Chapter 1: Overture (1905)

I recognized where I must be as soon as I woke up. A recently-completed building (I could sense damp plaster, smell fresh paint; the bed-linen hadn’t been laundered frequently); and a modern one. The room’s door handle and ceiling moldings told me that. My stupid step-mother must have had me installed here. Like a piece of furniture you were ashamed to put in a public room.

Getting out of bed, I tried the door, finding it locked ... or at least hard to open. There was a narrower door, which proved to open to a WC, which I used. My penis hurt while I did that. I washed my face and neck at the sink. My nose hurt when I rubbed it. There were several towels, all marked ‘Sanatorium Purkersdorf’. The new creation of Josef Hoffmann! So I was in the northwestern suburbs of Vienna! Actually in the Vienna Woods.

There was a soft knock and the door opened.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” a woman said.

“Good morning. I presume my detestable step-mother deposited me here.”

“I understand that the Infanta Maria Theresa accompanied you yesterday, sir.”

“She is no longer the Infanta, woman! She is an Archduchess. And what ruse did the Portuguese witch offer? What fol-de-rol excuse am I suffering from?”

The woman came a step further into the room. “The file I was given states that you have delusions brought on by a fever you suffered while hunting fowl in the marshes of the Black Sea, sir.”

“I have never hunted waterfowl in my life! Nor have I been in the Danubian marshes! I have been in Egypt! My father died of typhoid after a trip to the Jordan and to Egypt; can she not distinguish her stepson from her deceased husband? What else confines me here?”

“You are here to take the waters, rest and recover, sir.”

“And my clothes?”

“In the garderobe, sir.” She gestured.

“And can I be shaven?”

“Of course, sir. I will send a man. And would you like some breakfast?”

“Rolls. Butter. Coffee.”

“Marmalade?”

“Apricot or raspberry, thank you.”

The garderobe did, indeed contain some of my clothes. I laid out a shirt and trousers (someone had buttoned on braces, I noted) when there was another knock. “Herein!” I called out and a young waitress wheeled in a serving cart with breakfast.

“Ist alles in Ordnung, Hoheit?” she mumbled.

“Ja, danke.”

She withdrew. I ate and drank sitting on the edge of the bed. Not exactly luxury, but it would do. I had two rolls and was on my second cup of (excellent) coffee when there was another knock. It was the barber.

“You wish to be shaved?”

“Yes. But be careful around my mustache.”

“Pardon me, but I will need them to fetch an appropriate chair.”

“I would not want you climbing on my bed, dolt!”

He walked to the door, spoke with someone and came back.

“Sorry, your Highness. I had not been informed who you were, merely that there was a – uh – client to be shaved.”

“No problem. I am an involuntary captive of my step-mother, a Bavarian-born Portuguese sow.”

There was another knock. Two men carried in a padded, wooden chair with a headrest. One of them wheeled off the serving cart.

“If your Highness would be so kind...”

“Enough! Your name?”

“Albin, sir.”

“I’m no free bird, Albin. Nor am I mad.”

“No, sir.”

“So. I will sit there and you will scrape my cheeks and chin and attempt not to draw any Imperial blood.”

“If you please. I will do my best.”

He did a fine job. He also helped me dress, and locating my long coat and a black kepi.

“May I walk about?”

“I would think so, sir. I’ll ask.” He went to the door and asked someone. “You may stroll about,” he reported.

“Spazieren, aber nicht weglaufen,” [Stroll but not abscond] I said.

“Exactly.”

“You are Viennese?”

“Aus Leopoldstadt, Herr.”

“I live there, too.”

“On a somewhat more lavish scale, Herr.”

There was some change in one of my pockets. I gave Albin a 10 franc piece.

“That’s not necessary, sir.”

“And if I order you to accept?”

“Thank you very much, sir. I am in your debt.”

“On the contrary.” Albin gathered his razors and scissors and left, bowing his head at the door. My Aunt Sisi, always emphasized the importance of treating those below well, the nobility can be ignored.

I knocked on the door.

“Sir?”

“I wish to walk outdoors. You have walks? Gardens?”

“Yes, Sir. This way sir.”

Though it was late summer, it was brisk. The turf was browning and there were leaves on trees. I could hear birdsong. I walked paths among shrubbery and flowerbeds for a while. I passed a bench on which a young woman was sitting and tipped my kepi. About a quarter-hour later, I passed the bench again. She was still there.

“May I sit here?”

She made no response, but moved further to an end. I sat, but made no move. I have had much experience with shy maidens. One rash move and the bird flees.

“It is lovely here in the sun on a fine day.” Nothing. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Otto Franz Joseph, Archduke Otto.” Still nothing. “I came here but yesterday. Have you been here long?” I remained, silent for a few minutes, then stood up. “With your permission.” I bowed my head and walked back to the Sanatorium.

“There’s a strange woman in the garden,” I said to an older sister at the entryway. “I greeted her, but she did not respond.”

“Yes. Poor thing. She lost a baby.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

There was a large Klimt in the hall. Lovely. Jugendstil, like the building.

Strange. Many of my friends had babies. My Saxon mare Maria Josepha had borne Karl and Max. And the vedette, actress, Marie Schleinzer, bore me Alfred and Hildegard. She was married to that old courtier ... who was it? ... ah, yes! The Edler von Hortenau! The lowest rank. And now my Louise. She had a boy and a girl. Six children! They must cost me a fortune! Louise Robinson, singer. She might come and visit ... if she knew. I might send her a note. That’s all Johann Salvator’s fault, I suppose. His Milli was a dancer at the Hof-Oper. So, I met theatre folk early on. No, not Johann Salvator. Johann Orth. One of Rudolf’s cousins ... and mine.

I returned to my room. A different maid was in attendance and I permitted her to take my coat and hat and help me with my boots.

“Thank you,” I said.

“My pleasure, Your Highness.”

“I saw the silent woman in the gardens.”

“Yes.”

“I was told that she had lost a baby.”

“Yes. She went into shock and began to hemorrhage. They stopped the bleeding and removed the foetus. But she hasn’t recovered. The doctors say she is unlikely to do so. She is now resident here in this sanatorium. She sits in her room or in the gardens and talks to herself all day. She sometimes becomes lucid and has been known to talk about the children she is going to have. Her mind appears to be in a time before she begot the child. It is very sad.”