B008AITH44 EBOK

by Hamann, Brigitte

  But soon a new interest emerged. The latest fad was Rustimo, a blackamoor the Shah of Persia (according to one of various versions) had sent as a gift. Sisi’s father, Duke Max of Bavaria, had amused himself by surrounding himself with four Negro boys to frighten the Munich burghers. He went so far as to have the four pagans solemnly christened in the Frauenkirche. Whether this deed had been done from a Christian missionary spirit or in a spirit of pure mischief remains open to question.

  In this area, too, Elisabeth followed in her father’s footsteps. She turned the crippled Rustimo into Valerie’s playmate. She even had the two photographed together, so that no one at court would remain unaware of their shared games.

  On Elisabeth’s express orders, Rustimo accompanied little Valerie on walks and drives; the ladies-in-waiting and the girl’s tutors could not get over their outrage at this whim. Landgravine Therese Fürstenberg, for example, wrote to her sister, “The Archduchess [Valerie] recently took the blackamoor along on the promenade, he was put in the carriage with the French teacher, who sat next to the heathen feeling shamed and sad; the Archduchess always gives candy to children along the road. But now none of them dared to come near her when they saw the black boy and tried in every way to avoid the monster and his bared teeth, so as to get to the candies; all this seemed a great joke to the little girl.”46

  Even Marie Festetics found poor Rustimo “a horror … too big for a monkey, too little for a human being.”47 Elisabeth, however, was amused by the prompt effect of her provocation. Finally, the Empress had Rustimo christened, to invalidate all objections to the un-Christian association of her daughter with a heathen. Sisi to her mother: “Today was Rustimo’s christening in Valerie’s salon … Rudolf was godfather. It was solemn and ludicrous, there were tears and laughter. He himself was very moved and wept.”48 At Marie Wallersee’s wedding to Count Georg Larisch in Gödöllö, Archduchess Valerie appeared in the church next to Rustimo—truly a successfully perpetrated outrage.

  For many years, Rustimo remained part of the imperial family’s inner circle. According to the ladies-in-waiting’s accusations, he grew conceited and impertinent, spoiled by the beautiful Empress’s extravagant favors. In 1884, he was made “announcer to the bedchamber” but fell into disfavor only a year later. In 1890, he was pensioned, and in 1891, he was sent to the charity institution in Ybbs, where he died the very next year. Little is known about Rustimo; but that his life in Vienna was a tragic one is certain even without further facts. He was an attraction, a joke, a means for Elisabeth to pique those around her. When he no longer behaved as she wanted him to, she dropped him and sent him away—like the monkey whose manners were not up to scratch.

  *

  While the Empress spent her time feuding with relatives, practicing her riding, nurturing her beauty, and complaining of boredom, Austrian soldiers were fighting partisans in Bosnia. At the Congress of Berlin, with Bismarck’s support, Andrássy had won the right to occupy Bosnia and Herzegovina (which were under Turkish rule). This maneuver, piled on the serious differences created during the Crimean War, seriously angered czarist Russia. Under Andrássy’s influence, Elisabeth, too, harbored no friendly feelings for the Russians. After the occupation, she wrote to her husband, “Just do not send too many Russophiles to Bosnia, such as Croatians, Bohemians, etc.”49 These words reflect her deep repugnance to all Slavs, and once again especially the Czechs.

  The Austrian troops were received not as rescuing angels and saviors from the Turkish yoke, but as enemies. The number of dead and wounded rose from day to day. Once again emergency hospitals were set up, including one at Schönbrunn.

  Elisabeth visited the wounded warriors. “Truly like an angel of mercy she went from bed to bed,” Marie Festetics wrote. “I saw the tears trickling down the faces of the men;—no complaints crossed their lips! no word of discouragement! yes, they said—that they were not suffering! … and with glowing eyes they followed her movements and blessed her and thanked her and asked for nothing!”

  Marie Festetics believed herself to be in agreement with the Empress when she wrote the following skeptical sentences in her diary. “I bow to this humanity that risks its life for a concept—to be beaten or shot into a cripple…. And almost ashamed, I ask myself—and we? what sacrifices do we bring? With our abundance, we graciously approach the beds of these half-dead men and ask whether the wounds hurt? and hand them a cigar or a friendly word to lessen the pain?—no! reflection is required here and the question who ‘the great one’ is?” The loyal lady-in-waiting concluded these considerations with an appreciation of the Empress: “but the Empress—she understands.”50

  But these moments of understanding did not last long. A mere two days later, Marie Festetics noted with resignation, “Life goes on! Hunting, riding academy—a great gathering there—dinners—teas. During all this, many an anxious worry, and always my mind turns to the wounded while I am playing the piano at the riding academy as everyone frolics in pleasure and merriment…. The Empress is charming in her efforts to entertain her guests!”51

  *

  Elisabeth’s personality was so persuasive that she transformed even her most severe critics into admirers when she appeared officially as the Empress—as she did at the court ball of 1879. At the time, the Emperor was forty-eight years old and, according to Hübner, looked “tired and noticeably aged. ‘I am growing old‚’ he said with a melancholy note, ‘my memory is going.’” By contrast, the Empress, forty-one years old, was, again according to Hübner, “very beautiful, especially seen at a distance very poetical with her magnificent hair, which fell below her shoulders down to her waist. An empress to her fingertips.”52 But the hours Elisabeth spent “in harness,” in the diamond-embroidered state gown, a tiara on her artfully dressed hair, grew more and more infrequent.

  In the meantime, preparations for the trip to Ireland claimed most of Sisi’s time. Nine of her horses, especially the expensive English ones Middleton had bought for her, were in England, where they were being exercised. But not even these horses were suitable for Irish conditions. On that island, jumps were taken primarily over earth embankments rather than over the high English fences. The horses had therefore to be retrained, and for this purpose they were shipped to a stable in Ireland. The reschooling of the high-bred horses, used to the Empress’s slight weight, by Irish horsemen was so difficult that three of the sinfully expensive hunters perished. Middleton, who managed Elisabeth’s stables in England and Ireland, provided replacements. The expenditure could hardly remain a secret, coming as it did at the time of the occupation struggles in Bosnia.

  Most of the time, the Emperor was alone in Vienna. He rose at four in the morning and took all his meals alone, often quite informally while working at his desk. Consternation at the Emperor’s loneliness was universal, as was condemnation of the Empress. Count Hübner’s diary discusses Franz Joseph’s meager distractions. “Frequently, he utilizes the last hours of the day to drive to Laxenburg. He goes there all alone, and alone he goes walking in the park. One sees this Prince, made for family life, reduced to solitude by the absence of the Empress, whom he still loves passionately.”53

  Count Crenneville and his friends also joined the universal lamentations about the Empress. “I like neither the external nor the internal, and certainly not the innermost affairs. Poor Austria, poor Emperor! He really deserves a better fate, for no one can dispute many of his outstanding traits. His greatest misfortune occurred in 1854. Without this, perhaps many things would have been avoided.”54 The mention of 1854 referred, of course, to the Emperor’s marriage to Elisabeth. And on another occasion: “The papers already carry the news that the Empress is traveling to Ireland. For the Emperor’s birthday, she came to Schönbrunn for not quite twenty-four hours; for the feast of Corpus Christi, she can find neither time nor inclination to make the Viennese happy by her presence!”

  And:

  I do not understand how, at this time of general hardship, it is possible to think of
a trip to Ireland, and how she can be allowed to do it. What an effect would it have made if the expenses of the trip (perhaps 1/2 million) had been distributed to the monarchy’s aid organizations, how much hunger would have been assuaged, how many blessings would heaven have sent the benefactress? Has the master renounced all influence, all power to express a veto in his position? … But what is the use of complaining; I feel like shedding bitter tears over it.55

  Once again, the loyal lady-in-waiting Marie Festetics did everything in her power to defend her mistress. “She needs absolute freedom, the quiet that comes with independence—a release from everything of this world that causes her worry and responsibility—that delivers her from the small duties, which she lacks the self-command to fulfill, and the omission of which in turn causes her to have scruples.”56 Nevertheless, Sisi’s letters make no mention of scruples. Only once is there a brief hint that Elisabeth’s passion for riding might be rooted in defiance of the Emperor who, after 1867, made her stay away from politics. In any case, her reproaches express great annoyance: “I no longer interfere in politics, but in these matters [having to do with horses], I do insist on having a voice.”57

  It was surely no accident that Elisabeth’s single-minded preoccupation with hunting and riding coincided with the period when Andrássy, as imperial and royal foreign minister, was watched at every step—especially in the fear that, as had happened in 1866–1867, Andrássy would again engage the Empress for his purposes. Apparently at the Emperor’s wish, Elisabeth avoided even the appearance of political activity—and in her way continued to be outrageous by occupying herself entirely and exclusively with horses.

  Where politics was concerned, she was not in the least deferential. Her visits to Ireland were an open challenge to Queen Victoria. The incognito of a Countess von Hohenembs was of little use here. Precisely during these years, there was acute danger of Irish risings against England; the social tensions, the hatred of the poor Catholic Irish for the rich Anglican English landlords threatened to erupt into violence. The visit of a Catholic empress in this field of tension added more fuel to the fire. But Elisabeth barely acknowledged this situation, and in her letters to Vienna, she underplayed the problems. “Around here, nothing is felt of the unrests. In the western part of the island, where the harvest was bad, there is more dissatisfaction and a sort of terrorism. The landlords do not pay and maintain solidarity.”58

  She wanted to ride—everything else bored her. She committed one blunder after another. She canceled her scheduled visit to the Queen on her way through England by letter (“saw myself, under the pressure of time, compelled in great haste to make for my destination”59). Finally, she bestowed her presence repeatedly on Maynooth Seminary, whose priests were suspect as anti-English agitators. Of course, her visits to the seminary were a matter of good manners, and she came to apologize because during a stag hunt she and her horse had jumped the monastery wall (in the process, narrowly missing the head of the seminary’s supervisor); but the repeated calls created an impression that had a poor political effect.

  The nationalist Irish newspapers fully exploited Elisabeth’s visit for their own purposes—to attack the British Royal House, whose members avoided setting foot in Ireland. Quite clearly, both the Empress and the people around her were almost entirely uninformed about Ireland’s special position in politics and religion. The devout attitude of the Catholic Irish toward the Catholic Empress surprised even Countess Festetics, whose diary records an encounter between Elisabeth and an Irish peer.

  The Empress held out her hand, he dropped to one knee and, in evident emotion and deep respect, he kissed it. The lord was Catholic, and he welcomed her, not only as an empress, but as a Catholic leader….

  In general, this stands out very much here. The most miserable little village dresses up in all its finery, decorated with love, and sets up little triumphal arches. The people kneel in the streets and kiss the ground wherever she goes. It is so bad that we have to be very careful, and she very carefully avoids all ovations.60

  To this day, legends abound in Ireland concerning the beautiful Empress of Austria, such as one about a mysterious fairy on horseback. And to this day, a number of Irish families cherish one of Sisi’s lace handkerchiefs, which she dropped in great quantities in gratitude for small favors performed.

  In March 1879, Hungary experienced a catastrophic flood, which claimed many lives. Under these circumstances, the Empress’s pleasure trip could no longer be justified. “That is why I think it best to leave now,” Elisabeth wrote to Franz Joseph, “and you will prefer it as well. It is the greatest sacrifice I can bring, but in this case it is necessary.”61

  Elisabeth’s Irish stables, however, were maintained, and Elisabeth left her bed in Ireland, indicating her plan to return. Countess Festetics would not let even this occasion pass without fulsome praise for the Empress and accusations of the Austrian press: “if Archduchess Sophie offered the cobbler’s boy a crust of bread out of her abundance, all the newspapers were full of it—if the young Empress sacrifices 14 days of her vacation (out of a mere 6 weeks) because a misfortune has struck a city—that is natural.”62

  During the return journey, the usual disaster with Queen Victoria loomed. This time, Elisabeth circumvented it with uncharacteristic reference to thrift. She wrote the Emperor, “And do you want me to spend some time in London? I would have liked to avoid it, to save the cost of the hotel stay. In this way, I would have made the whole trip both ways without having a hotel.”63 The costs of the trip amounted to 158,337 guldens and 48 kreuzers. The few guldens for the hotel bill in London, therefore, were hardly significant. But Elisabeth was inventive when it came to circumventing an official occasion such as a call on Buckingham Palace.

  *

  In April 1879, the Emperor and Empress celebrated their silver wedding anniversary—“a true family celebration of all the peoples of my empire,” according to Franz Joseph. He requested that “all costly pageantry” be omitted, gifts to the poor taking its place.

  But one exception was made: The city of Vienna gave its Emperor and Empress a parade, planned and organized by Hans Makart, the uncrowned king of the arts in Vienna. The procession was not a homage rendered by the nobility, like the chivalric joust in Budapest, but a demonstration of all citizens. Ten thousand people in medieval costumes, on splendid floats, paraded before the festival tent in the new Ringstrasse, preceded by an outrider representing Vienna and trumpeters on white horses. Along with the old trades of bakers, millers, butchers, cartwrights, potters, and others, the new industries were also represented. The climax of the procession was the float of the railroad men—surprising in a procession dressed in medieval costumes. Makart solved the problem by representing the railroad as a winged carriage “in which water and fire, combined, grow to that power which drives the wheel with winged speed.”64

  The comments in Vienna were by no means friendly, especially as concerned the noble lady celebrant. Elsewhere, it was said, twenty-five years of housekeeping (ménage) were cause for celebration, while in Vienna the festivities honored twenty-five years of stallkeeping (manège). The play on words became a familiar quotation during these days, repeated over and over—though only in private, of course.

  At the center of the festive turbulence, Elisabeth remained unmoved. According to statements made by her niece, Marie Larisch, “most of the time [she made] a face like an Indian widow who is about to be burned; and when I told her this at a moment when we could not be overheard, she laughed, it is true, but thought that it was quite enough to have been married for twenty-five years, but that it was hardly necessary to celebrate the event.”65 The Empress walked out on the great soiree held on the eve of the anniversary after a mere quarter of an hour, leaving her husband alone to make the requisite honors.

  To the Empress, this family celebration was nothing but a great bother and burden. Nor is there the least indication that she took pleasure in the Austro-Hungarian achievements of the past quarter-
century. There was greater freedom. A constitution and a parliament were in force. The position of the Emperor was almost uncontested, and by now, any comparison with the other European dynasties was favorable to the House of Habsburg—as had by no means been the case during the 1850s and 1860s. A confidential letter from Bismarck to Wilhelm I of that year even put it appreciatively: “As for social conditions, Austria may have the healthiest internal conditions of all the great powers, and the rule of the Imperial House is firmly established with each and every nationality.”66

  In the midst of the patriotic joy around her, Elisabeth reacted once again as a purely private person. She bemoaned her age, her insipid marriage. She felt the disapproval of the court and complained of it.

  Countess Festetics saw this attitude with increasing sorrow. “She does not value enough the fact that she is the Empress! She has not comprehended the beautiful, uplifting aspect of it, for no one showed it to her; she feels only its cool shadow side, she does not see the light, and so her inner feelings are not in tune with external circumstances, and no calm, no peace, no harmony can therefore enter.”67 The trusty lady-in-waiting was still trying to make excuses for the Empress, by now over forty years old, by citing early bad experiences—a charitable effort other eyewitnesses were not prepared to undertake.

  If Elisabeth acknowledged the criticism at all, it was only with scorn. Early in 1880, she traveled to Ireland for a second time. By now she was forty-two years old and a multiple grandmother, but hardened by exercise and resilient. Since the horses were already in Ireland anyway, Elisabeth could travel light; the freight train that followed her special train with the saloon-dining car transported a mere forty tons of baggage.