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venerdì 16 ottobre 2026

Kaiser Franz Josef's Lovers



From up-above on the left: the Polish Countess Katarzyna Branicka, Franz Josef's first lover; Anna Nowak, and, on the right, Katharina Schratt.


«My dear, beloved Amalia!
Since eight o'clock this morning, our beloved Franzi has been the indescribably radiant and happy fiancé of the lovely Sissi, who seemed decidedly dear, affectionate, happy, and excited. I saw warm tears flow down her sweet face when, clinging to me like a child, she assured me that she wanted to live up to the Emperor's and my expectations, and also when I explained how she could make him happy. My good husband, dear Luisa [Maria Ludovica, Elisabeth's mother], and all the others present, the gentlemen no less than the ladies, seemed delighted, they too wept for joy […] The little bride, with her graceful, modest, and polite manner, with her grace, her beauty, made a great impression. […] Around eleven o'clock we will go to Mass with the newlyweds to thank God and ask for his assistance. Later, around one o'clock, we will reach Hallstatt and Waldbach for lunch. I'll tell you in person how attentive, calm, and frank my son was on this occasion, too. I'm in a hurry now, my dear. I greet you with all my heart and ask you and Scharnhorst […] to pray for the young couple. […]
S[ofia].»1

This letter, written by Archduchess Sophie, Franz Josef's mother, to her closest friend, Princess Amalia of Sweden, dates August 19, 1853, and with all the enthusiasm dictated by a deep maternal love, announces an event that would have changed history: the young emperor of the House of Habsburg would marry his cousin, the Bavarian Archduchess Elisabeth, the younger sister of Helene, instead of her, as planned. He was determined to follow his heart rather than protocol, and his mother agreed to a love match. For him, it was, in fact, love at first sight. The young girl, however, was more perplexed, having only been fifteen and wondering what their future would hold. Sophie would write in her diary that when Sisi was asked by her mother if she could love the emperor, she replied:

"How can one not love such a man?"
Then she burst into tears, promising that she would do everything to make the emperor happy "and be a loving daughter" to Aunt Sophia.
"But I wonder," she asked immediately afterward, "how can he think of me, who am so insignificant?" And again: "I love the emperor so much! If only he were not emperor!" It was precisely this that left her perplexed, her future rank. The emperor was literally in ecstasy when I told him the moving words of his future bride, so full of deep understanding, and asking for nothing in return.2


That phrase, "I love the emperor so much! If only he weren't emperor!" would remain the leitmotif that would accompany Sisi throughout her life. She was intolerant of court life and the obligations of the crown, a lover of the spontaneity characteristic of the simple life to which she was accustomed, bound to joy in the little things, far from pomp, bows, and ceremony. And this craving would become, over time, increasingly overwhelming, so much so that it overcame the love she felt for her husband—and then, for her children: it would become restlessness, a craving for travel, a need to move from one place to another without feeling like she had a fixed abode.


Her first trip, in 1860, kept her away from Vienna for several months. It was dictated by health reasons: she suffered from coughing fits, which were officially thought to be due to a suspected tuberculosis or nervous system, but in reality were linked to a venereal disease transmitted to her by her husband. And it was here that the bond with the emperor began to strain. Sisi, certain of having been betrayed, despite the effort it took for her to remain in that gilded cage that was the Viennese court, understood that perhaps it was worth pursuing her thirst for freedom. And, embittered, she wrote verses filled with regret . . . 

TITANIA


(You will surely remember that in the poetic fiction the empress identifies herself with Titania, the queen of the fairies in William Shakespeare's famous comedy A Midsummer Night's Dream - you can read the post of ~ My little old world ~ "And my soul is so full it is bursting" - The Poetic Diary of Elisabeth of Austria.). Franz Josef was known for being a man of integrity, rigorous, and totally devoted to his duty as emperor. He was also deeply in love with his beautiful wife, but Sisi, even when present, was very emotionally absent due to the ailments she suffered. He was probably growing tired of having a "shadow" woman by his side.
And while the young empress sought healing for her body and soul on the island of Madeira, the climate of which was known to be beneficial for the symptoms she complained of, Franz Josef, young, handsome, admired, and courted, "rejoiced" himself with Countess Katarzyna Branicka.
A member of the Polish high nobility and a renowned art collector, Katarzyna had been married to Count Adam Józef Potocki since 1847. Her extraordinary beauty and cosmopolitan charm were also immortalised in famous paintings of the time, such as the famous 1854 portrait by the court painter Franz Xaver Winterhalter.


Franz Josef already knew this noblewoman well, as she was one of the "hygienic countesses" his mother had "procured" for him in his youth to teach him the "art of love". During the empress's long stay in Madeira, which lasted from November 29, 1860, to April 28, 1861, he had only a temporary flirt with her, not a lasting relationship. However, it is the first that historians have been able to document with certainty, and it is historically significant: Katarzyna succeeded in breaking Franz Josef's initial and proverbial fidelity (or formal dedication) to his wife, preceding his later and more famous relationships.

It remains questionable the relationship with Theresia Pointinger, Reserl, the Salzkammergut innkeeper whom the kaiser knew in 1869. They would have met at the Pointinger's cabin in the Eisenau region, behind Bad Ischl. She stayed there during the summers for the Alpine pastures, and Franz Josef would have found shelter there one evening during a hunting trip in 1870. As demonstrated by investigations following the publication of the book Die Salzprinzessin. Die geheime Geliebte Kaiser Franz Josephs - The Salt Princess. The secret mistress of the Austrian Emperor Franz Josef I. which claimed that these meetings had produced a lineage, if Reserl and Franz Josef met, they did so sporadically and without developing a true, lasting, and constant bond between them. Bad Ischl is more than 250 km. from Vienna, and the kaiser travelled there with his family only during the summer months to celebrate his birthday, on August 18th, which, since 1853, coincided with his engagement to Sisi. However, it remains undeniable the resemblance between Franz Josef and Wilhelmine,


Reserl's fourth daughter, born in 1877.

It was May 8, 1875, when the emperor met Anna Nowak: he was 45, she was 15.
They met while strolling early in the morning in the Schönbrunn Gardens, recently opened to the public, on a day the young woman described in her diary as the happiest of her life. He, already awake at 4:00 a.m., had the early hours of the day to stroll in the park, as all Viennese knew well; she, a young married woman, could indulge in the early hours of the day to leave the house without anyone noticing it. They continued to meet at the same time and in the same place for almost two months until, on the morning of June 27, in the rain, Franz Josef gave her his first kiss.

"It rained all day. The next day, Sunday, it seemed like it would drown the Viennese, because it rained harder and harder, yet I went to Schönbrunn, arrived soaked to the skin, and immediately met the emperor, who was as wet as I was. He showered me with attention and tenderness and kissed me until I suffocated. And I swam in a sea of ​​bliss." («Es regnet den ganzen Tag. Nächster Tag. Sonntag, es scheint die Wiener ertränker zu wollen, denn es regnet immer heftiger, und ich gehe doch nach Schönbrunn, komm' durchnäßt hin und treffe sogleich den Kaiser, der ebenso naß wie ich. Er überhäufte mich mit Aufmerksankait und Zärtlichkeiten und küßte mich zum Ersticken. Ich Schwamm in einem Meer von Glückseligkeit».)3


They became physically intimate only three years later. Despite her very young age, this girl of modest social rank, completely unfamiliar with court circles, had already been married for a year to a silk manufacturer, one Johann Nepomuk Heuduck, a mature and seemingly upright man of good reputation. Within a few months of their marriage, Heuduck revealed himself to be a chronic alcoholic and addicted to gambling. For this reason, Anna, in 1878, managed to divorce him thanks to the intercession of her powerful lover, who offered him a huge sum of money in exchange. From this marriage, a daughter, Carola, was born, whose paternity was never questioned in any way, as was the case with those born later. With the emperor's permission, the young woman remarried Franz Nahowski, an official of the Südbahn railway company, later an employee of the Galician State Railways, and went to live with him in Vienna in the Schönbrunner Straße, the street that ran alongside Schönbrunn Palace and its park. The palace had a well-hidden private entrance, allowing the emperor to visit her whenever he wished, away from prying eyes. She knew she had to wait for him uncorseted and already in her bed. Their relationship was, in fact, strictly sexual. Nahowski, too, was a heavy drinker and an unrepentant womanizer, who willingly accepted his wife's extramarital affair, which had meanwhile consolidated and become public knowledge, even if conducted with extreme discretion. And, like Heuduck, she regularly incurred gambling debts, which she always repaid thanks to donations received directly from the emperor, amounting, over the years, to between 100,000 and 200,000 florins. Franz Josef thus allowed Anna and her family to live, despite everything, in a respectable manner. Anna gave birth to three children, including Helene, born in 1885,


which already at the time, the Viennese society believed to be the emperor's illegitimate daughter. She would later take possession of the diary her mother had kept throughout her life, which recounts this relationship. It was published after her death.
And if the relationship with Countess Branicka infuriated the empress, she apparently did not react to the far more important and long-lasting one with Anna, who was her husband's lover for 14 years. She was probably certain, in her heart, that nothing would ever be the same again.
These verses of hers date back to 1885, just the year Helene was born:


Franz Josef and Anna remained lovers until 1889, when the latter realized she was no longer the only master of the kaiser's heart, who was falling under the spell of another woman. In fact, he had begun to be in friendly terms with the actress Katharina Schratt in 1885. Her complaints and Rudolf's tragic death at Mayerling prompted Franz Josef to end the long-lasting relationship. He did so in a completely cold and distant manner. On March 14, 1889, Anna was summoned to the Hofburg Imperial Palace before an official, Baron von Mayr, director of the family's private estate, who presented her with a monumental financial settlement: 200,000 florins for herself and 50,000 for the support of her children. She asked to see the emperor, but she was denied. In exchange for the money, she was required to personally sign the following official declaration:

"I hereby confirm that I have received 200,000 fl. today as a gift from His Majesty the Emperor. Furthermore I swear that I will remain silent at all times about the meetings with His Majesty."
—Anna Nahowski, Vienna, March 14, 1889.4


It may sounds difficult to understand, but it was Sisi herself who threw Franz Josef into the arms of Katharina Schratt.


Over time, her relationship with her husband had cooled, and she had likely convinced herself that having a lover and companion would make her escapes from Vienna easier and alleviate her feelings of guilt.
During the historic and tense meeting between Franz Josef and Tsar Alexander III, held in August 1885 in Kremsier (Kroměříž), Moravia, now the Czech Republic, after the famous theatrical performance of The Taming of the Shrew, in which Schratt was the brilliant and undisputed protagonist, the actors were invited to the dinner that followed. It was here that she met the empress and met the emperor for the third time. Franz Josef was deeply fascinated by Schratt's talent and charisma on stage. Also Tsar Alexander III was charmed with the actress and began showering her with sumptuous gifts, thus provoking visible and unprecedented jealousy on the part of the usually imperturbable Emperor of Austria. Noticing her husband's intense interest in the actress, Sisi saw Schratt as the ideal solution to her husband's loneliness and marital impasse, and officially introduced her into the closest family circle as the emperor's "trusted friend."
From that day on, Elisabeth remained in contact with her, inviting her, writing to her, sending her gifts, undoubtedly drawing her ever closer to her husband.
A native of Baden and the daughter of a famous Viennese baker, Katharina began acting at a very early age at her hometown theater and then in Berlin. After a stay in New York in 1883, she joined the Hofburg Theater in Vienna. Hers was an immediate success, becoming Austria's most famous actress and meeting Franz Josef during an audience the emperor had granted to actors, but it was a one-off. As the theater's leading actress, she attended many social events, and during the "Industrialists' Ball" in 1885, she met the emperor again. This time, the emperor was smitten with Katharina, and they spoke at length. Personally, Elisabeth did not admire Schratt; she found her unrefined, fat, and the exact opposite of the women she admired, but whether to please her husband or, more likely, out of personal gain, she continued to invite her to court and fostered a friendship between the two. It is not known when they became close, but Franz Josef gave her a villa near Schönbrunn, named Villa Felicitas (later called Villa Schratt) in Ischl at her disposal, paid her numerous gambling debts, and gave her numerous jewels. Some maintain that their relationship was merely platonic, but this seems, at least initially, very dubious: in 1885, Franz Josef was 55 and she was 32, so it is hard to believe that there wasn't something more. The two were always extremely private, however, and nothing leaked about their relationship, even though it was known to everyone. It is not known how it evolved after Rudolf's death (1889) or even after Elisabeth's (1898), which in any case caused a cooling between the two. Franz Josef suffered enormously from these losses, withdrew into himself, and it is possible that at this point their relationship truly transformed into a deep friendship. The emperor would visit her at seven in the morning at Villa Schratt. Katharina would be waiting for him, already awake, and they would have breakfast together: still-warm croissants from the bakery, with coffee, butter, and jam. As the years passed, their routines became more intimate. Franz Josef began to visit Villa Schratt at noon as well, and even in the evening for informal dinners.


Katharina was not single: in 1879 she had married the Hungarian aristocrat Nikolaus Kiss de Ittebe and in 1880 gave birth to a son, Anton, about whom almost nothing is known. However, due to strong personality incompatibilities and her husband's lavish lifestyle, the couple separated in 1880, shortly after Anton's birth. In 1909, she became a widow and, having never divorced, inherited the Königswarter Palace on the Kärntner Ring, opposite the Opera House, where she had lived since 1890. Her friendship with Franz Josef lasted 30 years, until his death on November 21, 1916.
Remaining alone, Katharina retreated to her palace and devoted herself entirely to her pets and charitable works. She became very religious, attending church daily and visiting the emperors' tomb in the Capuchin Crypt several times a week.
What can we say about Franz Josef, married to the woman hailed as the most beautiful and regal of her time, with whom he was deeply in love, even though he was almost always unhappy, and who had relationships with such different women, from bourgeois backgrounds and far from refined? Perhaps he was more interested in a relationship of affection, a relationship of domestic simplicity that was missing at court. He was probably a man who felt profoundly alone.


If You've read this article so far,
even though it's quite long and maybe demanding, 
You deserve a special good wish, dearest Readers and Friends!
May Your days be simple, 
Your evenings restful,
and Your heart overflowing with 
the joy of simple pleasures.
See you soon ❤




Dany


QUOTES:

1 - Lasagnini, Daniela, Sofia, l'imperatrice nell'ombra, Trieste, MGS Press, 2025, p. 162.
2 - Lasagnini, Daniela, op. cit., p. 161.
3 - Nahowski, Anna und Friedrich Hans (Herausgeber) Saathen: Anna Nahowski und Kaiser Franz Joseph : Aufzeichnungen, Published by Wien; Köln; Graz : Böhlau Verlag, 1986, back cover.
All the poems by the empress are drawn by Elisabetta d'Austria, Diario poetico, Trieste, MGS Press, 1998.



BIBLIOGRAPHIC SOURCES:

- Casana, Rinaldo, La tavola dei re. 131 ricette della vecchia Europa, Milano, Rosellina      Archinto Editore, 1987.
- Elisabetta d'Austria, Diario poetico, Trieste, MGS Press, 1998.
- Lasagnini, Daniela, Sofia, l'imperatrice nell'ombra, Trieste, MGS Press, 2025.
- Nahowski, Anna und Friedrich Hans (Herausgeber) Saathen: Anna Nahowski und Kaiser Franz Joseph : Aufzeichnungen, Published by Wien; Köln; Graz : Böhlau Verlag, 1986.
- Pointinger, Hubert, The Salt Princess: The secret mistress of the Austrian Emperor Franz Josef I., California, United States, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2014.
- Van Der Kiste, John, Emperor Francis Joseph: Life, Death And the Fall of the Habsburg Empire, Stroud, United Kingdom, Sutton Publishing Ltd., 2005.
- Weissensteiner, Friedrich: "Ich sehne mich sehr nach Dir": Frauen im Leben Kaiser Franz Josephs, Wien : Amaltea Verlag, 2012.


OTHER SOURCES:








Le amanti dell'imperatore Francesco Giuseppe


IMMAGINE DI COPERTINA - Dall'alto a sinistra: la contessa polacca Katarzyna Branicka, prima amante di Francesco Giuseppe; Anna Novak e, a destra, Katharina Schratt.

«Mia cara, amatissima Amalia!
Dalle otto di stamattina il nostro tanto amato Franzi è l’indicibilmente radioso e felice fidanzato dell’amabile Sissi, che mi è apparsa decisamente cara, affettuosa, felice ed emozionata. Ho visto scorrere calde lacrime sul suo dolce viso quando, stringendosi a me come una bambina, mi ha assicurato di voler essere all’altezza delle aspettative dell’imperatore e mie, e anche quando le ho spiegato come potrà renderlo felice. Il mio buon marito, la cara Luisa [Maria Ludovica, la madre di Elisabetta] e tutti gli altri presenti, i signori non meno delle signore, sono apparsi contentissimi, hanno pianto anche loro di gioia […] La piccola sposa, con il suo fare leggiadro, modesto ed educato, con la sua grazia, la sua avvenenza ha fatto una grande impressione.[…] Verso le undici andremo a messa con la coppia degli sposi per ringraziare Dio e chiedere la sua assistenza. Più tardi, verso l’una, raggiungeremo Hallstatt e Waldbach per il pranzo. Ti dirò a voce quanto mio figlio sia stato sollecito, sereno e franco anche in quest’occasione. Ora ho fretta, mia cara. Ti saluto di tutto cuore e chiedo a te e alla Scharnhorst […] di pregare per la giovane coppia.[…] 
S[ofia].»1

Questa lettera, scritta dall'arciduchessa Sofia, madre di Francesco Giuseppe, all'amica del cuore, la principessa Amalia di Svezia, data 19 agosto 1853 e, con tutto l'entusiasmo dettato da un profondo amore materno, annuncia un evento che avrebbe cambiato la storia: il giovane imperatore della Casa d'Asburgo si sarebbe unito in matrimonio con l'arciduchessa bavarese Elisabetta, la cugina sorella minore di Elena, invece che con quest'ultima, come era previsto. Egli era intenzionato a dare retta al cuore piuttosto che al protocollo, e la madre acconsentì ad un matrimonio d'amore. Per lui fu, infatti, amore a prima vista. Più perplessa era invece la giovanetta, che, solamente quindicenne, si questionava su quello che sarebbe stato il loro futuro. Sofia scriverà nel suo diario che quando Sisi si sentì chiedere dalla madre se avrebbe potuto amare l’imperatore, ella rispose:

 «Come si può non voler bene ad un uomo simile?»
Poi era scoppiata in lacrime promettendo che avrebbe fatto di tutto per rendere felice l’imperatore «ed essere una figlia affettuosa» per la zia Sofia. 
«Ma mi domando», chiese subito dopo, «come può pensare proprio a me che sono così insignificante?» E ancora: «Voglio tanto bene all’imperatore! Se solo non fosse imperatore!» E’ proprio questo che la lascia perplessa, il suo rango futuro. L’imperatore è andato letteralmente in estasi quando gli ho raccontato le commoventi parole della sua futura sposa, così piene di profonda comprensione e che non chiedono nulla in cambio.2

Quella frase: «Voglio tanto bene all’imperatore! Se solo non fosse imperatore!» rimarrà il leitmotiv che accompagnerà tutta la vita di Sisi, insofferente alla vita di Corte, agli obblighi legati alla corona, amante della spontaneità caratteristica della vita semplice cui era abituata, legata alla gioia per le piccole cose, lontano dagli sfarzi, dagli inchini, dai cerimoniali. E questa sua smania diventerà, con il tempo, sempre più preponderante, tanto da prevalere sull'amore che nutriva per il marito - e poi, per i figli: diventerà smania di viaggiare, irrequietezza, bisogno di spostarsi da un luogo all'altro senza sentire di avere una fissa dimora. 

IMMAGINE - Sisi ritratta nel 1860 a Vienna nello studio fotografico di Ludwig Angerer.

Data 1860 il suo primo viaggio che la terrà lontano da Vienna per mesi: era dettato da motivi di salute, soffriva di attacchi di tosse, ufficialmente si voleva fossero dovuti ad una sospetta malattia tubercolare o avessero origini nervose, in realtà erano legati ad una malattia venerea trasmessale dal marito. Ed è qui che il legame con l'imperatore cominciò ad incrinarsi. Sisi, certa di essere stata tradita nonostante lo sforzo che per lei significava stare in quella gabbia dorata che era la Corte di Vienna, comprese che forse valeva la pena seguire la sua sete di libertà. E, amareggiata, scriveva versi colmi di rimpianto . . .

TITANIA
Stanchissima Titania vagando va nel parco,
pensosa le trecce si scioglie 
e compone strofe nuove ripensando ai vecchi tempi, 
quando lei indugiava ad attendere l'amato
che a raggiungerla si affrettava al chiarore della luna - 
«Su questa panchina a lungo sedevamo abbracciati,
mentre dal parterre si udivan suoni e canti;
là partivano razzi, si accendevano fuochi del Bengala,
qui filtrava appena l'argento della luna piena, attraverso la volta di foglie dei castagni,
e ci scambiavamo baci ardenti come la più tiepida notte di luna,
mai pensando al mattino che tutto rende grigio e, ahimè!, più freddo». 
[. . .] 3

(Ricorderete sicuramente che nella finzione poetica l'imperatrice s'identificava con Titania, la regina delle fate nella celebre commedia di William Shakespeare Sogno di una notte di mezza estate. Confronta il post di ~ My little old world ~ "E la mia anima è così piena da scoppiare" - Il Diario Poetico di Elisabetta d'Austria.).
Francesco Giuseppe era noto per essere un uomo integerrimo, rigoroso, totalmente dedito al suo dovere di imperatore; era inoltre profondamente innamorato della bellissima moglie, ma Sisi, anche quando era presente, era molto assente emotivamente per i disagi che soffriva. Probabilmente si era stancato di avere al suo fianco una donna 'ombra'. . .
E mentre la giovane imperatrice cercava di curarsi il fisico e l'anima all'isola di Madeira, il cui clima si sapeva giovevole per i sintomi che lamentava, Francesco Giuseppe giovane, bello, ammirato e corteggiato, si "rallegrava" con la contessa Katarzyna Branicka. 
Membro dell'alta nobiltà polacca e nota collezionista d'arte, Katarzyna era sposata dal 1847 con il conte Adam Józef Potocki. La sua straordinaria bellezza e il suo fascino cosmopolita vennero immortalati anche in celebri dipinti dell'epoca, come il famoso ritratto del 1854 del pittore di Corte Franz Xaver Winterhalter. 

IMMAGINE - La contessa Katarzyna Branicka, ritratto di F.X. Winterhalter, 1854.

Francesco Giuseppe ben conosceva questa nobildonna poiché era una delle "contesse igieniche" che la madre gli aveva "procurato" in gioventù affinché gli insegnassero l'ars amatoria. Durante il lungo soggiorno dell'imperatrice a Madeira, che si protrasse dal 29 novembre 1860 al 28 aprile 1861, egli ebbe con lei solo un'avventura temporanea, non una relazione duratura, ma è la prima che gli storici sono riusciti a documentare con certezza ed è storicamente rilevante: Katarzyna riuscì a rompere la iniziale e proverbiale fedeltà (o formale dedizione) di Francesco Giuseppe verso la moglie, precedendo le sue successive e più celebri relazioni.

Rimane controversa la relazione tra Theresia Pointinger, Reserl, la minuta locandiera del Salzkammergut che il kaiser conobbe nel 1869. Si sarebbero incontrati nella baita dei Pointinger nella regione di Eisenau, alle spalle di Ischl. Lei vi soggiornava d'estate per raggiungere i pascoli alpini, e Francesco Giuseppe vi avrebbe trovato rifugio una sera durante una battuta di caccia nel 1870. Come dimostrato dalle indagini successive alla pubblicazione del libro Die Salzprinzessin. Die geheime Geliebte Kaiser Franz Josephs (tradotto in italiano dalla casa editrice MGS Press con il titolo L'altra dinastia - I quattro figli segreti di Francesco Giuseppe) che sosteneva che questi incontri avessero dato origine a una discendenza, se Reserl e Francesco Giuseppe si incontrarono, lo fecero sporadicamente e senza sviluppare un legame vero, duraturo e costante. Ischl dista più di 250 km da Vienna, e il Kaiser vi si recava con la famiglia solo durante i mesi estivi per festeggiare il suo compleanno, il 18 agosto, data che, dal 1853, coincideva con il suo fidanzamento con Sisi. Tuttavia, resta innegabile la somiglianza tra Franz Josef e Wilhelmine, la quarta figlia di Reserl, nata nel 1877.

IMMAGINE - Wilhelmine Buchwald, quarta figlia femmina di Theresia Pointinger.

Era l'8 maggio del 1875 quando l'imperatore conobbe Anna Nowak: lui aveva 45 anni, lei 15.
Si incontrarono mentre passeggiavano il mattino presto nei giardini di Schönbrunn, da poco aperti al pubblico, in un giorno che la giovane definì, nel suo diario, come il più bello della sua vita. Lui, già sveglio alle 4.00 del mattino, disponeva delle prime ore della giornata per una passeggiata nel parco, come tutti i viennesi ben sapevano; lei, giovane donna maritata, poteva concedersi le prime ore del giorno per uscire di casa senza che nessuno se ne avvedesse. 
Continuarono ad incontrarsi sempre alla stessa ora e nel medesimo luogo per quasi due mesi fino a che, il mattino del 27 giugno, sotto la pioggia, Francesco Giuseppe le diede il primo bacio. 

"Piovve tutto il giorno. Il giorno seguente, domenica, sembrava che la pioggia volesse annegare i viennesi, poiché pioveva sempre più forte, eppure sono andata a Schönbrunn, sono arrivata fradicia fino alle ossa e ho subito incontrato l'imperatore, che era bagnato quanto me. Mi ha colmata di attenzioni e tenerezza e mi ha baciata fino a soffocarmi. Ed io nuotavo in un mare di beatitudine."4

IMMAGINE - Una giovane Anna Nowak.

Divennero fisicamente intimi solamente tre anni dopo. Nonostante la giovanissima età, questa giovane di estrazione sociale modesta, del tutto estranea agli ambienti di Corte, era allora già sposata da un anno con un produttore di seta, un certo Johann Nepomuk Heuduck, uomo maturo e all'apparenza retto, di buona reputazione. Nel giro di pochi mesi dal matrimonio, Heuduck si palesò come un alcolizzato cronico e dedito al gioco d'azzardo. Ragion per cui Anna, nel 1878, riuscirà a divorziare da lui grazie all'intercessione del suo potente amante che gli offrirà in cambio un'enorme somma di denaro. Da questo matrimonio era nata una figlia, Carola, la cui paternità non verrà in alcun modo messa in discussione, cosa che accadrà, invece, con quelli che nasceranno dopo.
Con il permesso dell'imperatore la giovane si risposò con Franz Nahowski, funzionario della società ferroviaria Südbahn, poi dipendente delle Ferrovie dello Stato in Galizia, e andò a vivere con lui a Vienna presso la Schönbrunner Straße, la via che costeggiava il parco ed il castello di Schönbrunn, in un palazzo che aveva un ingresso privato ben nascosto (il che consentiva all'imperatore di raggiungerla ogni qualvolta lo desiderava lontano da occhi indiscreti). Lei sapeva che doveva aspettarlo senza corsetto e già coricata a letto. Il loro era infatti un rapporto strettamente legato al sesso. Anche Nahowski era un accanito bevitore, nonché donnaiolo impenitente, che accettò di buon grado la relazione extraconiugale della moglie, nel frattempo consolidatasi e divenuta di dominio pubblico, anche se portata avanti con estrema discretezza. E, come Heuduck, contraeva puntualmente debiti di gioco che lei rimborsava regolarmente, grazie a donazioni ricevute direttamente dall'imperatore, per un ammontare che raggiunse, negli anni, un totale compreso tra i 100.000 e i 200.000 fiorini. Francesco Giuseppe consentì, così, ad Anna e alla sua famiglia, di vivere, nonostante tutto, in modo decoroso. Anna diede alla luce tre figli, tra cui Helene, nata nel 1885, 

IMMAGINE - Collage che ritrae il kaiser, Helene già adulta ed Anna.

che già al tempo la società viennese riteneva fosse figlia naturale dell'imperatore, la quale prenderà in consegna il diario che la madre curò per tutta la sua vita e che racconta di questa sua relazione. Verrà pubblicato dopo la sua morte.
E se la relazione con la contessa Branicka fece infuriare l'imperatrice, ella apparentemente non reagì a quella ben più importante e duratura con Anna, che del marito fu l'amante per ben 14 anni. Probabilmente, in cuor suo, aveva la certezza che nulla sarebbe tornato come prima.
Risalgono proprio al 1885, anno in cui nacque Helene, questi suoi versi:

Lasciami da sola, lasciami da sola,
Per me è meglio, adesso,
Nulla potrà mai tornare come prima;
Quello che resta è troppo poco per me.

Probabilmente ti ho amato troppo,
Non avrei dovuto dimostrartelo;
Ora mi hai fatto soffrire a morte,
Eppure non serberò rancore.

Mi hai sempre lusingata così dolcemente,
Avevi un obiettivo in mente;
Ma una volta raggiunto, allora potevo andarmene,
Non ero più utile a nulla.

Ora sto davvero pensando di andarmene.
E tornerò mai? -
Quanto mi hai ferito amaramente,
Un giorno le mie canzoni lo racconteranno.5


Francesco Giuseppe e Anna restarono amanti fino al 1889, quando quest'ultima comprese di non essere più l'unica padrona del cuore del kaiser, che stava subendo il fascino di un'altra donna. Era infatti dal 1885 che aveva iniziato a frequentare contemporaneamente l'attrice Katharina Schratt. Le sue rimostranze e la tragica scomparsa di Rodolfo a Mayerling indussero Francesco Giuseppe a troncare questa relazione che lo aveva accompagnato per così tanto tempo. E lo fece in modo del tutto freddo e staccato. Il 14 marzo 1889 Anna venne convocata al palazzo imperiale della Hofburg davanti a un funzionario, il barone von Mayr, direttore del fondo privato di famiglia, che le consegnò una monumentale liquidazione finanziaria: 200.000 fiorini per lei e 50.000 per il sostentamento dei figli. Chiese di vedere l'imperatore, ma non le fu concesso. In cambio del denaro, le fu imposto di firmare di proprio pugno la seguente dichiarazione ufficiale:

"Con la presente confermo di aver ricevuto in data odierna 200.000 fiorini come dono da Sua Maestà l'Imperatore. Giuro inoltre che manterrò il silenzio in ogni momento riguardo agli incontri con Sua Maestà."
—Anna Nahowski, Vienna, March 14, 1889.6

Può sembrare difficile da comprendere, ma fu proprio Sisi a gettare Francesco Giuseppe nelle braccia di Katharina Schratt. 

IMMAGINE - Katharina Schratt nel famoso dipinto di autore sconosciuto datato 1880.

Col tempo i suoi rapporti col marito si erano intiepiditi e si era probabilmente convinta che, avendo questi un’amante e compagna, le sue fughe da Vienna sarebbero state agevolate e i suoi sensi di colpa sopiti.
Durante lo storico e teso incontro tra Francesco Giuseppe e lo zar Alessandro III che si tenne nell'agosto del 1885 a Kremsier (Kroměříž), in Moravia, ora Repubblica Ceca, dopo la celebre rappresentazione teatrale de La Bisbetica Domata che vide la Schratt come brillante e indiscussa protagonista, gli attori vennero invitati alla cena che fece seguito. Fu qui che conobbe l’imperatrice e incontrò l'imperatore per la terza volta. Francesco Giuseppe era rimasto profondamente affascinato dal talento e dal carisma della Schratt sul palcoscenico. Anche lo zar Alessandro III rimase folgorato dall'attrice e iniziò a ricoprirla di sfarzosi regali, provocando una visibile e inedita gelosia da parte del solitamente imperturbabile imperatore d'Austria. Notando l'intenso interesse del marito per l'attrice, Sisi vide nella Schratt la soluzione ideale alla solitudine e all'impasse matrimoniale del consorte e la introdusse ufficialmente nella cerchia familiare più intima come "l'amica fidata" dell'imperatore.
Da quel giorno Elisabetta restò in contatto con lei invitandola, scrivendole, inviandole doni, indubbiamente avvicinandola sempre più al marito.
Nativa di Baden e figlia di un famoso fornaio di Vienna, Katharina aveva iniziato molto presto a recitare presso il teatro della sua città e quindi a Berlino. Dopo un soggiorno a New York nel 1883 entrò a far parte del Hofburgtheater di Vienna. Fu un successo immediato, divenne la più famosa attrice austriaca e conobbe Francesco Giuseppe durante un’udienza che l’imperatore aveva concesso agli attori, senza, però, alcun seguito. Come prima attrice del teatro partecipava a molti eventi mondani e durante il ‘Ballo degli Industriali’ nel 1885 incontrò nuovamente l’imperatore. Questa volta l'imperatore fu colpito da Katharina e parlarono a lungo. Personalmente Elisabetta non ammirava la Schratt, la trovava poco raffinata, grassa, l'esatto contrario delle donne che ammirava, ma sia per far piacere al marito o più probabilmente per interesse personale, continuò a renderla presente a Corte e a favorire l'amicizia fra i due. Non si sa quando siano diventati intimi, ma Francesco Giuseppe le regalò una villa vicina a Schönbrunn, le mise a disposizione Villa Felicitas (chiamata poi Villa Schratt) a Ischl, le pagò i suoi numerosi debiti di gioco e le regalò moltissimi gioielli. Alcuni sostengono che la loro relazione sia stata solo platonica, la cosa però pare, almeno dapprincipio, molto dubbia: nel 1885 Francesco Giuseppe aveva 55 anni e lei 32, difficile pensare che non ci sia stato qualcosa di più. I due furono comunque sempre estremamente riservati, non trapelava nulla del loro rapporto, pur noto a tutti. Non si sa come si sia evoluto dopo la morte di Rodolfo (1889) e neppure dopo quella di Elisabetta (1898), evento che comunque provocò un raffreddamento fra i due. Francesco Giuseppe soffrì enormemente per queste perdite, si chiuse in se stesso, ed è possibile che a questo punto il loro rapporto si sia trasformato davvero in una profonda amicizia. L'imperatore andava a trovarla al mattino alle 7.00, a Villa Schratt, Katharina lo aspettava già sveglia e insieme consumavano la prima colazione: cornetti, ancora caldi, portati dal fornaio, con caffè, burro e marmellata. Coi passare degli anni le consuetudini divennero più strette. Francesco Giuseppe cominciò a recarsi a Villa Schratt anche a mezzogiorno e persino alla sera per delle cene informali.

IMMAGINE - Katharina Schratt e Francesco Giuseppe immortalati durante una delle loro passeggiate.

La Schratt non era nubile: nel 1879 aveva sposato l'aristocratico ungherese Nikolaus Kiss de Ittebe e nel 1880 aveva dato alla luce un figlio, Anton, del quale si sa quasi nulla. Tuttavia, a causa di forti incompatibilità caratteriali e dello stile di vita dispendioso del marito, la coppia si separò già nel 1880, poco dopo la nascita di Anton. Nel 1909 rimase vedova e, non avendo mai divorziato, ereditò il palazzo Königswarter sul Kärntner Ring, di fronte al teatro dell’Opera, dove già abitava dal 1890. L’amicizia con Francesco Giuseppe durò 30 anni, ossia fino al giorno in cui questi si spense, il 21 novembre del 1916.
Rimasta sola Katharina si ritirò nel suo palazzo e si dedicò solo ai suoi animali da compagnia e a opere di carità. Divenne molto religiosa, frequentava giornalmente la chiesa e si recava più volte la settimana sulla tomba degli imperatori nella Cripta dei Cappuccini. 
Cosa dire di Francesco Giuseppe, sposato alla donna osannata come la più bella e regale della sua epoca, della quale era profondamente innamorato, anche se quasi sempre infelice, che ebbe relazioni con donne così diverse, di estrazione borghese e molto poco raffinate? Forse era più interessato ad un rapporto di affetto, un rapporto di semplicità casalinga che gli mancava a Corte. Probabilmente era un uomo che si sentiva profondamente solo. 


Se avete letto questo articolo,
lungo e forse impegnativo, e siete arrivati fin qui,
Vi meritate un augurio speciale, carissimi Lettori e Amici!
Che le Vostre giornate siano semplici,
le Vostre serate riposanti,
e il Vostro cuore traboccante della
gioia che donano i piccoli piaceri.
A presto ❤

Dany



CITAZIONI:

1 - Lasagnini, Daniela, Sofia, l'imperatrice nell'ombra, Trieste, MGS Press, 2025, p. 162.
2 - Lasagnini, Daniela, op. cit., p. 161. 
3 - Elisabetta d'Austria, Diario poetico, Trieste, MGS Press, 1998, p. 65.
4 - Nahowski, Anna und Friedrich Hans (Herausgeber) Saathen: Anna Nahowski und Kaiser Franz Joseph : Aufzeichnungen, Published by Wien; Köln; Graz : Böhlau Verlag, 1986, copertina sul retro.
5 - Elisabetta d'Austria, op. cit., p. 99.


FONTI BIBLIOGRAFICHE:

- Casana, Rinaldo, La tavola dei re. 131 ricette della vecchia Europa, Milano, Rosellina Archinto Editore, 1987.
- Elisabetta d'Austria, Diario poetico, Trieste, MGS Press, 1998.
- Lasagnini, Daniela, Sofia, l'imperatrice nell'ombra, Trieste, MGS Press, 2025.
Nahowski, Anna und Friedrich Hans (Herausgeber) Saathen: Anna Nahowski und Kaiser Franz Joseph : Aufzeichnungen, Published by Wien; Köln; Graz : Böhlau Verlag, 1986.
- Pointiger, Hubert, L'altra dinastia - I quattro figli segreti di Francesco Giuseppe, Trieste, MGS Press, 2008.
- Van Der Kiste, John, Emperor Francis Joseph: Life, Death And the Fall of the Habsburg Empire, Stroud, United Kingdom, Sutton Publishing Ltd., 2005.
- Weissensteiner, Friedrich: "Ich sehne mich sehr nach Dir": Frauen im Leben Kaiser Franz Josephs, Wien : Amaltea Verlag, 2012.


ALTRE FONTI:





LINKING TO:



venerdì 30 gennaio 2026

Mayerling ~ Wednesday, January 30, 1889



On the morning of January 31, 1889, the people of Vienna awoke to a shocking news that chilled the streets, veiled by the icy winter fog, into silence. On every newspaper of the capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire front-paged appears the news of the tragic death of the heir to the throne, Archduke Rudolf, which had occurred the previous morning from a heart failure while he was at his hunting lodge in Mayerling, in the Vienna Woods. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, for Vienna, for the whole Old Continent, for the entire world. As the hours passed, it was discovered that he wasn't alone, he was together with his lover, Marie Vetsera, and they had both died from gunshot wounds.

~ My Little Old World ~ has already dealt with this topic some years ago (click HERE to read the post published on January 30, 2014), but new developments prompt me to retract it. Let's look at what happened in order. At 6:30 that morning, the prince's personal valet, Johann Loschek, hears a shot coming from the room where Rudolf was sleeping. He had spent merrily the previous evening with his usual companions: the inseparable Josef Bratfisch, his personal coachman, a good-natured, singing man with a quick wit; Count Joseph Theodor von Hoyos, his aide-de-camp; and Johann Loschek, of course. Before retiring to his room at about midnight, Rudolf had bidden farewell, asking the latter to wake him at 7:00 a.m. He had to have breakfast and then meet up with the friends who accompanied him whenever a hunting trip was planned: Count Hoyos, already in Mayerling, and his friend and brother-in-law, Prince Philip of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who would be joining them from Vienna that early morning. Hearing the shot, Loschek rushes to the door of his room but finds it bolted from the inside. A first question arises here: why would Rudolf have locked the door from the inside with the latch, thus making it unopenable from the outside, when the night before he had instructed Loscheck to be woken at a very specific time? But let's return to the story of the events of that fateful morning: Loscheck is unable to open the door of Rudolf’s room by himself. It takes the strength of two men and the aid of a lever. He then turns to Hoyos for his help. Once the door is open, the scene that unfolds before their eyes is nothing short of horrifying, so much so that they cannot explain it, much less comprehend it: the small window bangs forcefully in time with the gusts of the icy north breeze caressing the snow that has continued to fall throughout the night; someone has entered through that very window, forcing the handle, and, from there, quickly escaped, leaving the ladder he used to go up and down leaning against the windowsill. The table that was against the wall now appears torn down in the center of the room, in a pool of blood; the other furniture has also been moved and stained with blood. In all honesty, blood is everywhere. Generous splashes distressingly paint the walls, especially the one supporting the bed on which lie the lifeless bodies of Rudolf and his very young lover, the seventeen-year-old Baroness Marie Vetsera, who had followed him there and joined him the night before. There were traces left by large men near the window, and footprints and blood were also visible on the ladder, demonstrating that the prince had not only resisted for a long time before surrendering to death, but had also wounded one of his attackers. But above all, it is on the floor, in the center of the room, that there is a huge pool of it... 

What does it mean? Perhaps Rudolf and Marie didn't die in the bed they were found in? That doesn't really appear to be the scene of a suicide, but, for everyone, it had to become such. Count Hoyos appears to gather courage and offers himself to bring the news of the incident to the emperors. He then sets out on foot to the Baden station where he awaits the first train to the capital. Rudolf's other three companions—Loschek, his coachman Bratfisch, and Prince Philip of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, who had arrived in the meantime and had witnessed his heartbreaking state—ride home and will arrive in Vienna before him. But no one will ever know it. Why does Hoyos act so calmly? He should have ridden as fast as the wind to the Hofburg. Instead, he will be the last to arrive in Vienna. A few hours after hearing the news of the tragedy, the emperor summons four men before him—THE MAYERLING WITNESSES—to buy their silence. They should never have confided to anyone what they had seen in the hunting lodge where Rudolf was still laying on his deathbed. Only one man will not keep his promise, and he will do so because he feels a heavy conscience: it will be Hoyos, complicit in the death of the crown prince who had blindly trusted him. He will confess the incident and his guilt to his brother Ladislaus, and from him the truth about Mayerling will be passed from father to son for several generations. It was never made known. Until the year 2022, when the journalist François Varay published the book Mayerling, la vérite révélée. Un secret de famille dévoilé, for the Parisian publisher Michel de Maule. He was the younger half-brother of the Franco-Austrian journalist Ladislas de Hoyos, known as the man who tracked down Klaus Barbie, the Nazi leader and head of the Gestapo in Paris during the World War II, who had taken refuge in Argentina. From then on, this descendant of Rudolf's aide-de-camp went on gaining fame in France, even hosting the news on the TF1 television channel. Having no children, he orally passed on all his knowledge to the author of this book, and, obviously, what is revealed goes beyond conjecture and represents one piece of a very complex mosaic. Although these are oral evidences, that is not supported by written documents, they're are anyway worth to be considered, for they're quite interesting and make us think.

It was 13 June, 1886, when King Ludwig II of Bavaria, Sissi's forty-one-year-old beloved cousin, also known as "The Fairytale King," was found dead under suspicious circumstances. That case, too, was considered a suicide, or rather, a suicide by drowning—hard to believe, given that he was an excellent swimmer—but the proofs were silted- up. Everything was quickly hushed up. The King of Bavaria, though politically absent, was somewhat of a nuisance to Wilhelm II of Prussia, which aspired to create a confederation of German States. For his chancellor, Count Otto von Bismarck, who was his shadow, or perhaps it's better to say his right hand, it would have been easy to get rid of that man of singular sensitivity and intellect, which were never understood and were interpreted as clear signs of madness. By becoming a patron of Wagner, of whom he was a fervent admirer, he had saved him and his family from absolute poverty. His only concern was spending exorbitant sums to surround himself with castles built in keeping with medieval chivalric ideals married to Norse mythology, legends that his musician friend would adapt into operas to be performed in theaters. Given his lifestyle and the mental illness that, it was said, was afflicting him for so long, few would have believed his passing to be accidental. In everyone's eyes, he was an extremely fragile and vulnerable man. On 13 June, at 6:30 PM, he asked to take a walk with Dr. Bernhard von Gudden, whom his ministers, who thought their king to be incompetent, always wanted him to accompany him. The latter accepted, telling the guards not to follow them. The two men never returned: both were found prone, lifeless, in the waters of Lake Starnberg half an hour before midnight. But there were two others Bismarck had to "eliminate" on the orders of his Kaiser: one of them was none other than Rudolf. Two and a half years had passed since the disappearance of the King of Bavaria, first on the "Iron Chancellor's" list, and perhaps the time had come to organize another plot to eliminate the second one. United with Austria and Russia in the Triple Alliance, Prussia aspired to the most ruthless conservatism, which is why it enjoyed the sympathies of Emperor Franz Joseph, sympathies that were clearly mutual. Wilhelm II, on the other hand, harbored a clear antipathy for Crown Prince Rudolf, also mutual. In IL PICCOLO on January 30, 2019, on the occasion of the publication of the essay Mayerling, Anatomia di un Omicidio, written by Fabio Amodeo and Mario José Cereghino for Mgs Press, the following was stated:

«According to the great Hungarian-born French historian François Fejtö, author of Requiem per un impero defunto (Mondadori), it was actually the German Kaiser Wilhelm II who hatched the plot. Rudolf's sworn enemy was reciprocated: ‘At most, I would gladly meet Wilhelm on a hunting trip to rid the world of him in an elegant manner,’ Rudolf had stated. In short, a state crime, disguised as suicide, in which poor Vetsera was implicated as an inconvenient witness to be eliminated.»

François Fejtö's simple but acute intuition will be confirmed by Count Hoyos's descendant. As we have seen and will see as we read further, Count Hoyos was not only informed of the detailed course of the Mayerling conspiracy, because he was supposed to be part of it; he also knew the details of the entire plot hatched by Bismarck, of which Mayerling was merely an "episodic moment." But how did events really unfold at the hunting lodge located in the Vienna Woods of Niederösterreich (Lower Austria)?

A few days before the tragedy, some witnesses noted, in a chalet near Rudolf's castle in Mayerling, the presence of two men they had never seen before. They spoke with a remarkable Prussian accent and claimed to be hunters, but they were not carrying hunting rifles: they were two of Bismarck's snipers, tasked with eliminating the crown prince of the Danubian Dual Monarchy, one of the pawns Bismarck had placed on his chessboard. Obviously, Rudolf did not surrender to death that fateful morning. This is why the scene that originally presented itself to the first four witnesses was not that of a suicide, but rather that of a fight; and this is why Hoyos himself offered to carry news of the tragedy to the imperial palace: he had been chosen as the Prussian snipers' accomplice. He was the other pawn. At this point, it's easy to understand why he chose the longest route to Vienna: he had to stall. As soon as he left Mayerling, he passed through the neighboring village of Alland. Here he contacted the carpenter and the blacksmith, who had their workshops there, and tasked them with restoring the room where the bodies of Rudolf and the young Marie lay lifeless, prematurely stiffened by the cold that entered through the broken window. They needed time to repair it by replacing the broken handle from the outside and the shattered glass; replace the floorboards in the central part of the room, which were irreparably stained with blood; repair the furniture and put it back in its place.

«It was Bismarck who had the prince assassinated. The Emperor of Austria knew about it, but he could do nothing. The Germans sent spies who killed the prince and his mistress. And it was my ancestor, Count Hoyos, who made things easier for them by later providing false deposition. [...]» (François Varay, Mayerling, la vérite révélée. Un secret de famille dévoilé Éditions Michel de Maule, Paris, 2022, p. 174.).

The author goes so far as to compare the story to a Greek tragedy in which the king sacrifices his own son in the name of the unity of the kingdom (see François Varay, Mayerling, la vérite révélée: Un secret de famille dévoilé, op. cit. p. 183.). Indeed, enriched with these final details, Mayerling's tragedy possesses all the elements of a Greek tragedy.

The third man Bismarck had his eye on was Johann Salvator, Rudolf's great-cousin, a member of the Tuscan branch of the Habsburg-Lorraine family, his confidant and inseparable companion. Upon hearing the tragic news of what had happened at Mayerling, Franz Josef wanted to travel there to see for himself the situation, which, moreover, had already been duly distorted. Perhaps only then did he truly realize how much he had been unable to prevent it. Karl Salvator, his trusted cousin and Johann Salvator's older brother, accompanied him. When the latter learned of the tragedy, which was reported to him in detail by a direct and reliable source, he was inevitably struck by panic: he could not believe that Rudolf had disappeared in such a dramatic way and sensed that soon he too would suffer a similar fate to that of the prince he loved like a brother and with whom he shared liberal and democratic ideals. This was why they were both considered subversive and potential threats to the political stability of the empire, as well as being regarded with suspicion. As soon as he regained control of his actions and his clarity, Johann Salvator approached the emperor, asking for the renunciation of his noble titles and the privileges associated with them, which by right of blood were his, and for a new surname: he wanted to be called Johann Orth. Only by changing his identity would Johann Salvator become untraceable. Not only that, he could finally fulfill his dream of marrying his beloved Ludmilla-Milly Stübel, the  ballet dancer at the Vienna State Opera: he had long been engaged to her, but his rank prevented him from joining her and starting a family. 

Franz Josef granted him everything he had asked, but ordered him never to return to any territory of the empire. For him, this will not be a problem at all: after reaching London and taking the more Anglicized name of John, he got married and sailed for the South Americas. He disappeared by faking a shipwreck (see Daniela Lasagnini, Il figlio americano di Rodolfo D'Asburgo, Mgs Press, Trieste, 2021, chap. IV, John Orth, pp. 53-62).
Returning to Mayerling, I resume the discussion with the phrase that Franz Josef uttered after seeing his son torn apart, a phrase that only now takes on a deeper meaning:

«The truth is far worse than one can imagine!»

After the funeral, he insisted that from then on no one would ever mention Rudolf's name again: it was as if his son had never existed, although I believe not a day went by in his life when he didn't think about what he had allowed to happen. In the 1980s, the former Empress Zita, née Bourbon-Parma, consort of the last Austrian Emperor, Karl I, returned to Vienna several times after some sixty years of exile and widowhood. Determined to shed light on the "Mayerling Events," she gave a series of interviews to the Kronen Zeitung and made statements to Austrian television: she was the only one to know what had happened, both through family lineage and marriage, as Nerio De Carlo also argued in his 2013 essay, Non desiderare la patria d'altri, published by the Trieste-based publishing house Holzwege. She maintained that Rudolf had not committed suicide, but had been the victim of a conspiracy and assassinated. She was the first to speak of a conspiracy, and so far her words correspond to the reality we now know. But going further, she claimed that the perpetrators were Austrian and French secret agents, and that the motive, in the first case, was Rudolf's sympathy for Hungary, in the second the friction that had arisen with Clemenceau's France. Zita likely knew the whole truth, but fearing not to be authorized to make it public, revealed only a part of it. The fact remains that she deserves credit for rehabilitating the crown prince, who had been debased first by the theory of suicide and then by the subsequent theory of a mental illness "invented" by the emperor to obtain permission from the Holy Father to celebrate the funeral rite in church. Indeed, history portrayed him as violent towards himself, depressed by the abuse of narcotics, which he took as painkillers, and alcohol, discouraged by his father's exclusion from political affairs, and bored with life. And that night, De Carlo writes in his essay, according to the former empress,

«As a precaution, the window shutters had to remain closed, and not even the telegraph was allowed to work. There was to be no contact, not even telegraphic, with anyone [...] Baroness Mary Vetsera was staying in another part of the building so as not to be compromised. The Prince's room was carefully locked from the inside.» (Nerio de Carlo, Non desiderare la patria d’altri, Holzwege, Trieste, 2016, p. 50.).

Poor Marie was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but she was useful in giving substance to the double suicide hypothesis: murdered elsewhere and many hours before Rudolf, she was then laid next to him. The former Empress Zita knew that Rudolf did not abandon himself to death and fought long before being impeccably struck by his assassins:

«During this struggle, the fingers of the hand that was spasmodically holding the table, which had become his only protection, were severed. When it fell from his hand, he was brutally killed.» (Ibid.)

In the photograph taken of Rudolf's death body and released to the press, we see him not only with his skull wrapped in bandages, but also with his hands bandaged, so that his fingers are not visible. This explains the reason for this bandage, which even Gisella, the deceased's younger sister, could not explain herself. And it also explains why the table lay immersed in a pool of blood: it was the blood that had seeped from his brutally severed fingers, and likely from the blow that took his life. It is likely that Rudolf was mortally wounded there, and then laid on the bed, already lifeless. Even the former Emperor Karl I, while he was alive, worked to shed light on this affair, which, after decades, continued to be shrouded in mystery, and sought concrete evidence. Therefore, Zita also felt compelled to declare that:

«Karl I knew that there must be a telegram in the Vatican explaining the true causes of the heir to the throne's death. The religious authorities had, in fact, prohibited a religious burial as soon as news of the alleged suicide leaked. From his Swiss exile, Karl I attempted to obtain a copy of that clarifying telegram sent to the Holy Father. The response was that the document had indeed existed, but that the newly formed Austrian Republican Government had requested the original be returned immediately after the proclamation of the Republic. The original was returned without a copy being made.» (Nerio de Carlo, Non desiderare la patria d'altri, op. cit., p. 56.).

Hard to believe when the evidence of all the secrets that history has handed down to us are jealously guarded within the walls of the Vatican palaces…


CARRYING ARCHDUKE RUDOLF'S COFFIN IN MAYERLING.



SOURCES:

Fabio Amodeo, Mario José Cereghino, Mayerling, Anatomia di un Omicidio, Mgs Press, Trieste, 2019.

François Varay, Mayerling, la vérite révélée. Un secret de famille dévoilé, Michel de Maule, Paris, 2022. 

Daniela Lasagnini, Il figlio americano di Rodolfo D'Asburgo, Mgs Press, Trieste, 2021.

Nerio de Carlo, Non desiderare la patria d’altri, Holzwege, Trieste, 2013.


I heartily thank You for following me in this so long reading, 
Dearest Readers, 
and I hope You've found it to be interesting!
See you soon ❤


Dany