documents, the two men lowered their voices and leaned towards each other like conspirators. The conversation that followed was elliptical and imprecise. An eavesdropper might have concluded that they were speaking in code.
‘And what did the priest say?’
‘Everything is in order, Your Majesty.’
‘Will he fulfil his obligation?’
‘There is no reason to doubt his loyalty.’
‘Good.’
The emperor was looking more tired than usual. He sat back in his chair and pulled at his mutton-chop whiskers. The lord marshal noticed that the old man was gazing at a white marble bust of Field Marshal Radetzky – a pale visage, hovering in the shadows like a ghostly revenant. Franz-Josef’s hand stopped moving.
It was not for the lord marshal to disturb the monarch’s privatethoughts. Being a fastidious observer of court protocol, he never spoke unless spoken to. Minutes passed before the emperor finally stirred. ‘Do dreams have meaning?’
‘I believe, Your Majesty,’ answered the lord marshal, ‘that there are some doctors who interpret dreams. It is a new practice among psychiatrists.’
The emperor sighed.
‘I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately, unpleasant dreams. They always begin here, in the Hofburg, and involve some kind of civil disturbance outside.’ He described his unsettling vision: agitators in Michaelerplatz, the cobbles awash with fire. As he spoke, he kept his gaze fixed on the likeness of Radetzky. The field marshal’s sabre was mounted on the plinth which supported the bust, and the soft lambency of the candles played along its curved edge. When the emperor finished his description, he turned to face the lord marshal and asked, ‘Is there any hope, concerning the election?’
The lord marshal shook his head.
When Lueger had first been elected the emperor had vetoed his appointment. In fact, he had done this not once but three times. The city council had been dissolved and Franz-Josef had ruled Vienna through a board of special commissioners. He had hoped that the people would eventually recognise the folly of installing a demagogue in the town hall. But it wasn’t to be. During the Corpus Christi procession of 1896 Lueger had received more applause than the emperor himself. Reluctantly, Franz-Josef conceded defeat and sanctioned Lueger’s fourth victory. It was a concession that had cost him dearly, a compromise too far.
The lord marshal registered the emperor’s glum expression and felt obliged to lift his spirits.
‘There is some good news, Your Majesty.’
‘Concerning the mayor?’
‘Intelligence that, if managed correctly, has considerable potential for …’ the lord marshal chose his word carefully, ‘advantage.’
More talk followed, indirect and euphemistic.
The emperor stood and crossed the floor to inspect a clock, suspended on a chain within a lyre-shaped case with windows. He touched the gilt shell mounted on its summit.
‘I will leave the matter in your capable hands, Lord Marshal,’ said the emperor. ‘But remember, time marches on.’
He tapped the glass and indicated the clock face to underscore his exhortation.
The interview was now over.
Gathering the signed documents together, the lord marshal placed them in a leather briefcase. He rose, bowed, and said: ‘Very good, Your Majesty.’
15
‘I WOULD LIKE TO know more of Fräulein Rosenkrantz’s medical history,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘and I am particularly interested in those illnesses that she might have suffered from during the spring and summer months.’
‘We have already discussed all that could possibly be relevant,’ said Doctor Engelberg testily.
‘Even so,’ said Rheinhardt.
Engelberg pulled open the drawer of his cabinet and selected a green folder. Returning to his seat, he said, ‘What was it you wanted, illnesses in the spring and summer months?’
‘That is correct.’
The doctor scrutinised his notes.
‘She had a stomach complaint. But nothing else in March and
‘And what did the priest say?’
‘Everything is in order, Your Majesty.’
‘Will he fulfil his obligation?’
‘There is no reason to doubt his loyalty.’
‘Good.’
The emperor was looking more tired than usual. He sat back in his chair and pulled at his mutton-chop whiskers. The lord marshal noticed that the old man was gazing at a white marble bust of Field Marshal Radetzky – a pale visage, hovering in the shadows like a ghostly revenant. Franz-Josef’s hand stopped moving.
It was not for the lord marshal to disturb the monarch’s privatethoughts. Being a fastidious observer of court protocol, he never spoke unless spoken to. Minutes passed before the emperor finally stirred. ‘Do dreams have meaning?’
‘I believe, Your Majesty,’ answered the lord marshal, ‘that there are some doctors who interpret dreams. It is a new practice among psychiatrists.’
The emperor sighed.
‘I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately, unpleasant dreams. They always begin here, in the Hofburg, and involve some kind of civil disturbance outside.’ He described his unsettling vision: agitators in Michaelerplatz, the cobbles awash with fire. As he spoke, he kept his gaze fixed on the likeness of Radetzky. The field marshal’s sabre was mounted on the plinth which supported the bust, and the soft lambency of the candles played along its curved edge. When the emperor finished his description, he turned to face the lord marshal and asked, ‘Is there any hope, concerning the election?’
The lord marshal shook his head.
When Lueger had first been elected the emperor had vetoed his appointment. In fact, he had done this not once but three times. The city council had been dissolved and Franz-Josef had ruled Vienna through a board of special commissioners. He had hoped that the people would eventually recognise the folly of installing a demagogue in the town hall. But it wasn’t to be. During the Corpus Christi procession of 1896 Lueger had received more applause than the emperor himself. Reluctantly, Franz-Josef conceded defeat and sanctioned Lueger’s fourth victory. It was a concession that had cost him dearly, a compromise too far.
The lord marshal registered the emperor’s glum expression and felt obliged to lift his spirits.
‘There is some good news, Your Majesty.’
‘Concerning the mayor?’
‘Intelligence that, if managed correctly, has considerable potential for …’ the lord marshal chose his word carefully, ‘advantage.’
More talk followed, indirect and euphemistic.
The emperor stood and crossed the floor to inspect a clock, suspended on a chain within a lyre-shaped case with windows. He touched the gilt shell mounted on its summit.
‘I will leave the matter in your capable hands, Lord Marshal,’ said the emperor. ‘But remember, time marches on.’
He tapped the glass and indicated the clock face to underscore his exhortation.
The interview was now over.
Gathering the signed documents together, the lord marshal placed them in a leather briefcase. He rose, bowed, and said: ‘Very good, Your Majesty.’
15
‘I WOULD LIKE TO know more of Fräulein Rosenkrantz’s medical history,’ said Rheinhardt, ‘and I am particularly interested in those illnesses that she might have suffered from during the spring and summer months.’
‘We have already discussed all that could possibly be relevant,’ said Doctor Engelberg testily.
‘Even so,’ said Rheinhardt.
Engelberg pulled open the drawer of his cabinet and selected a green folder. Returning to his seat, he said, ‘What was it you wanted, illnesses in the spring and summer months?’
‘That is correct.’
The doctor scrutinised his notes.
‘She had a stomach complaint. But nothing else in March and
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