B008AITH44 EBOK

by Hamann, Brigitte

  A member of the “Regicide Squad,” the Italian anarchist Luigi Luccheni, had been preparing himself for a “great deed.” He had purchased the murder instrument—a file he had ground to a triangular shape and given a knife edge. But his intended victim, Prince Henri of Orleans, pretender to the throne of France, had not, as planned, come to Geneva. Nor did Luccheni have money for the fare to travel to Italy and stab his preferred victim, King Umberto of Italy. The newspaper item came as a godsend—Luccheni had found his target. For Elisabeth fulfilled the chief prerequisites for Luccheni’s victim: She was an aristocrat (Luccheni hated all aristocrats) and of sufficient prominence to assure that the deed would cause a sensation.

  The twenty-five-year-old anarchist bided his time. On September 10, he observed the comings and goings outside the hotel, the file concealed in his right sleeve. The Empress intended to return to Montreux from Geneva by the lake steamer scheduled to leave at one forty in the afternoon. Her servant had already gone ahead with the luggage, watched by Luccheni.

  Accompanied by Irma Sztaray, as always dressed in black, her fan in one hand and the parasol in the other, “Countess von Hohenembs” walked to the landing stage, only a few hundred meters from the hotel. And it was along this path that Luccheni was lying in wait. When the two ladies came abreast of him, he threw himself at them, cast a swift glance under the parasol to make certain, and stabbed. He had earlier consulted an anatomical atlas to learn the precise location of the heart. His aim was accurate.

  Elisabeth fell on her back. But the force of the fall was broken by the weight of her heavy, pinned-up hair. The assassin fled, was captured by passersby, and taken to the police station. At first it was not realized that he was a murderer; for the foreign lady got to her feet immediately after the fall and thanked all those who had helped her, speaking in German, French, and English. Her clothes were dusted off. The hotel porter, who was a witness to the deed, begged the two ladies to return to the hotel, but Elisabeth refused. She wanted to get to the boat.

  Walking quickly, because little time was left before the ship’s departure, the ladies went to the landing stage. Elisabeth, in Hungarian, to Countess Sztaray: “What did that man actually want?”

  Countess Sztaray: “The porter?”

  Elisabeth: “No, the other one, that dreadful person.”

  “I do not know, Your Majesty, surely he is a vicious criminal.”

  “Perhaps he wanted to take my watch?” the Empress conjectured.66

  The ladies walked about a hundred meters from the site to the ship. It was not until they were on board the steamer, just departing, that Elisabeth collapsed. It was thought that she had fainted as a result of the fright she had endured. It was only when her bodice was unbuttoned so that her chest could be rubbed that a tiny brownish spot and a hole in her batiste camisole became apparent. Only then was the extent of the tragedy evident.

  The ship’s captain was informed—he was unaware that the Empress of Austria was one of his passengers. The boat turned around and sped back to Geneva. A litter was improvised from oars and velvet chairs; the Empress was bedded on it and returned to the hotel as quickly as possible. There the doctor could do nothing but pronounce her dead.

  Elisabeth died without pain. Heart specialists explained the fact that she was not even aware of her fatal wound and could still walk a hundred meters at a rapid pace by the smallness of the wound: The blood trickled so slowly into the pericardium that the heart’s action stopped very gradually. Only a single drop of blood escaped. That is also why some of the witnesses thought it was a leech bite.

  In the meantime, the murderer was subjected to a preliminary interrogation. He was elated, filled with pride at his deed, which he was unwilling to share with anyone: He insisted that he had acted alone and that he alone could lay claim to the “fame” that attended it. He saw the assassination as the culmination of his life, and he asked for the death sentence. Each time he was questioned about his motive, he repeated the same sentence: “Only those who work are entitled to eat!”

  Luccheni had had several previous arrests for vagrancy, and he had led a wretched life: Abandoned at the foundling home by his unmarried mother, taken from institution to institution, pushed from one foster family to another. At one time, he was an unskilled laborer working on the railroad. His military service with the Italian cavalry in North Africa had been the best time in his life. Then, for a few months, he worked as a servant in the home of an Italian duke, who dismissed him. Then he lived by roving from place to place, picking up odd jobs along the way.

  Only a few days of Luccheni’s life had been spent in the Austro-Hungarian monarchy—in Fiume, Trieste, Budapest, and Vienna. But this sojourn had no influence on his political ideology; the problems of the Italian nationalities in the monarchy played no part in his motive. It was entirely rooted in the ideas of international anarchism, which he had picked up in Switzerland. Nor was there a special link with Empress Elisabeth. All he knew about her was from the newspapers. She was a crowned head; assassinating her would make headlines and confer fame on the name of Luccheni.

  Luccheni gave one more command performance, at his trial. His name was in the newspapers: He was sentenced to life imprisonment. Then there was silence. In 1910, after eleven years in prison, Luigi Luccheni killed himself in his cell by hanging himself with his belt. Almost no one paid any attention.67

  This sensational act of violence in Geneva was a deliverance for a deeply unhappy, emotionally disturbed, and physically debilitated woman whose parting left hardly a gap. Though the shock of the news of Elisabeth’s death was terrible enough for the immediate family, Archduchess Marie Valerie, for one, found grounds for consolation. “Now it has happened as she always wished it to happen, quickly, painlessly, without medical treatment, without long, fearful days of worry for her dear ones.” Valerie remembered Elisabeth’s lines, “And when it is time for me to die, lay me down at the ocean’s shore,” and the Empress’s repeated remark to Countess Sztaray that Lake Geneva was “altogether the color of the ocean, altogether like the ocean.”68

  Elisabeth’s friend, the poet Carmen Sylva, found suitable words when she pointed out that this death was terrible “only for the world,” but that for Elisabeth it was “beautiful and calm and great in the sight of beloved great nature, painless and peaceful.” She continued:

  Not everyone finds it pleasant to give up the spirit in the midst of a large circle of mourners and to be attended by all possible ceremonies even in dying. Some like to perform their death handsomely for the world, but that would not have been at all like her. She had no wish to be anything for the world, not even in her death. She wanted to be solitary and to remain just as unnoticed in her leaving of the world through which she had so often wandered in search of repose in her restless striving to something higher and more ideal.”69

  The Emperor’s reaction to his wife’s sudden death was also less dramatic than the newspapers made it seem. Archduchess Valerie wrote about her reunion with her father immediately after the news of her mother’s death was received. She noted that he had wept. “But even then he did not lose his composure, and he quickly regained the calm he had shown after Rudolf’s death. Together we went to Sunday mass, and then I was allowed to spend this whole first day almost uninterruptedly with him, sitting next to his desk while he worked as usual, reading along with him the more detailed reports arriving from Geneva, helping him to receive the family condolence calls.” And three days later: “He works all day every day as always, himself deciding everything, what is to be done according to traditional ceremonial.” He repeatedly said, “How can you kill a woman who has never hurt anyone.”70 But no one doubted the words Franz Joseph spoke to his daughter and her husband: “You do not know how much I loved this woman.”71

  On September 15, the body arrived at the Hofburg in Vienna, surrounded by all the pomp of the empire. Of course, there was no question of meeting Elisabeth’s wishes to be buried “at the ocean, preferably on C
orfu,” any more than Crown Prince Rudolf’s final wish for eternal rest in Heiligenkreuz at Mary’s side was respected. As had been done for Rudolf, Elisabeth was also laid out in the castle chapel, though (unlike Rudolf) in a closed coffin.

  Arguments broke out over the body as it lay in state, because a prominently displayed coat of arms bore the inscription, “Elisabeth, Empress of Austria.” The protest from Hungary was prompt: Why was “Queen of Hungary” omitted? Was that not the only title Elisabeth had cherished? That same evening, the office of ceremonies ordered the desired addition made. Now there was a protest from Bohemia: Had Elisabeth not also been Queen of Bohemia (though uncrowned)? Then there were very similar complications over the limited amount of seating in the Kapuzinerkirche. Because there were not enough pews to accommodate everyone, the delegation of the Hungarian parliament, of all groups, had not been assigned seats and now suspected still another deliberate slight on the part of the Viennese to the Hungarians.

  The shock and sorrow felt in Vienna could not compare to the expressions of grief for the death of the Crown Prince. Count Erich Kielmanns-egg: “Not many tears were shed for her.”72 The mourning was not for the Empress but for the new blow of fate that had struck the Emperor, now sixty-eight years old. A wave of affection welled up when, on September 14, the Emperor’s proclamation of thanks “To All My Peoples!” was published.

  The following weeks brought the ordering of the Empress’s estate. No one, least of all the Emperor, had suspected that the Empress was in possession of a substantial fortune—not counting real estate, more than 10 million guldens, invested in gilt-edged securities. It turned out that “each year, she had invested her annual allowance and pin monies profitably, while the Emperor was made to defray her extravagances.”73

  In her will, Elisabeth disposed of her unexpectedly, even “shockingly large fortune,” as Valerie put it in her diary.74 She left each of her daughters two-fifths of the whole, with one-fifth going to her granddaughter Elisabeth (Rudolf’s daughter).

  In addition to the large money gifts Elisabeth had made to Valerie during the Empress’s lifetime, Valerie was now also favored over her older sister, Gisela. She received a preliminary bequest of a million guldens as well as the Hermes Villa, while Gisela had to content herself with the Achilleion, which stood empty and stripped. According to the statement of the division of the estate, the Hermes Villa was assessed at 185,000 guldens (it had cost several million), being livable and situated close to the capital. The Achilleion, conversely, was far away, in need of repairs, and unfit for habitation. Its book value was only 60,000 guldens, although the building costs had far exceeded 2 million. The yearly maintenance alone ran to 50,000 guldens.75

  The contemporary papers reported at length on the Empress’s fabulous jewelry collection. These private jewels—gifts from the Emperor as well as from many friendly sovereigns, such as the Sultan of Turkey and the Shah of Persia—were estimated to be worth 4 to 5 million guldens. It can now be seen from the statement of accounts of her estate, however, that the Empress had long since given away most of this legendary jewelry, keeping hardly anything for herself. The total value of the pieces she left behind amounted to a mere 45,950 guldens.76

  Neither the valuable wedding presents—three diamond tiaras alone—nor the famous triple strand of pearls—the Emperor’s gift on the occasion of Rudolf’s birth—was still in her possession. Elisabeth had parted with everything, even her famous emeralds and the diamond stars for her hair, which had become so well known through Winterhalter’s portrait. The most valuable piece in her estate was the Order of the Star Cross (valued at 12,000 guldens), which had to be returned, and a tiara set with black pearls valued at 4,500 guldens—the only remaining tiara. Black pearls had been a symbol of bad luck to the highly superstitious Elisabeth; now they represented the only jewelry of value in her possession. There were 184 other jeweled trinkets—combs, mourning jewelry, many cheap brooches, buttons, crosses, and watches. The jewelry box left by the Empress of Austria and Queen of Hungary clearly shows Elisabeth’s contempt for worldly goods as well as the extent of her resignation.

  Relatively few letters were found among her papers. “Most of the mportant letters Mama burned or—as, unfortunately, Rudolf’s last letter—ordered to be burned.” Her agent in this was her closest confidante of many years, Ida Ferenczy. Only a few letters from the 1860s and all the letters from about 1891 remained of those Franz Joseph had written to her through the tens of years of separation. Valerie was “deeply moved” by this fact, seeing in it “how the relationship between my parents became better, increasingly intimate, how in the final years, there were no more instances of even passing ill feelings.”77 In other words, the couple got along better from the moment they were separated and when Franz Joseph’s relationship with Katharina Schratt was regularized, with Elisabeth’s approval.

  Even a few days after his wife’s interment, Franz Joseph resumed his usual walks with Schratt. Expressing her embarrassment in her diary, Archduchess Valerie wrote, “Every morning Papa takes his walk with Schratt, whom I was also repeatedly forced to see and embrace—not with my heart—and yet I think her in herself—that is, aside from the people who cling to her—a harmless, loyal soul.—With fear I think of Mama’s wish, expressed to me so often, when I die Papa should marry Schratt. In any case, I wish to remain passive, cannot act coldly to her in view of Papa’s true friendship with her, would find it unjust and cruel to sour this comfort for Papa—but do not consider it my duty to abet him.”78 Soon, the dislike of the Emperor’s daughter for his friend was known throughout the court.

  But the Emperor found neither comfort nor relaxation in the bosom of Valerie’s family. His visits were marked by awkwardness and embarrassment, from which Valerie suffered deeply, complaining,

  not to know whether one should talk about our misfortune or about distracting things, to try in vain to find subjects of conversation of the latter kind, to wish the children to act natural … and yet tremble that their shouting might irritate Papa—to see him now sink into dull unhappiness, now being nervous. … How well I understand now that being in Papa’s company almost crushed Mama. Yes, it is difficult to be with Papa, since he has never known a real exchange of views. I know how deep his feelings go and how deeply he suffers and stand powerless before all this woe, with no other weapon than the traditional routines.79

  Adjutant General Count Paar also found fault with the family circle in Wallersee. “It is barely possible to endure the boredom, for no one dares to say a word, and so conversation at table and in the evenings dries up almost completely.”80 Even surrounded by his grandchildren, Franz Joseph was the unapproachable sovereign, a figure of fear. Not even here did he have the ability or the need to carry on a casual, informal conversation.

  In earlier years, Valerie had repeatedly accused her mother (of course only in her thoughts, she did not dare to speak aloud) of not having treated her father well enough, of having neglected her wifely duties. Now she deeply regretted her earlier feelings. For now she, too, found dealing with Franz Joseph anything but easy. “The trial it is to me now to be in Papa’s company is my punishment for my former harshness,” she wrote in her diary, as an expression of remorse toward her mother.81

  The “nasty court” got on her nerves now just as much as in former days it had annoyed her mother. Family life among the Habsburgs, with the many archducal rivalries and privileges, embittered her. She “realized very clearly once again that a nature like Mama’s can experience this sort of family life only as an unbearable obligation to an empty comedy.”82

  In December 1898, the fifty-year jubilee of Franz Joseph’s reign was celebrated with restraint and subdued by mourning, overshadowed by severe nationalist riots. Valerie about her father: “And in the midst of all this, he still stands upright, vir simplex et justus [a simple and just man], concerned only with fulfilling his difficult duties day after day, loyal and untiring, forgetting self and caring only about others.”83
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  But the Emperor’s daughter quarreled with the future of the monarchy. Elisabeth had turned her into a “republican,” as she had Crown Prince Rudolf. Now, after Elisabeth’s death, Valerie recalled her mother’s example. “There is, then, my perhaps highly treasonable lack of belief in Austria’s survival and its only salvation in the House of Habsburg. That is the real reason why I cannot become excited about a cause which I simply consider lost. I admit that these are views I have taken over from Mama—but every new experience always convinces me more and more of their correctness…. After him [Franz Joseph], let come what is most likely to bring about new and better conditions.”84

  *

  For almost fifty years—from 1854 to 1898—Elisabeth was Empress and Queen of an empire riddled with problems in a time of decline. She did nothing to slow the decline. She was not a woman of action, like her successor, Zita, whose fate it was to live through the collapse. Self-surrender, retreat into private life, even into poetry, finally into solitude—this was Elisabeth’s answer to the demand for the fulfillment of duties such as her imperial husband so indefatigably demonstrated to his subjects.

  Madness? Wisdom? An understanding of the inevitable? Or simply convenience and whim? The fin de siècle of the Danube monarchy is personified in Elisabeth, who refused to live as an empress.

  Notes

  1. Wallersee, Elisabeth, p. 46.

  2. Ibid., pp. 45f.

  3. Konstantin Christomanos, Tagebuchblätter (Vienna, 1899), pp. 104f.

  4. Nostitz, Vol. I, p. 188, from Vienna, October 29, 1887.

  5. Valerie, August 4, 1894.

  6. Cissy von Klastersky, Der alte Kaiser, wie nur einer ihn sah (Vienna, 1929), p. 41.

  7. Corti Papers, from Corfu, November 11, 1888.