A Walk on Broken Glass: Elisabeth, Empress of Austria

By Gloria M. Allan

Living in a shallow and jealous court society, greedy for position and power, Elisabeth's strength of character, her determination, her skill as a horsewoman and love of travel allowed her to endure her life and gave her freedom from her domineering mother-in-law. Tragedy haunts the pages of her life, but she lives again, beautiful, charming and strong, in Allan's novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781926991344

Book preview

To my beloved grandchildren:

Ashley, Ryan, Tyla, Erin and Seana.

Where there is will, there is a way.

Our inner strength comes from the seeds sprinkled at birth. The nourishment of our childhood forms the blossoms of our maturity.

Contents

Family Tree

Prologue

Part 1 Hope and Betrayal 1853–1860

Elisabeth

Franz Joseph

First Meeting

Against the Tide

Farewell

Entry into Vienna

Until Death Do Us Part

A Dream Buried in Dust

Triumph and Disaster

Part 2 Love and Tragedy 1860–1898

The Search

Return — 1862

Julius Andrássy

Bay Middleton and the Queen of the Chase

Rudolf

Solace

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Copyright

Prologue

September 17, 1898, Vienna

The mourners were gone. The Capuchin Church was dark, except for candles flickering here and there. Black velvet draped the walls, black curtains covered the entrances. Down the aisle and up the altar steps ran a long black carpet. A gold candelabra with six candles illuminated a large cross set in a tapestry of gold hanging from the towering altar. Below it lay a coffin surrounded by flowers. A lone figure huddled at its side. His sobs echoed through the silence, reverberating against the stone walls.

On the coffin lay a jewelled crown, resting in Maréchal Niel roses. Below it in a gilded frame were the words:

Elisabeth

Empress of Austria

Queen of Hungary Princess of Bavaria

On a cushion lay a black fan, a pair of white gloves, an umbrella and a gold-framed picture of a parrot.

At the foot of the coffin, in a bed of pink chrysanthemums, an embroidered silk wreath from the Prince and Princess of Wales read:

Though taken long before your time

Thy saintly soul now flows

Where tears are wiped from every eye,

And sorrow is unknown.

The figure struggled to his feet. He gripped the casket. His body trembled. He let his head rest on the casket. He closed his eyes and groaned. His tears poured. He covered the casket with kisses. Then he lifted his head and stared into the hollow blackness. Franz Joseph, Emperor of Austria, cried out into the silence, If only I had shown her how much I loved her.

Part 1

Hope and Betrayal | 1853–1860

Elisabeth

Bavaria, 1853

1

It was a bright, spring morning. Birds chirped among the forest trees and sailed across the skies in rhythmic swoops, as if phantom musicians churned the air. Elisabeth dashed along the mountain trail, her spirits soaring. Her world was changing. She felt more like seventeen than fifteen since Count Richard had come into her life.

She jumped over rocks and sidestepped protruding roots, trying to keep up with her father, Max, trudging ahead on the trail leading to Kramer Ridge, high in the Bavarian Alps. It was the most challenging climb they had done. The sun was warm, the breeze soft. Her heart sang.

She stopped and inhaled the cool alpine air. She loved Possi (short for Possenhofen), her summer home on the Starnberger See which wound through the Eton valley with tiny villages nestled on its shore. She loved the snow-trimmed peaks reaching into the sky and the green plateaus stretching along their ledges. She loved galloping through the forests on Punch, her pony, and singing with the birds.

Winters in Munich were just too dull. Snowball fights with the neighbouring children were her only real fun. Of course the royal noses flared in disgust; it was hardly appropriate behaviour for a royal princess. Elisabeth smiled and ignored them. She never thought of herself as a royal princess. And it didn’t bother her that Possi, with ivy growing up its exterior and the odd cow munching in the gardens, was more like a farmhouse than like the surrounding mansions of the aristocrats. Her father bragged, At least its four turrets give it prestige.

She gathered up her skirts and continued on. The forest enclosed her in a chapel of greenery. Huge hanging boughs, full of tiny chirping birds, displayed their new birth of leaves. Ferns and wildflowers were everywhere. She stopped again, closing her eyes, letting the quietness filter through her. Only nature strummed the tunes.

There was nothing more fun than swinging on the huge branches with the peasant children from the nearby villages. They were her best friends, especially Allie. On the windiest days, she and Allie swayed back and forth in the treetops. She’d close her eyes and let the breeze caress her. It was as if she had arrived at the gates of heaven. Allie hoped to be a trapeze performer in front of crowds of people; that’s why she loved swinging in the trees. Not Sisi, as her family called her. Sisi hated crowds. That’s why she loved the forest.

She shared all her secrets with Allie, told her about Count Richard. Allie was in love with a young village man who worked in a garment factory, so she understood.

Eating at Allie’s little cottage was more fun than any royal banquet. The cottage was rustic and cozy; there was always a warm fire, and her mother and father clowned around like happy children. Allie’s mother made the best cabbage strudel, with flour and eggs layered with hot lard. Elisabeth’s mouth watered just thinking about it.

Of course the neighbouring royals could not hold back their sneers. Elisabeth is a disgrace to her society. She acts more like a peasant than a royal. She is a Wittelsbach, they snorted. The Wittelsbachs have ruled Bavaria for over 500 years, and her uncle, King Ludwig, sits on the throne in Munich. She is royalty, and she eats in the peasants’ cottages. Their cigars almost flew from their vibrating fingers.

Elisabeth’s mother, Ludovika, told her about their sneers, a shadow clouding her face. Sisi knew her mother was perturbed. But not her; the last thing she cared about was royalty.

She loved dancing at the village carnivals, with her father strumming his zither like a mad man and her own feet flying just as fast. Max often joked, If we weren’t royalty we’d be circus performers. That brought her a smile. Of course the royals thought him the devil himself.

When she held out her apron to catch coins from the local peasants, the villagers clapped with laughter, the aristocrats went into stunned shock and her mother fled to her room in shame. Elisabeth couldn’t hold back her smile, though she hid it from her mother.

She knew her mother was stressed, maybe a little overstressed. Her mother wanted to be a part of elite society — her rightful place, really. But her mother was rarely invited into their homes; her father never. That did not bother him. Nor did it bother him that the aristocrats referred to Possi as an ongoing circus. Elisabeth had to admit it really was.

Most times her mother sailed through the family chaos with a placid smile, in a kind of mystical daze, even when tripping over the guinea pigs, rabbits and snoring dogs who lay on the frayed Aubusson carpets; not to mention watching Elisabeth and her three brothers and four sisters churning up the lawns and the rose gardens with their ponies. But there were times when Ludovika’s face hardened into tight lines and her smile disappeared. That’s when her headaches came. She’d vanish into her room, slam the door shut and pound on her piano until the walls seemed to vibrate. Then out she’d come again, with her complacent smile back on, tripping over dogs, the children’s screams sending her eyes to the ceiling.

The aristocrats shunned them in Munich as well. If they were invited to the royal salons, which hardly ever occurred, Elisabeth never went if she could help it. Her mother told her it would teach her a little etiquette. That kind of etiquette Elisabeth could do without. Their disdainful looks and their sarcastic jabs filtering through their cigar smoke was just too much.

Elisabeth knew it was mainly her father’s liberal ideas and crazy antics that kept the royal noses skyward and the tongues wagging. He created as much gossip as Lola Montez, the black witch who swept into Munich with her black hair hanging to her heels, leaving a trail of scandals and broken hearts across Europe. When Lola descended upon the old king, Elisabeth’s uncle Ludwig, he was so smitten with love it almost toppled the Bavarian throne. He’s no different than any other man, Ludovika had scoffed.

Lola created havoc, putting forth her views and disrupting politics. Cabinet ministers fell and new rules shattered the court. Caroline Augusta, the Dowager Empress of Austria, offered her 2,000 guilders if she would leave Bavaria. Elisabeth and her older sister Helene — her family called her Néné — quivered with barely concealed mirth. When the old king dried Lola’s indignant tears by making her a Countess and a Canoness of the Order of St. Theresa, their mirth turned into giggles. The court went into disgusted shock.

The people rioted that winter, and Elisabeth and her family fled to Possi. The people regained their sanity, the old king fled to Italy to mend his broken heart and Lola was escorted to the frontier. That was their first Christmas in Possi, and their most wonderful ever. Especially Christmas Eve.

The snowdrifts were piled to the tops of the windows that night, when her father bellowed from outside, Come out, come out. Every one of you! It scared them half to death. Dropping everything, they ran for their coats, certain that rioters were invading. Even Elisabeth’s baby sister, little Sophie, came running. Ludovika scooped Sophie up in her arms to keep the other children from tumbling over her.

Quick, quick. Get in! her father cried, hurrying them into a large sleigh and tucking blankets around them right up to their chins. The horses were stamping their hooves in the snow, eager to be off. The driver released the reins and cracked his whip and the sleigh tore into the forest.

What’s wrong? cried Helene. The sleigh had slowed to a snail’s pace, winding through the snow-cushioned boughs of the evergreens standing silent and mysterious as they passed.

There is nothing wrong, Néné, her father assured her. I wanted you to see the forest on a winter night when the new fallen snow forms a world of mystical stillness and magical beauty.

No one spoke. Not even little Sophie. They gazed in silence.

That evening the peasant families came to Possi. They danced the night away, whirling to the wild gypsy music from her father’s zither. The ladies raced down the halls that were lined with Christmas trees and through the drawing room, their colourful skirts flying, their husbands following, their children trying to keep up. Her brothers and sisters flew too, swinging and swaying in wild rhythm. And Ludovika, forgetting the snobby royals, had just as much fun tossing little Sophie up into the air.

Those moments Elisabeth never forgot. Many times, years later, when despair filled her world, she would close her eyes and let that beautiful warmth fill her soul. She would still almost smell the pine logs burning, the sweet fragrance of apples and roasting chestnuts, the wonderful cakes studded with candied fruit and the big bowls of punch.

Sisi. Hurry, hurry, Max’s cry jarred her back to reality, to the mountain trail. She almost tripped on her skirts as she dashed after him. It was hard going; the rocks and roots had taken over the trail. Her mind was racing too, with thoughts of Count Richard.

She had not told her father about Count Richard — although she was sure he would like him; he was like her father. She had not told her mother, either. Max always joked that her mother’s main concern was to find a royal prince or an emperor for her daughters. It was not easy with all the chaos that went on in their lives. Count Richard was not royalty, so she was not quite sure what her mother would say.

Her sister Néné would not like him; Elisabeth was sure of that. Néné liked the royals. She used to chase around with the children but, since turning seventeen, she had changed. It was as if she stepped into another world. She paraded around as if she had wings on her feet, continually fluffing her hair in the mirror. Her mother said Néné’s hair was the colour of the autumn sun. People always remarked about her mysterious eyes, and the scent of her perfume followed her everywhere. Elisabeth hated perfume. Still, she had to admit that her sister was far more beautiful than she. And though she was taking more time in front of a mirror since Count Richard, it was still not as much as Néné.

Oh, well, she thought as she quickened her pace to catch up with her father, if Néné wants an emperor, she has to be beautiful. The last thing Elisabeth wanted was an emperor. She thought of Count Richard. A warm feeling went through her. She would marry for love.

Elisabeth knew all about love. She kept romantic novels well hidden beneath her bed, knowing full well that Bavarian princesses were not allowed to read romantic novels. They might infect your mind with false ideas, her mother said. Love is not always in a princess’s destiny.

And why shouldn’t there be love? Elisabeth would lash out. Her mother’s eyes would take on a veiled look and she would change the subject.

Rounding a bend, Elisabeth stopped suddenly. There was her father, his feet planted solidly on the ground, gazing up at Kramer Ridge. Her heart swelled. No matter what the Munich royals think about my papa, she thought, to me he is magical.

He had shown her a world she would never have found on her own. He showed her the wonders of nature, the beauty of the seasons, the silence and the solitude. He had shown her the splendour of the sunsets, the mystical depth of the stars. He had shown her the simplicities of the world so often hidden in the complexity of life.

She rushed to his side and slipped her hand though his arm, hugging it to her.

It won’t be easy, Max said, giving her a hesitant glance.

She looked at Kramer Ridge towering above them, and smiled. I can do it. Let’s go, Papa. She tightened her hand on his arm and added tenderly, And I love you. Then she took off, with her arms flying as fast as her feet.

Max dashed after her. With that determination, the world will be hers, he thought. At least he hoped it would be. In his heart there was fear. It was a long climb before they dug their toes into tiny crevices and pulled themselves up by plant roots onto the ledge. Once there, they collapsed in exhaustion, gasping for air. Their faces glowed.

We did it, Papa. Elisabeth pulled the red-checkered kerchief from her head. Her chestnut-coloured braids tumbled to her shoulders.

Yes, we did it. Max dropped his knapsack to the ground. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and a dark beard that matched the hair curling around his neck. He had a gentle but rugged face, with large cheekbones and woolly eyebrows. Elisabeth knew he had a charm the ladies couldn’t resist, even the aristocratic ladies. Though they tried not to show it, their sparkling eyes and half-hidden smiles gave it away.

Tired and triumphant, they gazed around in awe at the mountains still high above them. A cool mist surrounded them and wisps of soft clouds cradled the high peaks. Patches of snow lingered here and there, and clumps of grass sprouted in the brilliant green of new birth. Yellow and red wildflowers were everywhere. Below them lay the Eton valley, with green fields and tiny villages.

Look at Starnberger See. It is like a tiny saucer, cried Elisabeth. And Possi is like a dollhouse.

It is beautiful. Max was beaming, but more for their mu-tual passion for the wilderness and nature. These were memories that would never fade. This was a big climb for a little girl, he said affectionately.

Oh, Papa. I’m not a little girl, she shot back. I’m fifteen now. Her eyes twinkled, her face rosy.

Her father was momentarily struck by her beauty. The pudginess of her face was gone; her features were now fine and delicate. Sisi was beautiful. His eyes shifted down; beneath her woolen vest, her body was blooming. He turned away. The beauty around them faded. His little Sisi was growing up. She was on the edge of womanhood, and he had not noticed.

A cloud caught the sun; a breeze brushed his face. Time flies like shooting stars right before our eyes, he thought, staring into space. And it never slows, not even in paradise. For the first time, he questioned his sentiments.

Was Ludovika right that day her anger set the table shaking?

She was usually a gentle woman, with remnants of her youthful beauty still lingering in the contours of her face. That day there was nothing gentle about her; her beauty was framed with rage. She banged her fists on the table, repeating the latest slur that raced through the royal salons: ‘It would be surprising if any of Duke Max’s children, especially that wild Elisabeth, ever achieves a suitable marriage.’

And they are right, Ludovika had cried as she pounded harder. Sisi is wild and undisciplined. She must be brought from the wilderness of the hills. The shepherd children cannot be her constant companions. She is royalty! She must be prepared for her place in her own society. She must be taught the etiquette of the royal court. It is our only hope of finding her a suitable marriage.

Sisi is a child of nature, and she is still young, Max had shot back. Don’t take her precious childhood and crush her in the artificial glitter of the imperial salons. That would stifle her.

The clouds still swirled around the peaks above them, but the breeze had a sharper bite.

Was Ludovika right?

They were both Wittelsbachs, Ludovika from the royal branch and he from the landowner’s branch of the family tree. Ludovika’s father, Maximilian, King of Bavaria, had made him a duke so that Ludovika would be a duchess. Still, he was free from any court responsibilities. He lived his life as he wished, tossing aside all royal pomp and providing the salons with lively gossip. The court royals never had it so good.

Max fancied himself a writer, an actor, a musician . . . whatever he wanted to be. His children howled with laughter when he dressed up as King Arthur to preside over a drama club of fellow knights. He frequented the local taverns, enjoyed the company of the common people. He invited them into his home for a meal. Not one royal salon in Munich would let him through its door, and he did not give a hoot.

But Sisi . . . ? Was he doing her justice?

He turned and watched her arranging yellow and red flowers in her hands. He looked away and stared out at the valley below. He could not hide Sisi forever in the magic of nature, in the sim-plicity of childhood. The unrelenting march of time was shifting the innocence of her youth into the uncertainty of adulthood.

I can live my life as I please, he thought, but she is a princess from the royal house of Wittelsbach. No matter how uncomfortable it might be, she must take her rightful place in the superficial, aristocratic society into which she was born.

Elisabeth jumped up, her eyes twinkling. Papa, I have something to tell you.

Is it something that will enhance this day even more? he asked, trying to be lighthearted again.

Yes, yes. Her eyes were dancing. Papa, I’m in love.

In love? His eyebrows knitted together tighter than his voice. In love with what? A horse? A puppy? A rabbit? With what?

She giggled. Oh, Papa. A young man.

A young man? His words shot out like a cannonball.

Yes. A young man. Her laughter rippled. And don’t look so shocked. After all, I am fifteen, and people do find me attractive.

His shock made him see reality. Royal princesses did not marry for love. They were merely pawns destined for political matches with the royal families of Europe. He dug his fingers into his palms and blurted out, Does your mother know?

Her eyes widened at his expression. Of course not, Papa. I haven’t told anyone else. Only Allie and Maria. Her sister Maria was three years younger than Elisabeth. They were very close. They raced their ponies through forests and built hide-away castles deep in the woods. Maria performed on a horse in Max’s circuses almost as well as Elisabeth.

Who is this young man? His voice shook.

Oh, you know him well. And I know you like him. Her sparkle was back, her feet danced. Count Richard.

Count Richard? Again his words shot out. Is that the young man with the long blond hair and that floppy green hunter’s hat that he never takes off?

Yes, yes, that’s him. She clapped her hands together.

Max sighed in relief. He knew the young Count Richard alright. He was tall and gangly, a little clumsy, and always had a big affectionate smile. He was a poor bourgeois who considered himself an actor, as Max did. In fact, he was part of the dinner club Max presided over in his King Arthur garb. He would be easy to dislodge. One flick of Max’s finger and he would be gone.

His calmness returned. How long has this been going on? He was a little afraid to know.

It’s not really going on, Papa. He comes to all your circuses, and we smile at each other. He told me I’m a very skillful rider, better than he. He slips me notes. He says he loves me and will never love another. Then he says crazy things, like he’s not good enough for me, that he is not royalty. She smiled. As if that mattered.

Then her smile disappeared. What was wrong with her father? His face was solemn.

He is right, my little one. He cannot be for you. He is not of royal blood.

But Papa, she cried. It makes no difference. You have said that many times. Class is not important. You have told me that.

He was nodding. How easy the words were to say, and how rational and justified they seemed. But not in this real world could they be realized. Ludovika would never allow Sisi to marry Count Richard. He knew that. He also knew he would not allow such a match either.

Come, Sisi. He put his arm around her shoulder. Let’s start down. You know how quickly it can close in up here.

Elisabeth stared a moment at her father. This was not what she had expected. But his expression told her it was not the time to argue.

Yes, Papa. She flashed him a look that pained his heart. I’ll race you down. She picked up her knapsack, tucked the flowers carefully inside, wrapped her kerchief around her head and bounced down the trail ahead of him. It was much easier going down.

As she hopped over rocks and roots, her excitement grew. In two weeks circus day would be at Possi, and Count Richard would be there. And this time, she promised herself, she would take his hand and not let him escape for the rest of the afternoon. And, she glanced back at her father trudging along, his face pulled together like his knapsack, she would tell Count Richard that her Papa knew.

Fate raced at her side with unrelenting claws. It was the year 1853, the year her life would change forever.

2

Her children bouncing on the couches, with flying arms and wild screams, sent Ludovika fleeing into her tiny salon, her haven of escape. The family was at Possi. She collapsed on her settee, kicked off her shoes and placed a cold cloth on her head. At that moment, a courier arrived with a letter from her sister Sophie, the Archduchess of Austria.

Ignoring the courier, Ludovika ripped open the envelope. She read Sophie’s letter, and then read it again, and again. The children’s laughter filtered through the walls, with an occasional scream; it didn’t faze her. The courier bowed his way out. Her eyes remained on the letter in her trembling hands.

I can’t believe it, she cried out. Sophie wants Néné, Sisi and me to come to Bad Ischl for a visit.

Sophie had written: It is the only time that poor overworked Franz can snatch a few weeks of holiday. It will give Néné and Franz a chance to meet in a quiet atmosphere.

Ludovika let out an excited screech and jumped from the settee, almost stumbling over her shoes. She paced around the room, her thoughts spinning. Franz Joseph, Sophie’s son, was the emperor of the great Austrian Habsburg Empire, and the most sought-after bachelor in all Europe.

Five years earlier, she, with Néné and Sisi, had visited Sophie in Bad Ischl, the Habsburgs’ summer residence in upper Austria. The Habsburgs had fled there when Vienna verged on a revolution that threatened the Austrian Empire. Even with all that turmoil, Sophie had raved about fourteen-year-old Néné’s beauty. She had even suggested that, with the proper training, Néné might make a very suitable empress. Ludovika was sure that Sophie had Franz in mind; he would one day be the emperor.

That day had come sooner than expected.

The revolution peaked, Emperor Ferdinand resigned, and Franz Joseph replaced him. Now, a contented populace lived under his rule, though Ludovika had heard rumours that Sophie was the power behind the throne. But after that visit, no further word had come from Sophie. The French instructor and the dance master Ludovika had brought to enhance Néné’s social graces were gone. Possi had fallen back into its usual disarray, and she had dismissed all hopes of Néné marrying the Emperor of Austria, especially as rumours of his charm with the ladies swept Europe.

Ludovika read the letter again.

Oh, my God, she cried out, the Lord’s name exploding as never before. Franz’s younger brother, Charles Ludwig, would also be there. He was just two years older than Sisi. She remembered his eyes had been full of amusement as he followed Sisi around, often giving her little gifts of candy.

Oh, my God. This time it was a whisper. Was Sophie suggesting a match between Sisi and Charles Ludwig? She raced to the window and pushed open the shutters. The battering wind in her face had no effect on her escalating thoughts. Perhaps, she dared to think, there would be a prince for Sisi. Her sons she didn’t worry about, as they were guaranteed commissions in the Imperial Army. But each time she gave birth to a girl, her biggest pain was for her daughter’s future.

Ludovika’s five sisters had married kings, emperors or reigning princes. Not like her. And all resided in prestigious royal courts. Though they were known as the Five Sisters of Woe, all with broken hearts, it did not deter Ludovika’s resentment. She envied, sometimes bitterly, their royal marriages and their prestigious stature, especially when the Munich royals rebuffed her with vague smiles and superior glances. She tried to calm herself with thoughts that it didn’t matter, that her children were her world. And they were. Still, there were times, many times, when their screams and rowdy manoeuvres sent her flying into her own room.

Then Ludovika would allow the memories of a springtime in Spain fill her mind. She would close her eyes and let the tears pour.

She was young and beautiful that spring, so they said, more beautiful than any of her five sisters. She was seventeen, dancing a festive evening away in a Spanish palace when a young man caught her eye from across the room. Through the crowd he came; his eyes never left her face. He stopped before her, his smile wide, made a sweeping bow, and said, I have never seen anyone as lovely as you.

They walked in the palace gardens, among blossoming trees and chirping birds seeking mates. Prince Miguel of Portugal had laid his heart at her feet.

But it had been a time when smaller empires were struggling to retain their sovereignty.

Marriage is a tool to enhance and secure the power of a country, her father had informed her. Prince Miguel is of no benefit to us. Her father did what he thought best; it was

Reviews for A Walk on Broken Glass

[Kiblets · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This was a fantastic account of the life of Elisabeth.