Death And The Maiden

61

The Emperor and the lord marshal were seated at the conference-room table. A sudden draught made the candles flicker, and the unsteady light created a general illusion of movement. The bust of Field Marshal Radetzky seemed to leap forward. Franz-Josef was unnerved by the phenomenon. He frowned, drew on his cigar, and fell into a state of meditative contemplation.

They had been discussing the mayor — a subject which reliably lowered the emperor’s spirits. Franz-Josef’s humiliation at the 1896 Corpus Christi procession still haunted him: the crowd, applauding Lueger and slighting their Habsburg sovereign.

Emperor of Austria, Apostolic King of Hungary, King of Jerusalem, King of Bohemia …

Franz-Josef tacitly enumerated his many titles, until he came to Grand Voyvoce of Serbia. He felt an acid burn in his chest and the pain made him grip the arm of his chair. Gradually the discomfort subsided and he continued smoking.

Corpus Christi.

This year’s procession was even worse.

Back in May he had been fulfilling his obligation to God and the people, walking beside the Cardinal Archbishop, when Count Goluchowski had appeared at his side. It was immediately obvious that the man was distressed. ‘Grave news from Serbia, Your Majesty — a group of rebel officers have brutally murderered King Alexander andthe Queen.’ Franz-Josef had straightened his back and asked, ‘Is there anything we can do?’ He had hoped that Goluchowski would answer in the affirmative, that he would disclose a clever response strategy. Instead, the minister had adopted a regretful expression and replied, weakly, ‘Nothing, Your Majesty.’ Even though the sun was shining and Franz-Josef had — up until that point — felt hot in his uniform, a chill seemed to settle around his shoulders. Where would it all end? He had thanked the minister and continued walking.

The emperor exhaled and stared in an unfocused way through the dissipating cigar smoke.

‘One must suppose that, once again, the mayor will be re-elected.’

‘Sadly, Your Majesty, that is the outcome we must anticipate.’ The lord marshal made an apologetic gesture.

‘I take it that the delicate matter you have previously referred to has now been resolved?’

Their speech became more elliptical.

‘An unforeseen difficulty did arise, Your Majesty, but it was promptly dealt with by my office.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Franz-Josef stubbed out his cigar and pulled at his mutton-chop whiskers. ‘Even so …’

The lord marshal detected the emperor’s unease.

‘Your Majesty?’

‘I think, perhaps, we should take measures to ensure that the waters remain untroubled. Loyalty should be rewarded.’

‘Indeed, Your Majesty.’

‘One wouldn’t want…’ The emperor did not feel it was necessary to be explicit.

‘Of course, Your Majesty.’

‘Well then,’ said the emperor, indicating with a change of intonation that, as far as he was concerned, their business was concluded. The lord marshal placed some signed documents in his leather briefcase, bowed, and crossed the floor.

‘Good evening, Your Majesty.’

The emperor responded with a barely perceptible nod of his head.

As the doors closed Franz-Josef lit another cigar. It was his custom to be in bed by eight or nine, but he was disinclined to retire. He suspected that he was going to have one of his bad dreams again. Flames, breaking glass, the Hofburg stormed by agitators. The emperor looked at the bust of Radetzky.

‘Is there anything we can do?’ he said aloud.

The silence that followed was enough to bring a tear to the old man’s eye.