There was in the love of the hereditary archduke for Mary Vetsera either a lurid fatality or a sinister influence....
When I was in Vienna shortly before I decided to write these pages, I was sorting some private papers which recalled me to the period when I was the confidante and friend of Rudolph. Having finished my task, I went for a drive.
At the turning of a crowded street my attention was attracted by the sight of a melancholy looking old woman dressed in a dark costume. My carriage was going slowly at the time, so I could not fail to notice that she seemed crushed by numerous calamities, bent to the ground under the weight of a heavy burden, and she walked close to the buildings, almost touching the walls as she passed. Her face showed utter dejection and horror, and it was seared with innumerable tragic wrinkles. In this funereal apparition I recognized the mother of Mary Vetsera.
What had happened to the smart woman of the world whom I had been accustomed to meet chaperoning her daughter, then in the full bloom of her bewitching youth?
I have only to close my eyes in order to see Mary Vetsera—superb and glowing as she appeared at an evening entertainment given by the Prince of Reuss, the German Ambassador—the last sensational appearance in Viennese society of the girl who was about to become the heroine of the "bloody enigma" of Meyerling.
But the enigma is very simple.
THE ARCHDUKE RUDOLPH
Nevertheless, one must be behind the scenes in order to see all and know all. And this will always be difficult for journalists, who concoct distorted versions of "facts" which are the enemies of "history." Every journalist continues to rely on his imagination or on his observations, which vary according to his point of view. If the truth, therefore, is long in coming to light it is not very extraordinary. The astonishing thing about the Press is not so much that it abounds in lies as that it sometimes states the truth.