“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.