Elizabeth’s Illness and Sojourn in Madeira
The estrangement between the Emperor and Empress gradually increased.
Affairs of state, the distractions of court life, together with Franz
Joseph’s growing disposition to return to the habits and pleasures of
his bachelor life, all tended to widen the breach between them. The
Emperor was naturally kind and affectionate, but he also had weaknesses
which on closer acquaintance proved him to be far from the ideal
character his young wife had imagined. She was too proud to stoop to
unworthy means to retain his attachment for her, and her increasing
sadness and reserve as well as her disinclination to take part in the
festivities of the court, only wearied and helped to estrange him the
more, as he felt in it a silent reproach.
Elizabeth had expected to find complete happiness in his love, and her
solitary position at court in an atmosphere so hostile had made her
cling yet more closely to this hope. By this time, however, reality had
dispelled this illusion. She did not feel that she had lost her power
over him or even his love, but her faith in him was shaken and her
confidence destroyed. To be pitied was unendurable to the proud daughter
of the Wittelsbachs. She hid her disappointment from the world and
retired more and more within herself. At length her health began to give
way. She struggled bravely against her growing weakness, but was finally
seized with an illness which her physicians could neither understand nor
cure. After repeated consultations it was decided that her lungs were
affected, and a journey to Madeira was advised, that place being at the
time regarded as the most favorable one for troubles of that kind. For a
long time she refused to follow their advice, but finally early in the
year 1861 she consented to go. Those who saw her start doubted whether
she would ever return, and she herself had little hope of regaining her
health.
She left Europe wrapped in mist and cold. When she landed in Madeira, a
week later, she was greeted by blue skies, brilliant sunshine, and
tropical vegetation. The villa she was to occupy was charmingly
situated, with wide verandas, terraces overlooking the sea, and a chain
of mountains stretching behind it. Under these new conditions the
Empress began at once to improve and by the first of March was able to
make daily excursions about the island, which was now ablaze with
flowers. She even grew to look upon her illness as a deliverer. It had
enabled her to escape from the oppression of court life, and the quiet
solitude taught her patience and gave her strength to bear the trials
still in store for her. She lived over the struggles of her life at
Vienna, so different from the happy days of childhood in her peaceful
Bavarian home, the memory of which, together with the tales and legends
she had heard at her father’s knee, returned so often and so vividly to
her mind.
She rose early every morning, studied, and practised her music, wrote
daily letters to her husband and her parents, and took long walks upon
the shore. Once during her stay on the island she had a visit from her
sister Helene, who had married the Prince of Thurn and Taxis. Vessels
rarely stopped there, and her life was most uneventful; but nature,
which she had always loved, now became doubly dear. It was there too
that she discovered a new interest in the world of poetry, and books
soon became like friends to her. In the long solitary evenings she would
take refuge in them from the restless longings of her heart and forget
for the time her cares and troubles. Meanwhile, in Vienna, news of the
Empress’ death was daily expected, but instead came word that her cough
grew better, and at last it was announced that the climate of Madeira
had done its work and she would be allowed to come back after a stay of
four months.
On the way home in the middle of May a frightful storm arose, and the
yacht _Victoria and Albert_ (which had been loaned her by Queen Victoria
of England for the return voyage) was tossed about like a nutshell on
the angry sea. The Empress, however, refused to leave the deck in spite
of all entreaties and the mountainous waves that threatened to sweep her
over the side of the vessel. She even had herself fastened to the mast
that she might safely enjoy the wonderful spectacle. On the eighteenth
of May she was met off Trieste by the Emperor, who had come out on a
warship to welcome her with an escort of five steamboats carrying
notables and citizens with bands of music. At ten o’clock a shot from
the castle announced the approach of the flotilla, and amid thundering
salutes from batteries and warships the Emperor and Empress entered the
harbor and landed near Miramar, the pleasure palace built for Archduke
Maximilian, afterward Emperor of Mexico. A celebrated painting depicts
the meeting between the young Archduchess Charlotte and Elizabeth on the
great marble terrace overlooking the sea.
At Baden Elizabeth saw her mother-in-law and children again, and five
days later the imperial pair entered Vienna, the railway station of
which was decorated with flowers in honor of the occasion. They drove to
the palace in an open carriage amid the cheers of the populace, whose
joy over the Empress’ recovery found further expression the following
day in praise services held in all the churches of the city.