTHOR: “‘Rudi,’ who was watching them, said suddenly——”
COMMENTATOR: “The Crown Prince was never called ‘Rudi,’ always ‘Rudolph.’ His pet name was ‘Nazi.’”
AUTHOR: “‘Mutzerl,’ as Baby Valérie was called——”
COMMENTATOR: “Valérie was never called ‘Mutzerl,’ but ‘Shedvesen,’ by her mother. It means ‘darling.’”
AUTHOR: “Valérie ... swam like an otter, rode almost as well as her mother, fenced and shot with great skill.”
COMMENTATOR: “Valérie never learnt to ride, as the Empress would not allow it, and never fenced or shot.”
AUTHOR: “She was riding alone on that day.”
COMMENTATOR: “The Empress never went out riding alone.”
AUTHOR: “‘My poor boy! my poor boy!’ she kept repeating. ‘I am afraid you do not realise what misery such a marriage as that which you are about to make can bring about!’”
COMMENTATOR: “To me the Empress said, ‘Let him marry whom he likes. I don’t mix myself up in Rudolph’s affairs.’”
AUTHOR: “That Rudolph met Marie Vetsera and her mother in London and called upon them several times is quite certain.”
COMMENTATOR: “Rudolph never met the Vetseras in London.”
AUTHOR: “Mademoiselle Ferenzy read to her from English, French, and Hungarian books.”
COMMENTATOR: “Mademoiselle Ferenzy could only read Hungarian.”
That may suffice; but any reader who has skipped the quotations should turn back to them. They may not matter very much in themselves—except to those to whom everything connected with royalty matters; but they do show us how Court history is sometimes written by journalists, and what is the historical value of the “revelations” of anonymous pretenders to the intimacy of Sovereigns. It was worth while, as the opportunity offered, to elaborate the demonstration, because the book containing the statements confuted—together with many others of an equally untrustworthy character—was for a time accepted as authoritative by the readers of two continents, and passed through several editions, on the assumption that it presented the authentic depositions of one who had really been behind the scenes.
The author was, in fact, so little behind the scenes—and so little qualified in other respects for her task—that she did not even know her way through the Almanach de Gotha, or remember elementary facts which anyone without special sources of information could easily ascertain. She places the scene of the imperial betrothal at Possenhofen, whereas it actually occurred at Ischl; and she states that the Empress was not of “royal” birth, whereas she was the granddaughter of a King. These things being so, it obviously is not to her writings that one must turn for details of the secret history of the estrangement between the Empress and the Emperor. That secret history, in so far as the Emperor’s flirtations are concerned, would not, in the opinion of those who are nearest to knowing it, make a very startling tale even if one could know it all.
It is not the rule, of course, for Emperors in the prime of life, estranged from their consorts, to deny themselves, on principle, all alternative attachments; and there is no reason to suppose that Francis Joseph did so. But his volatility was only comparative, and did not last long. The witnesses who attest the volatility also assure us that, taking his imperial grandeur as seriously as it deserved to be taken, he soon “settled down” and became, in the language of less exalted circles, “steady.” There was a certain Polish Countess; but that is too old and unimportant a story to be revived. The one lady whose name it is imperative to mention in connection with this branch of the subject is, of course, Frau Katti Schratt; and the circumstances in which the Emperor made Frau Schratt’s acquaintance shed an illuminating light upon the terms on which he and the Empress came to live.
It was in 1885, when the Empress was about to depart upon one of her frequent journeys. “Her kind heart,” writes Countess Marie Larisch, “reproached her when she thought that her husband would perhaps be lonely during her absence.” So she inquired whether any of the ladies about her knew of any other lady who would be willing to “entertain” the Emperor while she was away, but could be trusted not to exercise any undue influence over him:—
“I mentioned several ladies” (Countess Marie continues) “who, I felt sure, would only be too delighted to console the imperial grass widower, but Aunt Cissi did not approve of them, and the matter dropped until she suddenly told me one day that she had discovered the right person in the actress Katrina Schratt, who was always considered to be more interesting off the Burg Theatre than on it.... People rather disapproved of Elizabeth’s attitude, but she was quite right in thinking well of the actress, who has, since the death of my aunt, proved herself to be a devoted friend to Francis Joseph.”
That, assuredly, sounds as improbable as anything in “The Martyrdom of an Empress.” An Empress sallying into the highways and byways to seek a guardian angel for the Emperor, and finally extracting one from the coulisses, and presenting her, with the result that she becomes the friend of the family as well as the Emperor, and the Emperor takes a continual delight in her society for thirty years—that, indeed, is an amazing picture, not to be accepted, even on Countess Marie Larisch’s authority, without corroborative evidence. But the story seems, nevertheless, to be literally true. The corroborative testimony is available, and shall be produced.
In the main, indeed, the Emperor’s attachment is as notorious as his marriage, and stands in as little need of proof. Frau Schratt at once became, and has ever since remained, a national institution—related to Court circles, though not exactly of them. It became the recognised thing that, when the Emperor went to Ischl, she should go to Ischl too; that she should have a cottage there, and that the Emperor should take tea at that cottage daily—entertained by Frau Schratt, but not by her husband, of whom one hears little, though it is understood that he was given an appointment which kept him usefully and profitably occupied at a distance from the tea-parties.
Nor was it at tea-time only that Francis Joseph was to be heard of at Frau Schratt’s domicile. He was occasionally an evening visitor as well; and one of his evening visits concluded with a dramatic incident. He had stayed into the small hours, and desired, in consideration for the feelings of others, to depart without disturbing the household. Being unaccustomed, however, to stealthy movements, he stumbled over the furniture and disturbed the cook, who, suspecting that a burglar had intruded, came courageously downstairs, attired in her nightgown, and carrying a bedroom candle. Her impulse was to scream, but Francis Joseph checked it. “Don’t you see that I’m the Emperor, you silly woman?” he said in a stage whisper. Whereupon the cook, profoundly loyal, but not knowing exactly what course of conduct a manual of etiquette would prescribe in the situation, fell on her knees at her Sovereign’s feet, and began to sing at the top of her voice: Gott erhalte Franz den Kaiser!
Such was life in the early days of this interesting relationship, which settled down, as the years passed, into a very peaceable and comfortable domestic alliance. That there have never been any unfavourable comments is more, of course, than can truthfully be said. Rebellious members of the House of Habsburg, anxious to go their own amorous ways without reference to the Habsburg rules, have sometimes felt that the state of the affections of the head of the house gave them a handle, and have sometimes pulled that handle. If the Emperor flaunted his attachment to Frau Schratt, why should not the Archduke Leopold permit himself to love Fräulein Adamovics, and the Archduke John permit himself to love Fräulein Stübel—these ladies, at any rate, not being married women? So they have argued; and the former Archduke once, on a very dramatic occasion, brought the vials of the Emperor’s wrath down upon his head by calling him “Herr Schratt” to his face.
But Francis Joseph, being a strong man and a loyal friend, was not to be moved by such affronts, or turned from the path which he chose to pursue, by the fear of scandal; and presently there was a battle royal on the subject in the House of Habsburg. The Emperor’s daughters—the Archduchesses Valérie and Gisela—expressed themselves as scandalised and shocked, and conceived it to be their duty to wean their aged father, who was now more than seventy years of age, from the society which gave him so much pleasure. They so far succeeded that Frau Schratt left Ischl in a hurry for Brussels, and a wag braved the perils of lèse-majesté by inserting in the “agony colum” of the Neue Freie Presse an advertisement in conspicuous type, running: Katti, come back to your sorrowing Franz.
And she came back, albeit by a circuitous route, honourably attended, and in triumph. The first hint that she was about to do so appeared as exclusive information in the Paris Le Siècle:—
“Everyone in Austria knows of the affectionate relations which bind Frau Schratt, formerly of the Burg Theatre, to the Imperial Family. Some time ago Vienna learned with surprise that she was about to retire, and make a journey from Bavaria that would end in Rome. The journals soon after announced that she had come back from Rome, and that the Pope had given her a lasting benediction. Now it appears, though the affair is not yet wholly unveiled, that the Pope not only vouchsafed to Frau Schratt, who was accompanied by the Comtesse de Trani, sister of the late Empress, a paternal reception, but even yielded to pressing instances, supported by diplomatic action, in granting her prayer to declare the nullity of her marriage with Baron Kisch, by whom she has a son.”
Rumour added that these proceedings were only preliminary to the celebration of a morganatic marriage between the Emperor and the actress; morganatic marriages being, as is well known, contrivances for reconciling the human passion which over-rides the barriers of rank with that family pride which does not over-ride them. But rumour, for once, was wrong. A Berlin paper—the Lokal Anzeiger—sent its representative to ascertain what Frau Schratt had to say on the subject; and Frau Schratt opened her heart freely to the reporter, and, in doing so, supplied the confirmation of the story which we have quoted, with provisional scepticism, from Countess Marie Larisch. All this talk about her marriage with the Emperor, she said, was “nonsense.” Those who engaged in such talk knew neither her nor the Emperor. And then came the allusion, for which we have been looking, to the part played in the matter by the Empress:—
“That high-minded and noble lady was my most gracious patroness and friend. In the unrest caused by the mental and bodily pains which drove her from one place to another, it was a comfort to her to know that a good-tempered, light-hearted woman cheered up her husband, and gave him many a pleasant, harmless hour by chatting with him and relating all sorts of anecdotes and stories; attending him in his morning walks in the Schönbrunn Gardens whilst he was taking his Carlsbad water, and never abusing her extraordinary position for intrigues or to push protégés. It was the Empress herself who, hating the stiff Court life and Court dignitaries and ladies-in-waiting, had created my position, which I then maintained owing to the gracious confidence and gratitude of the Emperor.
Every spring I was the first to bring the late Empress, wherever she was staying, the first violets, and I always spent a few days with her. An Empress, however magnanimous and high-minded she may be, remains in certain questions above everything a woman. And is it, therefore, really possible to believe that the Empress would have honoured me with her grace and confidence in such an extraordinary way if even the possibility had existed in her thoughts that, after her death, I might marry the Emperor?”
It is really a remarkable interview. One is not, of course, entitled to say that the whole of Mme. Katti Schratt’s soul is revealed in it. One may take the liberty of doubting whether her respect for the memory of her friend, the Empress, was the sole reason why the proposed morganatic marriage was not concluded. There must also have been representations from many quarters—from the Emperor’s Ministers as well as from his daughters—that while such a marriage would cause a public and family scandal, it would hardly, in the circumstances, add anything appreciable to the happiness and privileges of either party. On that point one is certainly entitled to prefer one’s own judgment to the lady’s account of the self-denying ordinance. But Frau Schratt’s tacit assumption that the society of frivolous actresses is, of all kinds of society, the most agreeable to men, is a very delightful trait, and, though not a universal truth, does appear to have been supported by the facts of the particular case she was discussing. The assumption, too, that she was, naturally and necessarily, a good deal more to the Emperor than the Emperor could ever hope to be to her, is a pleasing example of the proper pride of the ladies who achieve distinction on the stage and leave it because they are even more admirable off the stage than on it.
On the episode of the divorce—and perhaps even on the whole story—a stern, unbending moralist might have something to say. Such a one might even contend that the Pope himself does not come out of the story very well. But then Popes have almost invariably, throughout the course of history, proceeded on the assumption that the ordinary rules of morality may properly be waived in favour of Catholic potentates; and a distinguished French moralist has laid down the rule that a liaison may acquire the dignity of marriage if it lasts long enough.
And this particular alliance has certainly endured for an extraordinary length of time. It still endures at the time at which these lines are written; and when one contemplates it, one finds oneself thinking, not of frivolous gallantries or passionate romances, but of domestic idylls, such as those of Darby and Joan, Philemon and Baucis, and John Anderson, my Jo.
One does not know, of course, whether Frau Katti Schratt ever, at any of her tête-à-tête tea-parties, sings the Emperor the sentimental ballads which consecrate those legends, but there is no reason why she should not—unless it be that she does not know them—and there are many reasons why she should. An unruffled fidelity extending over a period of nearly thirty years, and lasting until extreme old age, has surely earned both him and her a full title to the enjoyment of the emotions which they express.