The marriage of Archduchess Stéphanie to Count Lonyay—Attitude of
the King of the Belgians towards that marriage—Attitude of Francis
Joseph—He sanctions the union, but snubs the bridegroom—Marriage of
the Archduchess Elizabeth to Otto von Windischgraetz—Francis Joseph’s
approval—The Windischgraetzes raised to the rank of Serene Highnesses.
Through the breach which Princess Elizabeth had made the Archduchess
Stéphanie presently insisted upon marching; and it would indeed have
been cruel to have hindered her from doing so. Her life had been an
unhappy and a lonely one; she had been made to feel that, wherever
she might be, she was not really wanted. She wished, after Rudolph’s
death, to return to Brussels; but the King of the Belgians would not
have her there—his treatment of her being only less shameful than his
treatment of her sister, Princess Louise of Saxe-Coburg. Remaining in
Austria, she realised that neither the Emperor nor the Empress liked
her, though they had no grievance against her beyond the fact that
she had not attracted Rudolph sufficiently to save him from himself.
Her estrangement from Rudolph was perpetuated after his death by the
discovery that his will deprived her of the guardianship of her only
child.
Of course there was talk to the effect that she was consoling
herself—there always is such talk in such cases, and there is no
need to attach importance to it. Presently all the other rumours were
silenced by the announcement that she loved, and was resolved to marry,
Count Lonyay, a gentleman of her household. His quarterings were few;
but experience had not taught Stéphanie to associate blue blood with
devotion and fidelity. Nothing was more natural than her desire to make
a dash for happiness without reference to equality of rank; and as her
imperial relatives were treating her as a person of no importance,
there was no particular reason why they should object. As a matter
of fact Francis Joseph did object, and did defend the breach; but
his resistance was weakened, and his surrender precipitated, by the
uninvited appearance of Stéphanie’s father as his ally.
For who, after all, was this King of the Belgians that he should make
himself the champion of royal and imperial exclusiveness? He was a mere
_parvenu_ among Kings: one whose territory had, within quite recent
times, formed a portion of the Austrian dominions, and whose subjects
were such aggressive democrats that they did not even allow him to
possess a crown; a scandalous King, too, whose ostentatious intrigues
with dancing girls were derided in all the comic papers of Europe, and
who punished no one for _lèse-majesté_ when his portrait and theirs
were offered for sale side by side in the kiosks at Ostend. How
could the Head of the House of Habsburg stand shoulder to shoulder in
support of his caste with such a man as that? The cause was obviously
compromised by the alliance, and the dignified course for Francis
Joseph was to show that he could afford to be magnanimous, even if
Leopold II. could not.
He took that dignified course, and made that magnanimous gesture.
“In the name of tradition,” Leopold II. stopped his daughter’s
allowance—it was only £2,000 a year—and deprived her of her title of
Royal Highness. Francis Joseph retorted by giving his daughter-in-law
a considerable sum of money, and announcing that she might retain her
imperial dignities. He cut the nobler figure of the two; and praise
of his magnanimity rewarded him. But his pride nevertheless had to
find utterance; he had to make it clear that, though he consented, he
did not approve, but regarded Count Lonyay as an intruder in a family
infinitely above him. When Stéphanie came to Court, she had to come
without her husband; and when Stéphanie’s daughter was married, Count
Lonyay, though suffered to be present in the crowd at the religious
ceremony, received no invitation to the subsequent luncheon.
It sounds petty; and one need not suppose that Stéphanie did not care.
But if Francis Joseph could make her unhappy for a day, he could not
make her unhappy on the whole. One cannot leave the subject of her
marriage without quoting once again her own joyous anticipation of
it:—
“Is it possible? A long, long terrible night has gone by for me, and I
see a rosy dawn of hope on the clouded sky, a ray of light which tells
of the rising sun of joy. Will the sun rise in full glory? Will he
warm me with his rays, and dry the tears from my cheeks? Come, my sun,
come! You find a poor faded flower whose freshness has been destroyed
by the hard frost of fate.”
With that we may leave Stéphanie, and pass to the story of her
daughter’s marriage—the marriage to which Count Lonyay received no
invitation.
* * * * *
Of all his relatives the Archduchess Elizabeth was probably the one
whom the Emperor loved the best. She saw but little of her mother,
who travelled a great deal, both before her marriage to Count Lonyay
and afterwards. Her principal companions were the daughters of the
Archduchess Isabella; and her tastes are said to have been simple. She
was fond of gardening—selling vegetables, to give the proceeds to the
poor; and a pleasant story is told of her devotion to her foxterrier.
The place was the Schönnbrunn Park, and the time was winter; her only
attendant was a footman:—
“The lively little dog jumped on the fresh ice of a fountain, which
broke under him. The little animal struggled in the water, and
Princess Elizabeth called to the footman to save it. The man found
an excuse and did not move a hand. Then the Princess screamed at the
top of her voice: ‘You nasty coward! I’m not half so big as you, but
I’ll go in, even if I get drowned.’ The man held her fast, although
she shrieked and struggled, and, a gardener coming to the rescue, the
little dog was saved. But Princess Elizabeth dislikes all footmen and
flunkeys since that day.”
It seemed as if a destiny of great distinction was in store for her.
There was even talk of marrying her to the German Emperor’s son,
Prince Eitel Fritz, and raising her to the Austrian throne. Whether
that plan would have proved agreeable to public opinion is doubtful;
but a circumstance soon occurred which removed it from the sphere of
practical matrimonial projects. At her very first ball Elizabeth met
young Otto von Windischgraetz, a lieutenant in the lancers. She met him
again at tennis-parties at Laxenburg; and presently she announced to
one of her aunts that she meant to marry Otto von Windischgraetz, and
that, if she were not allowed to marry him, she should spend the rest
of her days in a convent. “Tell your grandfather about it,” said her
aunt; and she went into the next room and told him.
Otto von Windischgraetz was one of _the_ Windischgraetzes, and Francis
Joseph owed a great deal to them. To Alfred von Windischgraetz, indeed,
as was shown in an earlier chapter, he may almost be said to have
owed his throne. But no one expected that fact to count with Francis
Joseph—especially as Otto only belonged to a junior branch of the
family; and it is quite likely that it did not count with him. What did
count was his affection for his granddaughter. As a rule he inspired
his relatives with awe rather than affection; but Elizabeth was really
fond of him, and he was fond of her, and could not bear to see her cry.
So he listened patiently, and promised to see what could be done. For
the sequel we may quote Sir Horace Rumbold’s “Austrian Court in the
Nineteenth Century”:—
“A few days later he sent for the father, Prince Ernest
Windischgraetz, and talked the matter over with him, ending what
must have been a somewhat trying conversation for the parent of the
aspiring young man, by telling him that he trusted his granddaughter
would receive as kindly a welcome ‘_im Windischgraetzchen Hause_’ as
Prince Otto might be assured of from him and the Imperial family. On
the occasion of the marriage, the entire junior branch of this old
Bohemian house to which the bridegroom belonged was given the rank of
‘_Durchlaucht_,’ or Serene Highness.”
So love triumphed again, and triumphed, this time, not only without
opposition, but also without the accompaniment of petty annoyances. One
would be glad if it were possible to leave this matrimonial branch of
the subject on that note; but it is not. We have already seen that the
measure meted out to the Archduchess who loved the lancer was by no
means meted out to the Archduke who loved the daughter of the professor
of mathematics. The story of Francis Joseph’s severe attitude towards
the romances of “Herr Wulfling” and Princess Louisa of Tuscany has
still to come; and before we reach those stories we have to hark back,
and consider the case of the Archduke Francis Ferdinand and Countess
Sophie Chotek. That, of all the matrimonial encounters, has been the
most interesting and the most important. It was not a single battle,
but a prolonged campaign, in which we see Francis Joseph giving ground
step by step. The final result of the conflict is still uncertain; and
the full consequences of the victory gained by human affection over
the Habsburg system cannot be measured and known until after Francis
Joseph’s death.