B008AITH44 EBOK (48 page)

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.

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.

Once again, the worried Emperor, preoccupied by a governmental crisis, could hardly take comfort from the news of his wife, who proudly wrote, “Rudi Liechtenstein also fell without hurting himself, and Lord Langford, our landlord, who fell on his face, has had difficulty swallowing ever since.” And, “Middleton took a spill and so did I … but the ground was very soft. Many others are said to have fallen as well … but since of course I rode on, I did not see it. I saw Lord Langford standing in another ditch fishing for his horse.”
⁶⁸

Reports from Prince Liechtenstein and Countess Festetics to the
Emperor
also make much mention of spills, broken jaws and shins, and daredevil leaps over moats and walls. During a particularly hazardous hunt, Elisabeth even rode without gloves, so as to be able to control the reins more subtly. She, who was so fastidious in Gödöllö that she wore three pairs of gloves on top of each other, here in Ireland, at Middleton’s side, accepted hands that were roughened and bloody. That she would triumph over all the other horsewomen and be admired accordingly was, by now, taken for granted.

Triumphing at the hunts brought Elisabeth both an increase in
self-confidence
—since she shone not as an empress, but as a horsewoman and a beauty—and the freedom from court obligations that she sought. But such days on horseback generally ended in despair and bitter complaints about her life. “Why must I return to my cage? Why could I not have broken all my bones, so as to put an end to it—to everything!”

Such outbursts, bordering on hysteria, always frightened the people around her. In such cases, what helped was to remind Elisabeth of her
favorite daughter, Marie Valerie. Elisabeth to Marie Larisch: “I would be blaspheming if I wished to abandon her. My
kedvesem
[Hungarian: “
darling
”] is all I still have in the world. The only thing that has not been taken from me.”
⁶⁹

In this time of unbridled thirst for life, surrounded by sporting friends, Elisabeth’s cynicism deepened. Except for Middleton, there was no one around her who would have dared to speak openly. Some flattered her, manipulated her. Marie Festetics worried but was powerless: “If one’s world teaches one to think small, how can one respect others
without
placing oneself higher? And the worst is—not to despise them as puppets…. With her, that is a great danger, for—anyone she does not respect is someone for whom she need have no consideration, and that is convenient!!?”
⁷⁰

Soon differences of opinion arose even between the Empress and Marie Festetics. The Countess could not warm up to Elisabeth’s new friends, and she always cautiously reminded her mistress of some obligation—usually in vain.

Before her departure from Ireland, Elisabeth ordered an additional four horses to be brought from Austria, so that they could be broken in for the next season. As a matter of course, she kept her Irish stables going.

On the return trip, she made concessions to the wishes of the Viennese court. She broke the journey in London and met with Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli and the Austrian ambassador. She was courteous and friendly. And as always when she made the effort, she immediately won all hearts. Finally, she also paid a call on the Prince of Wales and even on Queen Victoria. Nevertheless, she wrote her mother, “Unfortunately, I am supposed to visit the Queen in Windsor on my way back, the idea bores me terribly. One of the many advantages of Ireland is that there is no royalty there.”
⁷¹

In London, a telegram reached Elisabeth announcing that Crown Prince Rudolf had become engaged to the sixteen-year-old daughter of the King of the Belgians, Princess Stephanie; the engagement took place in Brussels. “Thank God that it is not a disaster,” was Marie Festetics’s comment on receipt of the telegram. To which Elisabeth replied, “Pray God that it is not.”
⁷²

The news forced Elisabeth to interrupt her journey home in Brussels to tender the young couple her felicitations. She had never met young
Stephanie;
but she had an intense antipathy to the Belgian Royal House because it was the family of Carlotta, the former Empress of Mexico.

The short visit of congratulations in Brussels by Elisabeth was merely an onerous duty. King, Queen, bridegroom, and bride were waiting to greet her on the station platform. Once again Marie Festetics hymned the beauty of the Empress, at that time forty-three years old, and the
veneration
Rudolf showed toward her: “he literally threw his arms around her neck—kissed her hands over and over, and then came the bride—young, sparkling, unformed, a badly dressed child…. The Empress bent forward, embraced her—kissed the little one, and that one looked up to her beautiful mother-in-law with undisguised admiration, and her bright-red little face looked happy and merry!”