If it is observable that the taste, ear, and talent for music prevail
among the inhabitants of the mountain districts of the world far more
extensively than among the populations of the plains, it is no less
true that nearly all persons belonging to the exalted spheres of
life, for instance, emperors and kings and their consorts, as well as
princes and princesses of the blood, are not only passionately fond
of music, but frequently absolute melomaniacs. In none of the reigning
houses, however, is this particular branch of art developed to such
an extent as in the Hohenzollern family. Thus the collection of the
compositions for the flute by Frederick the Great discovered some ten
years ago in the lumber rooms of the "Neues Palais" at Potsdam, and
recently published after being edited by Professor Spitta, proves that
the royal patron of Voltaire, and the founder of Prussia's military
power was no mere dilettante, but a real genius in the art of
composition. Prince Louis Ferdinand, the son of Frederick the Great's
brother, who courted and met with a premature death at Saalfeld, while
rashly engaging the French enemy, against strict orders, showed, with
all his eccentricities, remarkable musical gifts, leaving in fact
behind him a variety of compositions for orchestras. He also wrote a
march which is published under his name.
Among the collection of marches constantly used in the Prussian army,
is one composed by Frederick-William III. in 1806, which occupies a
place between that of Frederick the Great, written in 1741, and
the well-known Dessauer march. In that very same collection are the
so-called _"Geschwind Marsch," No. 148, for infantry_, the _"Parade
Marsch" No. 51, for cavalry_, and the _"Marsch Für Cavallerie" No.
55_, which emanate from the pen of Princess Charlotte of Prussia,
niece of old Emperor William, and first wife of the present reigning
Duke of Saxe-Meiningen. It is doubtless from her that Prince Bernhardt
of Saxe-Meiningen, married to the eldest sister of the present kaiser,
has inherited his powers of composition, for his name figures on
the title page of many a piece of music; and among his other more
important works has been the setting to music of _"the Persians of
Aeschylus,"_ which has been most successfully staged at Athens. This
is published under the initials of _"E.B." (Erbprinz Bernhardt)_.
Though King Frederick-William IV. did not himself add anything to
royal musical literature, as did his predecessors on the throne, he
devoted much attention to ecclesiastical melody and song. The Berlin
cathedral choir of men and boys--trained to sing without musical
accompaniments--owes its origin to his ambition for having a choir in
his own Protestant basilica at Berlin, corresponding more or less
to the Pope's in the Sistine Chapel of Rome. It was he who engaged
Mendelssohn as director of this choir, as well as composer; and it was
the latter's successor, the director of the music of the Chapel Royal
at the Prussian court, who compiled a collection of volumes containing
settings of many of the Psalms of David, most beautifully arranged.
Among living Hohenzollerns, musical talent is most strongly developed.
Prince Albert, regent of Brunswick, is not only a composer of rare
genius, but likewise a most talented organist. His son, Prince
Joachim, has inherited his talent for composition, and is the author
of some eight works, which have been printed for circulation, in court
circles only, and have not become the property of the public; the
cleverest of them being a festal march, written for his father's
birthday, and a grand funeral march. He shares his father's intense
devotion to Bach and Handel, as well as his fondness for the works
of Mendelssohn, Beethoven and Mozart, and is a most accomplished
performer on the violoncello, being a pupil of the well-known master
of that instrument, Professor Luedemann. Prince Albert's sister, the
widowed Duchess William of Mecklenberg-Schwerin, has been particularly
active as a composer of songs for mezzo soprano, but none of her
works, which are printed for private circulation under the initials of
"A.H.M.", have been placed on public sale. Her songs, some thirty in
number, are melodious and full of feeling. She seems to thoroughly
understand how to bring out the meaning of the words of her
composition, the melody of one of them, _"Ein Duerres Blatt"_
furnishing a particularly striking illustration of this peculiarity;
they left a very lasting impression upon my mind. Among her
collections is an English song, beginning with the words:
"No ditch is too deep,
And no wall is too high,
If two love each other
They'll meet by-and-by."
The music of this is particularly sweet, graceful and tender.
Prince Henry, the sailor brother of the kaiser, has written a number
of pieces, one of the best known and most popular of which is called
the _"Matrosen Marsch,"_ which is to be purchased in all large music
stores. He also holds his own as a first-class amateur performer, both
on the violin and the piano. His sister, the crown princess of Greece,
a pupil of Rufer, excels on the organ, as does also the widowed
Empress Frederick, while there is not one of the children of the
present kaiser who does not possess musical gifts of a high order,
which are being developed both in theory and in practice by celebrated
professors and masters.
There is no doubt that, but for the weakness of his left arm, Emperor
William would have been as skilful a performer as the other members
of his family. As it is, his devotion to music is restricted to
composition and to conducting. The kaiser is very fond of acting
as bandmaster during the musical soirées given at court, and other
entertainments of this kind honored by the presence of the reigning
family. It has been claimed that he is the first Prussian ruler to
thus wield the bâton since the days of Frederick the Great. But this
is not the case, for I recall being present, many years ago, at a
dinner at the palace of Koblenz, given by Empress Augusta in honor of
her consort, old Emperor William, who had come over from Ems for the
purpose, when during the dinner the old emperor remarked that the band
of the Augusta regiment, which was playing at the further end of the
White Hall, had played the ballet melody of _"Satanella"_ in too
fast a time. Rising from his seat, and pushing aside the screen which
concealed the band from view, he took the bâton from the hand of the
bandmaster, and after exclaiming: "Very quietly and slowly, gentlemen,
if you please," he tapped twice on the music-stand in front of him,
and then commenced to conduct with as much skill and art as if he had
never done anything else in his life. Several times during the course
of the piece he exclaimed "Noch rühiger," (still more gently) and
when the end of the piece was reached he laid down the bâton with
the remark, "Now, that was fine," and, thanking the band with a very
friendly and kindly smile, returned to his seat at table.
The present kaiser's principal contribution to music is undoubtedly
his composition of the melody to the "_Sang am Aegir,_" a poem
of considerable power by his friend Count Philipp Eulenburg. The
composition begins as follows:
[Illustration: O Ae-gir Herr der Flu-then dem Nix und Nex sich beugt!]
The words may be rendered as:
"Of Aegir, Lord of the Waves,
Whom mermaids and mermen revere."
The bars that follow rivet the attention of the listener on account of
their weird originality. They are full of feeling, very melodious,
and easily caught by the ear. Towards the close, the melody breaks off
into a purely military strain, so that the final bars are suggestive
of the sound of trumpets, recalling to mind some ancient martial
fanfare.
William has a very marked predilection for Wagnerian music, and is the
life and soul of the "Potsdam-Berlin Wagner Society," which is one of
the most influential social institutions of the Prussian capital.
His principal lieutenant and Adlatus in the management of this
association, which is in every sense of the word a court institution,
is Major von Chelius, who holds a commission in the kaiser's own body
regiment of Hussars of the Guard. The major is a particular favorite
of both the emperor and the empress, and he takes a very prominent
part in all the musical entertainments at court, almost invariably
playing the piano accompaniments for the singing of Princess Albert
of Saxe-Altenburg, and of Prince Max of Baden, who possesses a
rich baritone voice. The major is the composer of the popular opera
"_Haschisch,_" and has inherited his musical talents from his mother,
a Hamburger by birth. His father is a dignitary of the Court of Baden,
while his wife, a most charming woman, was, prior to her marriage, a
Fraulein von Puttkamer, a member, therefore, of the same family as the
late Princess Bismarck.
But although manifesting a preference for Wagner, the kaiser is not
averse to Mozart, or to the Italian school. "_Der Freischuetz_" is one
of his favorite operas, and while he does not care for Falstaff, he
is very fond of "_I Medici_," and greatly admires Leon Cavallo. He
possesses a very correct ear, and a most pleasing voice, and many
of his evenings are passed in trying new songs, his wife, who is an
excellent pianist, playing the accompaniment.
Though quite as passionately fond of music as the Hohenzollerns, the
Hapsburgs have achieved less distinction as composers, and even as
performers. Indeed, there are but two scions of the reigning house of
Austria, who can be said to have won any kind of fame as composers,
namely, the missing Archduke John, who was the author of an
exceedingly pretty and catchy ballet that still figures on the
repertoire of the imperial opera, and Archduke Joseph, so well known
by the name of the "Gypsy Archduke," who has done more than anyone
else in Europe to place on record, both in writing and in print,
the weird music and extraordinary quaint melodies of the Tziganes,
melodies which he has arranged exquisitely for orchestral use. True,
there is not a single archduke or archduchess in Austria and Hungary,
who does not play with taste and feeling. Indeed, music seems to be
inborn in them, and while the widowed crown princess is devoted to
her piano, on which her performances are characterized by a superb
technique, but coupled alas! with a complete absence of sentiment, her
husband, the lamented Crown Prince Rudolph, was a composer of no
mean power and seemed at times to pour forth his entire soul in the
melodies which he coaxed from this instrument. Indeed he often sat at
the piano for hours, playing, in a manner indescribably expressive and
touching, airs improvised on the spur of the moment, which, while they
remained impressed on the minds and ears of those present, would seem
to fade at once from the memory of the prince himself. His was what
may be called a true genius for music.
The member of the House of Hapsburg most famous in the annals of music
of the present century, was undoubtedly that Archduke Rudolph, son of
Emperor Leopold II., who died a cardinal. He was the protector, the
friend and disciple of Beethoven, many of whose most famous works,
would assuredly have remained unwritten had it not been for the fact
that he received the same powerful support, both material and moral,
from the imperial cardinal as Richard Wagner obtained from King Louis
of Bavaria.
With regard to Archduke Joseph, the above-mentioned "Gypsy Archduke,"
there is no doubt that without him the outer world would still have
been left in ignorance of the incalculably rich mine of Tzigane music.
He is only distantly related to Emperor Francis-Joseph, being the
senior member of a branch of the house of Hapsburg which has been
settled for more than one hundred years in Hungary. His father's
entire life was spent there, where he held the office of Viceroy, and
it is there that Archduke Joseph himself was entirely brought up, and
where he has spent his whole existence.
At an early age he was attracted to the gypsies by their music, and it
was this that led him to think of their welfare, and to devote himself
to the study of the characteristics, the history and the origin of
these mysterious nomads. Until he took them under his protection, they
were regarded more or less as pariahs of Central and Southern Europe,
the hand of every man being against them, and the authorities and
people at large combining to subject them to persecution of the most
cruel character. Their gratitude to the archduke when he obtained
better treatment for them knew no bounds, and was shown, among other
instances, in a notable manner during the Austro-Prussian. war, when
Joseph was at the head of a division of Magyar troops.
"Our retreat," so the archduke tells the story, "before the advance of
the Prussian army, immediately preceding the battle of Sadowa, led
us to camp one night in the neighborhood of a town in Bohemia. I was
lodged in a peasant's cottage, when about midnight I heard the
sentry at my door hoarsely challenging some new-comer. My aid-de-camp
entered, and reported that a gypsy wanted to see me in private.
"On my asking the dusky visitor in Romani what was the matter, he told
me that the enemy was approaching to surprise us.
"'The outposts have not heard anything suspicious?' I remarked.
"'No, your imperial highness,' he replied, 'because the enemy is still
a long way off.'
"'But how do you know this?' I asked.
"'Come to the window,' replied the Zingari, leading me forward to the
narrow glazed opening in the rough wall, and directing my gaze to the
dark sky, lighted by the silver rays of the moon. 'Do you see those
birds flying over the woods towards the south?'
"'Yes, I see them. What of it?'
"'What of it? Do not birds sleep as well as men? They would certainly
not fly about at night-time thus had they not been disturbed. The
enemy is marching through the wood southwards, and has frightened and
driven the birds before it.'
"I at once ordered the outposts to be reinforced, and the camp to be
alarmed. Two hours later, the outposts were fighting fiercely with the
foe, and I was able to realize that my camp and my division had been
saved from surprise and destruction only by the keen observation and
sagacity of a grateful gypsy."
The archduke spent a large sum of money, some years ago, in
endeavoring to turn the gypsies from their nomadic life, and to induce
them to settle down, in order to devote their time and energies to the
practice of the wonderful art of working metal, which they possess to
so marked a degree, instead of roaming aimlessly about, and sometimes
thieving, as is unfortunately their habit. He built a number of
villages for them in the district surrounding Presburg, and organized
gypsy settlements. But the scheme proved a failure. The Tziganes, true
to the instincts that they have inherited from countless generations,
abandoned the comfortable houses, the fields and blossoming gardens
with which they had been provided by their imperial benefactor. They
refused to till the soil, and commenced once more their interminable
wanderings.
In spite of this fiasco, the archduke still continues to consider
himself as the protector of the Romanys, and remains proud of his
title of "Gypsy Prince," being sagacious enough to realize that it
is impossible for a race to eradicate from their character, in a
comparatively short space of time, traits that have been theirs for
hundreds, nay thousands of years; for the origin of these gypsies is
still shrouded in mystery and lost in the gloom of prehistoric ages,
although it is probable that they are of Persian descent.
While Emperor William's taste as regards music meets with very
widespread approval, and his gifts as a composer are very generally
recognized, he has been less fortunate with regard to other branches
of art; notably in the matter of painting, where he finds himself in
frequent conflict with his people, especially with the great painters
of his empire. Of all the muses there is none so truly democratic as
that of pictorial art. The pictorial muse displays a truly republican
intolerance of control on the part of either king or government. Hence
it is only natural that Germany, which has produced in the past,
and still possesses, so many world-famed painters and architectural
designers, should strongly resent the kaiser's assumption of the
supreme arbitership in all matters relating to art. His subjects
submitted to his claim of "_Regis voluntas suprema lex_," in matters
connected with the administration of the government, in diplomacy,
in the drama, in music, and in literature, but they deny his power to
impose upon them his taste in pictorial art.
It is no exaggeration to state that the emperor is in almost perpetual
conflict, and at open war with the great majority of German painters
and designers--a notable exception being the case of Professor von
Menzel. Indeed, their discontent occasionally breaks forth with
an intensity altogether new in the annals of German loyalty to the
throne. A very remarkable instance thereof is the means which they
adopted to show their disapproval of the emperor's treatment of
Wallot, the designer of the palace of the imperial parliament. Wallot
is universally recognized as the foremost architect of the age in
Germany, and his original design for the building, as accepted by
the authorities, was a very grandiose and magnificent conception.
Financial considerations necessitated the modification of some of the
features of the building, while others were forced upon the architect
sorely against his will by the emperor, with the result that the
palace is not quite so superb as originally projected. It remains,
however, a magnificent and imposing pile, well worthy of the purpose
for which it has been erected, and in no way a displeasing monument of
German art and architecture as understood in the nineteenth century.
All the recognized authorities, both Teuton and foreign, in questions
of art and architecture, have pronounced themselves in this sense,
the only discordant note being that to which the emperor has given
utterance. Not only has he publicly declared the new Reichshaus to
be "the very acme of bad taste," but he even went to the length of
striking the designer's name from the list of gold medalists at the
exhibition of art and architecture held at Berlin shortly after the
completion and inauguration of the building. The gold medal had been
voted to Herr Wallot by a jury composed of all the most celebrated
artists in Germany, whose verdict, representing that of the nation,
might have been considered as definite and final. The kaiser, however,
when the list was submitted to him for final approval, substituted,
in lieu of the name of Professor Wallot, that of his favorite
portrait painter, Madame Palma Parlaghy, whose work is, in the eyes of
Germany's leading artists, so execrable that the hanging committee of
the Berlin Academy have repeatedly refused to accord places to any of
her pictures on its walls.
Madame Parlaghy is a pupil of Makart and of Lenbach, and a native of
Hadji-Dóròg, in Hungary. She is between thirty and forty, possessed
of glittering, enigmatic eyes, highly-colored cheeks and lips, and the
almost too profuse head of hair that one sees so often on the shores
of the Danube. Her beauty may, nevertheless, be described as majestic,
and she conveys the idea of being a woman possessed of considerable
strength of mind, as well as much diplomacy. She was first recommended
to the emperor by the present Czarina of Russia, to whom she gave
drawing lessons, prior to the marriage of the empress, and after
William had obtained an idea of her skill by a very pleasing portrait
which she painted of Field Marshal von Moltke, which was, however,
rejected by the hanging committee of an art exhibition at Berlin, he
purchased the picture in question for a large sum, and likewise gave
her an order to paint several portraits of himself, declaring openly
that if the judgment of the leading Berlin artists were to be final in
the matter of admitting paintings to public galleries and exhibitions,
there would never be a single work of art worthy of the name on view.
Madame Parlaghy's portraits of the emperor, though questionable as
works of art, are, it must be confessed, very flattering likenesses of
his majesty.
It was shortly after this slight inflicted by the emperor on Professor
Wallot, and the honor conferred upon Madame Parlaghy, that the
National Society of Architects and the National Association
of Artists, the two principal organizations of the kind in
Germany--composed of all that is most eminent in the realms of
architecture and art--jointly invited Professor Wallot to a great
banquet in Berlin, at which over six hundred guests were present, in
the course of which William was guyed in a most merciless manner! The
chief ornament on the principal table was a model of the Reichshaus in
"Schwarzbrod," cheese and confectionery. The dome consisted of a Dutch
cheese, the "Germania" on the top was represented by a smartly aproned
chambermaid on horseback, the horse being led by a footman in imperial
livery, while the whole was labeled "Der gipfel des geschmack,"--the
acme of taste. Another item of the programme was a sort of automatic
machine, which, when a gold medal was placed in the slot, would
perform "Der gesang an Ihr,"--the song to her--meaning, of course,
Madame Parlaghy.
The joke, I need hardly say, consisted in the parodying of the title
of the emperor's musical composition "Sang am Aegir!" The
lustre hanging from the ceiling, which is known in Germany as a
"Kronleuchter" was in the form of an old crinoline. At the entrance to
the banqueting hall hung the representation of a gold medal, which
a lady painter was trying in vain to grasp. The tone of the speeches
throughout the evening was in thorough keeping with the decorations,
and it is doubtful whether such a bold exhibition of independence,
and even disloyalty towards the sovereign, has ever been seen in the
Prussian capital. It speaks well for William's good sense that he
should have refrained from proceeding against any of the organizers of
the entertainment on the ground of _lése majesté_.
There is, as I stated above, one Prussian painter, however, of whom
the kaiser is exceedingly fond, whose eminence in art is acknowledged,
not only in Germany, but all the world over, and upon whom William
has lavished the highest honors that it is in his power to bestow. The
painter in question is Professor von Menzel; popularly known in Berlin
as "His Little Excellency," owing to his diminutive size, his stature
being about four feet nine inches! Professor Menzel, who is of the
most humble origin, is to-day a Knight of the Order of the Black
Eagle, which is the Prussian equivalent of the English Order of the
Garter, or of the Austrian Order of the Golden Fleece, this
decoration carrying with it a patent of hereditary nobility. He is now
considerably over eighty, but from his twelfth year he has earned his
living by means of his brush and palette. All his principal paintings
are devoted to the illustration of historic episodes of Prussian
history and of the reigning house of Hohenzollern. One of his
masterpieces is entitled "The Flute Concert," and represents Frederick
the Great in his palace at Sans-Souci, at a concert with the principal
members of court and his household around him.
One evening the emperor sent for old Menzel, and asked him to join the
royal family at Sans-Souci. When the little painter alighted he was
conducted to the imperial presence, and was somewhat astonished
to notice that the sentinels at the various doors instead of being
arrayed in their ordinary uniform, wore the military garb of the time
of Frederick the Great. But his surprise developed into downright
amazement, when at length two folding-doors were thrown open, and he
found himself in the same apartment which had furnished the scene of
his painting of "The Flute Concert." The room was lighted, as in
olden times, with wax candles, the old-time furniture was disposed
identically as represented in his painting, and, moreover, the company
assembled was composed of men in the costumes of the time of Frederick
the Great, and of ladies attired in the picturesque dress of the
middle of the last century. There advanced to welcome the astounded
artist a personage who, but for the moustache, was the very image
of Frederick the Great, and in whom the little professor had
some difficulty to recognize the kaiser. William greeted him with
old-fashioned courtesy, using the elaborate politeness of our great
grandfathers, and after having presented the little painter to all
the guests, the ladies curtsying deeply in the fashion of the Court of
Versailles, and the men bowing low, Menzel was led by the emperor to
a seat beside the empress, and the emperor's private band, whose
uniforms were in perfect keeping with the costumes of the guests,
played first of all several of Frederick the Great's compositions for
the flute, and then a few of Bach's loveliest _morceaux_. The emperor
himself remained standing beside the little painter's chair throughout
the entire concert, the empress alone and some of her ladies being
seated, while the remainder of the fair guests, as well as all the
men, stood about the apartment endeavoring as far as possible to group
themselves in the same way as the personages figuring in Menzel's
painting. After the concert was finished, the company adjourned to an
adjoining room, Menzel occupying the place of honor to the right of
the empress, while the emperor toasted the little fellow with more
than ordinary eloquence and cordiality.
It is doubtful whether any sovereign has ever gone to such lengths
in order to honor the leading artist of his dominions, and it is
difficult to speak too highly of the delicacy of the compliment, or of
its originality. It might have been sufficient to turn the head of
any other painter than Menzel. But while he is devoted to the reigning
family there is certainly no one who is less of a courtier. In fact he
is terribly outspoken, and never hesitates to speak to his sovereign
with the fearless sincerity of a Diogenes. Of a truth, there is no end
to the stories current, illustrating his independence of character.
Once, having been commissioned by the grandfather of the present
kaiser, namely, old Emperor William, to paint a picture of his
coronation as King of Prussia, he reproduced with too much exactitude,
and too little flattery, the features of the emperor's exceedingly
vain and by no means youthful consort, Empress Augusta. Her majesty
insisted that he should alter his portrait of her, and render it
more attractive, but this Menzel absolutely refused to do, and the
consequence was that the empress on numerous occasions made him feel
the weight of her displeasure.
The old painter bided his time, and eventually got even with her in
a very characteristic fashion. Being entrusted with the task of
reproducing on canvas the scene of the emperor's departure for the
seat of war in 1870, he portrayed the Empress Augusta with her face
entirely concealed in her handkerchief, as if weeping, although she
prided herself on not having shed a single tear on that occasion.
Another time during the life of old Field Marshal Wrangel, a lady of
the court, more famous for her vanity than her beauty, complained
to him that Menzel had done her scant justice in a large picture
representing some important event of contemporary court history.
Wrangel, who was famous as a brow-beating bully of the good old
Prussian type,--people trembling at the mere sight of him,--promised
to see Menzel, and to make him change the portrait of the lady to a
more flattering likeness. Greatly to his surprise, however, when he
broached the subject to Menzel, he discovered that the latter greatly
resented such meddlesomeness. Indeed, Menzel even had the temerity to
suggest that field marshals would do far better to attend to subjects
that they knew something about than to the art of painting, of which
they knew nothing. Wrangel flared up, so did Menzel, and soon the
air was blue with finely characterized and bona-fide Prussian oaths,
punctuated with the angry sarcasms of the enraged painter. The upshot
of the interview was that Wrangel, who had never before turned his
back on an enemy, was compelled to beat an ignominious retreat without
having accomplished his object; but before disappearing through the
door of the studio, he turned and positively yelled at the painter:
"You are a disgusting little toad, and your picture is vile."
While most of the members of the House of Hapsburg paint and sketch
with a good deal of cleverness and skill, there is only one, namely,
the now widowed Archduchess Maria-Theresa, who can be regarded as an
artist in every sense of the word. She excels alike with the chisel
and the brush, while during the lifetime of her husband, her salon
became, in spite of the strictness of Austrian court etiquette,
the one place where eminent artists were certain to find a cordial
welcome, irrespective of birth or social status.
The studio of the archduchess is situated on the second floor of her
palace, in the Favoritenstrasse, and is a very lofty, long and narrow
apartment, looking out on the street. It is particularly remarkable
for its simplicity, presenting therein a powerful contrast to the
magnificence of the two salons through which it is necessary to pass
in order to reach it. The few stools, tabourets, armchairs and divans
therein contained, are upholstered with soft-toned Oriental rugs, the
walls are hidden by some sort of olive-colored velvety fabric, and
the wall opposite the windows is divided in the middle by a species
of gallery, the exquisite wood carvings of which were brought by
the archduchess herself from Meran. The parqueted floors are partly
concealed by the skins of tigers and polar bears, shot in the Arctic
regions and in India by her brother, Dom Miguel, Duke of Braganza, the
legitimist pretender to the throne of Portugal, while on easels, and
suspended from the walls, are oil-color portraits by the archduchess
of Baroness C. Kolmossy, to whom she is indebted for her knowledge of
painting, of her husband, the late Archduke Charles-Louis, and of her
sister-in-law, the lamented Empress Elizabeth, in riding habit and in
ball-dress.
There is also a very pretty picture of a cat in the act of effecting
its escape from the basket in which it had been confined, and
a wonderful crayon sketch of Maria-Theresa's stepson, Archduke
Francis-Ferdinand, the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne. The
colossal fire-place niched in one of the corners of the studio, is
surmounted, not by a mirror, but by a panel of well-nigh priceless
Oriental embroidery, the brilliant colors of which have been softened
and rendered harmonious and mellow by age.
The doors are draped by portieres of Flemish tapestry, and shielded
by Mucharabieh screens of curiously-carved wood from Cairo. Preserved
from dust and damage beneath plate-glass are some unique pieces of
antique Venetian point lace, presented by another brother-in-law, Don
Alfonso of Spain, the younger brother of the Pretender Don Carlos,
while on a huge square writing-table, the equipments of which are
of Oriental gold filigree-work, richly jewelled, are usually
found letters either to or from the favorite brother-in-law of the
archduchess, Duke Charles-Theodore of Bavaria, the celebrated oculist,
who during the course of his practice has performed more than three
thousand successful operations for cataract without accepting a single
penny-piece by way of remuneration.
True, the patients of this royal physician are nearly all of them poor
people, and it is for their benefit that he has converted one of his
castles into an ophthalmic hospital, and another palace into a species
of convalescent home and resort, where poor gentlefolk and government
servants with inadequate means can spend a couple of weeks in the
country free of all cost.
It is difficult to refrain from a deep degree of sympathy for this so
brilliant and accomplished Archduchess Maria-Theresa, whose character
is best illustrated by the fact that she is literally worshipped by
her grown-up step-children. The sudden death of her husband was not
only a cruel bereavement, but was also the destruction of great and
much-cherished ambitions.
Through the death of Crown Prince Rudolph, her husband, as next
brother to Emperor Francis-Joseph, became heir to the throne, and
owing to the refusal of Empress Elizabeth to take any part whatsoever
in court life, the archduchess was from that moment, to all intents
and purposes, the "first lady in the land." It was she who presided
at all court ceremonies and official functions, who received the
presentations, and who filled the post of empress alike at Vienna
and at Pesth. Her husband was entirely swayed by her, and completely
subject to her influence, and it is notorious that she looked for the
day when, through his accession to the throne, she would become
the virtual ruler of the great dual empire, and be in a position to
inaugurate all sorts of political ideas, peculiar to herself, notably
in connection with a reversal of Austria's present foreign policy. She
has never made any secret of her disapproval of the Austrian alliance
with Italy, and has even gone so far as to attend with her husband
public meetings in favor of the restoration of the temporal power of
the Papacy, at which King Humbert was bitterly denounced and abused
as a usurper! There seemed no reason whatsoever why her consort should
not live to succeed his elder brother, and as the archduke possessed
a singularly strong constitution, and had scarcely suffered a single
hour's illness since his childhood, there was no cause to fear any
untoward event. Indeed he might have been alive at the present moment
had it not been for his unfortunate pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where
in some way he contracted the malady which carried him off so very
suddenly. He enjoys the distinction of being the only member of his
house whose whole body reposes in the vault of the Capuchin Church
at Vienna, where so many hundred Hapsburgs sleep, some in coffins of
silver and gold, others in caskets of exquisitely ornamented copper.
According to a very gruesome custom in vogue with the reigning house
of Austria for many centuries, the heart is extracted from the body of
the imperial dead within twenty-four hours after their demise, placed
in a silver urn filled with spirits of wine, hermetically sealed, and
then conveyed with the utmost pomp and ceremony, though at night,
to the old cathedral of St. Stephen, where it is received with much
solemnity by the clergy, and placed in niches of the wall, near the
high altar. The entrails are in the same way removed, and conveyed
with identically the same ceremonies to the ancient church of the
Augustines, and it is only what is left that is buried in the vaults
of the Capuchin Church.
Archduke Charles-Louis did not relish this extraordinary yet
traditional treatment of his remains after death, and fervently
believing in the resurrection of the body in the flesh, thought it
distinctly uncanny that his heart and his entrails should each have
to go hunting through the city for his body on the Day of Judgment.
Accordingly, he was laid to rest just as he died, instead of being
entombed, like all the other members of the House of Hapsburg, in
sections.