She was also pleased to see those many shrubs and cedar trees grown up very tall and full, completely avoiding the view of von Walden’s castle. She had them planted right after Clarissa von Walden mailed the accusing letters to her, for which she never forgave Alex or ‘that girl’. And that so-called castle was an eyesore to begin with. Thank God there were few von Waldens still inhabiting that glorified dwelling, having mostly married away from Lindenfels and Vienna. All her friends only referred to them as the ‘dreadful von Waldens,’ and she of course was in full agreement.
On the way home from their usual nice time with the Esslers, which this time included Hannes, Karl, and Robert, or ‘my three men’ as she fondly called them, Stephan requested the presence of Father Christopher on his next visit to Melk.
“Whenever his church gives him permission,” was her nonchalant reply, as Melk’s monastery had been visited countless times by now. Franz-Xavier was not too eager to accompany Stephan and his mother, knowing what was ahead of him on his return trip to Vienna, never mind the following weeks, months, and possibly years.
Stephan gave not the slightest indication that he would never see anyone again as they said their goodbyes, wishing them, as always, a good journey to Melk. Franz-Xavier only noticed that very special glow on his face, which he still showed when all three ascended the coach to ride to the train station.
It was a beautiful fall day with the sun shining through the windows as the train took off from Vienna for Melk. “My last ride,” Franz-Xavier thought as he started to pray, wishing the whole ordeal was behind him. The conversation between mother and son was very casual. She suggested that they take a look at a very large writing table the following day, which had many little drawers when opened. It was a beautiful piece with inlaid mahogany on light birch wood – very Viennese, very Biedermeier! Stephan only smiled, never listening to a word, but picturing himself changing his brown velour suit to a black habit.
Entering the monastery Verena could not help but notice a tall, gray-haired man with a big hooked nose making his way towards Stephan.
“Welcome, dear son of God,” was all Verena could remember hearing when a side door was opened and Stephan disappeared. She was permitted to take a chair with a strong, soft back until she felt fit to travel home again. It took her quite a while to look around, ending up staring helplessly at Franz-Xavier while searching for the right words.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said, quivering and shaken.
“Good idea,” was all Franz-Xavier could muster, being afraid she would start to scream. He took her hand and whispered kindly to her. “Regardless of how you may feel, Verena, it is the best thing for him.” It became, in all the following years, almost a chant, as Franz-Xavier couldn’t think of anything better to say.
On the train home, not one word was exchanged. Verena sobbed quietly, like most people after a funeral. She was quite possibly aware that it would be the same thing, as her Stephan, her everything, was gone forever. She assumed that Franz-Xavier knew it all along, but then he was a priest sworn to secrecy, so why even bother? His head was buried in a book, and only from time to time did they exchange sad glances.
Her thoughts were still flying in every direction when the train stopped and the conductor went through the wagon shouting for them to change trains for Budapest. Franz-Xavier helped her up again, and both entered one of the many assembled horse-drawn carriages. Verena mumbled where to stop and Franz-Xavier had no choice but to repeat the address. With a deep bow looking back, the driver spurred his horses on. He had, in all his many years as a coachman, never stopped in front of the Reinhardt palace. Verena was still shaken when she handed him the fare. In typical Reinhardt fashion, she told him to keep the change.
“Don’t tell me you never suspected anything,” said her Papa, saddened about his daughter’s uncontrollable crying. “Where would you have placed him?”
“Right here. My God, Papa! We have the money, the servants, and everything else to let him paint until his dying day!”
“And you think that would have been fair, so you would have someone to lean on, knowing one of these days Robert and I would be gone?”
“Oh, God, no. Please don’t say that. It’s just that I loved him so much! He was so helpless.”
“And now he is in a place with other helpless ones, Verena, and will live a very happy life. That should be all that matters if you really want the best for him,” he replied, feeling somewhat irritated. “You have another son too, who, at your own choosing, you’ve conveniently overlooked all these years that he was growing up.”
“Philip showed an independent streak at the age of two.”
“So, what does that mean? He didn’t need his mother? If you could have only seen his dejected looks after you cuddled Stephan,” he stressed firmly. “Try to make it up while there is still time,” he advised before leaving the room. As he exited, he heard the happy voices of Robert and Philip and thought it was best to warn them of the present situation.
Philip only smirked. “I imagine I will look better every day.”
Robert replied with a shrug. “She should have seen it coming. All the signs were there.” He entered to greet her, and Philip followed unaffected, feeling, like Franz-Xavier, that it was the best for him.
“Verena, I am surprised that you are surprised,” Robert admitted. “Thank God you have another son. I didn’t.” And with those two sentences, he patted Philip on his shoulder, smiled, and left.
There was an almost breathless silence when Philip took two fast strides towards his forlorn mother and said, “I will, of course, forsake my trip to Manchester, Mother. I don’t like to see you alone and devastated. I know how much Stephan meant to you.”
“He was a cripple, and I felt guilty for giving life to him.”
“If that is the case, I feel better about myself,” he replied, looking straight at her. “When Father comes home, we will all sit together and talk. It will make you feel better.”
“I doubt it. Stephan didn’t even waste a glance backwards or say goodbye or anything,” she cried.
“Mother, please. He was too hurt to tell you. Don’t forget how much he loved you.”
“You think that was it?” she mumbled, somewhat calmer.
“That’s what I would have done, not wanting to hurt both of us even more.”
“Thank you, Philip.”
“Do you want me to sit with you, ask the servant to bring something, or get Father?”
“Please ask Elsa to come in, and get Hannes too.”
“Your wish is my command,” he jested, hoping to cheer her up. He was sorry that his mother was hurt, but he felt glad that Stephan had found a place where he could be happy.
When Hannes entered, she was in for a surprise, as he didn’t want to hear about her ordeal. “I just lost three young patients this afternoon due to a horrible accident. I cannot even talk about it, which is rarely the case. But that’s all the family had, so tell me about a religious nut some other day, even if it happens to be our son. I have to get back to the hospital to try and save more lives.” And just like that, Hannes was gone.
Verena didn’t know if she should be angry or cry some more. It was early afternoon, which she didn’t even realize in all her grief. She had simply lost track of time. Thankfully, Elsa would sit with her or go for a slow walk. With her she could talk without being accused.
“Madame—” Elsa said between a hearty embrace which was only granted to someone of the family. “Madame, you probably never noticed how Stephan acted the last few years. He loved to stay by himself and doubtlessly prayed all the time for God’s strength to leave all of you. Let’s be honest. He needed you less and less, and that is how it should be, Madame.”
“He painted, Elsa, and I knew he was near me and safe.”
“Safe, yes. But now he is happy. Don’t you want him to be?”
“I have to say yes, or I will pay dearly for it.”
1894
&nbs
p; 22
Kurt and Lillian arranged a big surprise party at their estate for Verena’s fiftieth birthday. It would be bittersweet for her as Robert had passed away the previous year. Her family’s loved ones went one by one, as in 1890 when Karl’s lifetime friend, George Auersbach, died. He had been in a wheelchair for several years, having broken his hip while climbing mountains. He was only one of many of their friends who had slowly made their way to the cemetery.
As she looked around at the festively decorated dinner table, she noticed then that the Reinhardt family consisted of only four members, though Kurt and Lillian became extremely close with them after Stephan entered the monastery. Karl made a rule that his name was not to be mentioned unless absolutely necessary. He was also taken out of everyone’s wills, as the church would end up with the money anyway. The way Karl Reinhardt and Robert saw it, they were benefactors to many Catholic institutions which did more for their flocks than just praying. As a result, Robert willed his factories and villa to Philip, and good-hearted and selfless Anette ended up with all his gold coins and precious stones he brought from America. He felt Verena and Karl had an abundance of everything, and Hannes never cared for material things to begin with unless connected to the hospital.
There were the usual compliments, just as with every other birthday party, and Verena took it with a grain of salt when told she could pass for forty. She knew better. Not a day went by in which she didn’t think of Stephan. However, she had to admit that Philip was always kind and respectful towards everyone, and after Stephan’s leaving, spent as much time as possible with his parents. He took his work at the factory extremely seriously, and many times brought his workload home.
Like every Reinhardt, he kept their famous quotation, “To be noble, compassionate, and brave” at his desk. The present questions and chatter around the Esslers’ fabulous party was only in regards to whether he would ever find the right woman who suited him. It was well-known that so far, he had dated every available lady in Vienna, including even married ones very discreetly, but he wasn’t ready to make a serious commitment.
The Vienna Opera Ball was a yearly event that generations of Reinhardts had never missed, even after Stephan made his permanent exit. For Philip Reinhardt, it was the event that marked a drastic change in his life. He felt that he had found the “right one” this time. But of all things, she was a Prussian, and he would have to be very strong and determined should he have the fortune to meet her ever again.
It was impossible in an overcrowded ballroom to observe Philip’s third dance with Victoria von Wintersberg. The Reinhardts had their loge next to the Esslers, who, like Karl, would not miss this event for anything. Karl had even twice broken an arm, but it never kept him away. Like many of his friends, he felt that since age and death had taken their toll on many of his contemporaries, it might be his last time on the dance floor.
The following morning, Philip made the remark that he had enjoyed this ball more than all previous ones.
“Don’t tell us you found the girl of your choice...or shall we say, future?” Verena inquired carefully.
“I’ll let you know when that happens.” But his mischievous smile mixed with a tinge of happiness escaped no one, especially his grandfather, who responded with a wink. Philip excused himself from the breakfast table, fearing he would have no polite way out of answering some questions, and his replies would either cause scorn or laughter, since after a couple of Viennese waltzes, he had only learned his waltz partner’s first and middle name. He tried to imagine the reaction of his parents and grandfather after his shocking confession that his chosen one was a Prussian! His father would doubtless try to understand him, and his grandfather would likely make an exception to the family rules; but his mother was a different story altogether. Unless, of course, her beloved Papa gave his full consent.
Unfortunately, the following year, Karl’s life came to an abrupt end, and Philip’s own prediction and fear about his mother’s reaction pertaining to the Prussian girl came to pass. He had little choice but to meet her stubbornness head on for as long as it took.
1895
23
Once a year, the state opera transformed its already luxurious auditorium into a festive ballroom. The most exquisite flowers and decorations that could be found anywhere at this time of year adorned the halls. These festivities, which took place right before Lent, were considered the highlight and conclusion of the season, which followed the endless parties and balls of Fasching, the Austrian counterpart of Mardi Gras, which, although highly pleasurable, could never be compared to the Vienna Opera Ball. This was Vienna’s very own, its finest and its best entertainment. It could not be matched by any other country’s festivities and, if copied, could only be considered a feeble imitation.
Karl’s grandson, Philip Reinhardt, was pacing the floor, mulling over how to deal with the unexpectedly arisen situation. Two days ago, his grandfather had suddenly taken ill and, although not able to leave his bed, was refusing to take any medication. This in itself was not unusual, as he had always diagnosed himself with maladies which never lasted very long. If it were not a slight cold, it would be an upset stomach. At worst, it would be a migraine. These small upsets had given him the needed assurance that, in a few days, he would be up and around again. And, incredible to all, he had generally been right.
Karl, or Papa Reinhardt as he was affectionately called by his family and friends as well as his devoted employees and household staff, never missed out on any occasion of the festivities. He took enormous pride in attending, and one could not discount the joy it gave him to talk about all the special and happy events, laughing off his contemporaries lamenting about the various illnesses, misfortunes, and deaths with which they had been faced of late. His illness this time, however, seemed to be quite different. The same man who generally frowned on the excuses and alibis of others in an attempt to bow out on any festivity, not only looked, but also admitted to being extremely tired.
“Listen, dear children. I am not really ill, not in the least...just a bit exhausted. You go without me and have a great time,” he had demanded.
The children to whom he referred were his daughter Verena, her husband Hannes, and their son, Philip. These were the only ones he had considered to be his children and family for years, despite the fact that there were still his son Alex, his adopted son, Franz-Xavier, and another grandson Stephan. Verena sat next to him on his bed, affectionately holding his feverish hand, checking his pulse again and again. “Please, dear Papa. For once, listen to us, or at least to me. Under no circumstances will we go to the ball tonight. How could we possibly enjoy ourselves, knowing that you are ill?”
“Exhausted!” he interrupted. “If I were merely ill, I know I would manage somehow to go. I have done it before...many times before.” He smiled. “But I'm just too tired to dance all those waltzes and polkas, so you will just have to go and do my dancing in addition to yours. My thoughts shall be with you, and I'll be the happiest man just knowing that we Reinhardts are continuing to honor this great tradition,” he said, quivering and almost in tears.
“But Papa!”
“I'll have Elsa sitting with me,” he interrupted Verena again. “She is such a reliable nurse, who, as you might remember, has not only sat with you when you were ill, but also with both of your sons. Let's not forget that!” he added with emphasis. And, looking at his son-in-law, he said with a twinkle in his eye, “Hannes, my dear son. A long time ago, when I sent you to medical school, you told me, among many other things, that you owed me a lot and no wish from me or favor to me would ever be too great.” He extended his hand. “Right now, the time has come to compensate me. Take Verena and Philip to the ball,” he continued his pleading, but still with a hint of demand in his tone of voice, not expecting any other response than that of the promise given him many years ago. Why should he change his mind and rules after so many years and take exception with his own family? In his eyes, a very important event was tak
ing place, and just because he was a bit tired, he saw no reason for the whole family to miss this grand occasion at the opera.
While Verena and Hannes reluctantly dressed—she for the first time without her maid, who ironically had taken ill with the influenza, and he without a valet, who had sprained his ankle while chasing after one of the Reinhardt's many Irish setters—they were both trying their best to make some kind of light conversation, feeling guilty for leaving Papa at home, but also knowing that this time, as usual, they had to take their defeat in stride when Papa Reinhardt requested it.
“Who would have thought he still remembered that little promise I gave him so many years ago. I still can't believe it.” Hannes smiled at Verena.
“I never knew you kept secrets from me, Hannes. I thought it was quite cunning of him,” Verena commented, looking at Hannes through the mirror, where she was trying somewhat listlessly to put a final touch to her hair.
“He always gets his way with everyone. Can I be of any help to you there?” he added, seeing her fuss with the abundance of her beautiful hair.
“No, I believe this will do for tonight. But coming back to what you said about Papa getting his way— he doesn’t, really. Not always, my dear Hannes. Just think of Alex and Stephan!” she answered with a deep sigh. Her tone of voice made him aware that it was best to change to another subject.
“Philip was extremely quiet and pensive tonight. He hardly spoke a word and just gazed at Papa in the most curious way,” Hannes remarked nonchalantly, walking over to help her close her exquisite emerald necklace.
“Perhaps this had to do with the long conversation Papa and Philip were having last night.”
“Concerning what?” Hannes asked in surprise.
“I have no idea. We could both only guess, though it must have been quite important to both of them. Anything inconsequential would have been discussed at the breakfast table as usual.” They were then interrupted by a knock at the door.
Yesterday Was Long Ago: Part One Page 34