My own story . delicate constitution. The Em-press seemed as though she belonged to anotherworld, and was always waiting to hold communewith some one invisible; she was highly strung,and it is said that once when she went to the per-formance of a new opera by Gluck, one of thescenes brought back so forcibly her own tragiclove-story that she fainted, and for some time itseemed doubtful whether she would recover. Three years passed, and when the anniversaryof her lovers death came round, she seemedabsolutely transfigured with joy, and becameonce more a laughing, happy girl. That nightexquisitely
My own story . delicate constitution. The Em-press seemed as though she belonged to anotherworld, and was always waiting to hold communewith some one invisible; she was highly strung,and it is said that once when she went to the per-formance of a new opera by Gluck, one of thescenes brought back so forcibly her own tragiclove-story that she fainted, and for some time itseemed doubtful whether she would recover. Three years passed, and when the anniversaryof her lovers death came round, she seemedabsolutely transfigured with joy, and becameonce more a laughing, happy girl. That nightexquisitely dressed, radiant and charming, shesupped with the Emperor in their private apart-ments at Schonbrunn. AU at once, without aword, she rose from the table, and made herway into the gardens, walking quickly; justas she was about to cross the parterre, shesuddenly stopped, stretched out her arms as ifin welcome, and fell dead. The story goes that the Empress lookedangelically lovely and peaceful in her rose-filled. Photo by Max Kohler, Dresden. MY THREE BOYS: LEFT TO RIGHT, lUHY, ERNI, TIA. MAY, 1909. 333 MY OWN STORY 335 coffin, and it is said that no one knew whencethe flowers came. The Emperor was inconsola-ble at her loss; but, as the child soon followedits mother, he married again for reasons ofState. That marriage, also, was celebrated byproxy, but Joseph II. never lived with hissecond wife, whose neck and arms were coveredwith spots due to a skin disease, and he waswont to say that no other woman existed whocould compare with sweet Isabella of Parma. I fear I have digressed widely by recountingso much gossip about the Habsburgs, and Imust now proceed with my own story. In December, 1904, I took a villa at SanDomenico on the Fiesolean Hills, as I thoughtthe air and situation would prove beneficial todelicate little Monica. I was obsessed with adesire to see my children again; they were neverout of my thoughts, and at last I felt I couldendure the separation no longer. I saw
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