Europe's Darkest Royal Tragedy Cleared Up At Last.

New York Times 100 years ago today, May 4, 1913:
Baroness Mary Vetsera. One of the Victims of the Mysterious Meyerling Tragedy, Never Explained Until Now.Countess Marie Larisch Tells Inside Story of Death of Crown Prince Rudolph of Austria and of Baroness Mary Vetsera.
    AT last the inside story of the tragedy at Meyerling has been revealed. The mystery of the deaths of the Crown Prince Rudolph of Austria and the Baroness Mary Vetsera, which for nearly a quarter of a century has produced an endless crop of alleged solutions, has been bared by one of the actors in the intrigue which led up to it.
    It is the Countess Marie Larisch, niece of the murdered Empress Elizabeth of Austria and cousin of the Prince, who now breaks silence, to tear away the veil from the mystery. She was the confidante of the heir to the throne and his unfortunate sweetheart, and the only parson who knew of and participated in every step that led up to the tragedy.
    Incidental to her story she solves the mystery of the disappearance of the Archduke John, who, under the name of "John Orth," abandoned his royal connections and whose whereabouts afterward never became known. According to her, it was directly connected with the Meyerling tragedy.
    Her revelation is astounding, for she charges that Rudolph and John were engaged in a conspiracy to disrupt the Austro-Hungarian Empire by making Rudolph King of Hungary, and this plot was in danger of discovery when the chief plotter, the heir of Francis Joseph, shot himself and killed his sweetheart. Immediately afterward John vanished after a secret interview with the Countess Larisch, in which he told her that it was time for him to "die without dying."
    It was on a January day in 1889 when the bodies of the Crown Prince and Mary Vetsera were found in the shooting lodge at Meyerling, and from that day to this accounting for the tragedy has been a favorite employment of European writers. Of the innumerable explanations that have been put forward, the most popular has been that Mary's uncles, discovering the relations between her and Rudolph, followed them to the lodge and killed both. Another, nearly as popular, has been that the Prince had been compelled to break off the affair, that Mary besought a last interview and then killed him and herself.
    But the Countess Larisch disposes of all such stories. Rudolph killed Mary and then shot himself after running away with her. The Countess was herself an involuntary participant in the elopement.
    Her story is to be published under the title of "My Past" by G. P. Putnam's Sons. Her reason for writing it is given in these words:
    Hitherto I have not refuted the slanders circulated about me, as I deemed them unworthy of notice. But as one of my sons shot himself on account of what he read in one of the lying books, and my daughters' lives have been embittered by hearing so much that is untrue regarding the part I played in the drama, I have made up my mind to speak after a silence of twenty-four years and acquaint the world with the truth of what really happened before and after the tragedy of Meyerling.

Unflattering Portrait of Rudolph.
    The book reveals many hidden pages in the Court life at Vienna, but, interesting as these are, they are all overshadowed by the interest which attaches to the chapters dealing with the crime at the shooting lodge. Rudolph, her cousin, she paints with an unsparing hand. When, as a child of 14, she first met him, here is the impression he made upon her:
    The Crown Prince, sat next to me and commenced to tease me unmercifully, and, boy though he then was in years, he seemed to possess the intelligence of a man. He was handsome, and for some time I racked my brains to remember what wild animal he recalled to me, for he had a curious look, not altogether human. Then, I knew — Rudolph reminded me of a wolf; his eyes blazed green at times, and he seemed almost ready to spring.
    Later on, when she had grown to womanhood, she describes the Crown Prince as having "rapidly developed all the fascination, cleverness, and degeneracy which unfortunately distinguish so many of the male members of the House of Hapsburg." Mary Vetsera was her close personal friend. In 1888, a few months before her death, Mary had fallen in love with Rudolph; according to the Countess, the initiative in the affair was the girl's. She wrote the Prince a love letter, although she had never met him and had only worshipped him from afar, and he responded. Mary was then only 18.

    The image of Mary Vetsera is unfading in my remembrance, and I have only to close my eyes to see her in all the freshness of her beauty. She was not tall, and her supple figure and well-developed bust made her look older than her 18 years. Her complexion was lovely and her red, voluptuous mouth parted over sharp little white teeth, which I used to call her "mouse teeth." Mary's nose was slightly retroussé, but it gave an added piquancy to her lovely face, and I have never seen such beautiful eyes as she possessed — deep blue, with curling lashes set off by finely marked eyebrows. Her dark brown hair was very long, she had nice hands and feet, and she walked with a seductive, swaying grace that was irresistible.

    What a strange creature Mary was! She was a coquette by instinct, unconsciously unmoral in her tendencies, almost Oriental in her sensuous ideas, but withal so sweet and lovable that she was a favorite with every one. She was amorous by nature, and her Egyptian episode had transformed her from a girl into a woman who already knew the meaning of passion.
    Mary's mind had unfortunately been corrupted by improper books, which her maid Agnes had surreptitiously procured for her, and many of her ideas of love and lovers were derived from immoral and highly colored French novels.

Progress of the Intrigue.
    The Countess warned Mary, saying: "My dear child, wolves like Rudolph only eat up little lambs like you. I assure you he is not really the hero you imagine him to be, but a rather heartless and fast man." But Mary would not believe it and rushed to her fate.
    One of the stolen interviews between the lovers, at which the Countess assisted — involuntarily, according to her own story, for she alleges that she had no idea for what purpose she was invited to accompany Mary out walking — was discovered by a man named von Pechy, described as "one of the worst gossips about the Court," and the scandal was started. Mary cared nothing, being entirely wrapped up in her love and having anyhow a cynical indifference to such things. To the Countess she boasted that the Crown Princess, Rudolph's wife, knew that Mary was her rival.
    Rudolph, however, found the situation more alarming than she did, and came to the Countess for help. It was in this interview that he dropped his first hint of the treasonable scheme he and John were hatching:

    "Listen: This intrigue would not matter so much if it did not clash with far more important things. I cannot waste my time on love, because there are urgent matters which I dare not disregard. You know how badly Stephanie and I get on; you know that my father is unsympathetic, and I need not remind you how little my mother loves me. Altogether, I'm in a bad way. * * *"
    Rudolph released my hand and walked up and down the room, every movement betraying his agitation. "Oh, I'm tired of life! I only wish I had the courage and independence of John of Tuscany; he is a free spirit anyhow, who has escaped the mire of Court intrigue."
    At his request the Countess consented to try to get the Baroness to go away with her to the Riviera, but before anything could be done Mary's imprudence culminated in a scene which made the scandal public. It happened at a ball at the German Embassy.

    The ball was a brilliant spectacle, and the Imperial family were present when the Vetseras arrived. Mary was the cynosure of all eyes, chiefly on account of her beauty, but also because the seeds sown by Herr von Pechy's gossip were beginning to bear fruit. Rudolph's name was coupled with hers, and several well-known women eyed Mary with disapproving glances. This treatment stung the already overwrought girl into madness, and when the Imperial guests moved about the ballroom and spoke to their various acquaintances Mary was burning to take her revenge. She smiled when Rudolph exchanged a few words with her, but as the Crown Princess passed she looked Stephanie full in the face and did not acknowledge her presence. The eyes of the two women met, and I am told that they looked for all the world like tigers ready to spring.
    The onlookers were stupefied, and just as everybody wondered what would happen next Mary stamped her foot once — twice — and then flung her head back with a movement of supreme contempt.

    This episode alarmed the Countess, who knew that if the Empress Elizabeth heard the part she had played she would never forgive her. She determined to notify Rudolph that she would have nothing more to do with the affair, but before she could do so he came to see her. It was the day after the ball. The Prince was frightfully agitated, and told her, "Marie, if you don't help me everything is lost."
    Another Court gossip had revealed to Mary's mother that morning her secret meetings with the Prince, and Mary was kept a prisoner in her room. "She is locked in. Only you can get her out. I want you to bring Mary to me at the Hofburg."
    The Countess was staggered. She abruptly refused to do anything of the kind, and Rudolph saw it was necessary to tell her more than he had yet revealed. "I assure you," he said, "it is necessary for me to see Mary. Besides, I myself am in great danger." He swore her to secrecy, and then took from his pocket a steel casket sewn up in cloth.
    "Listen, Marie; you must take this box and put it away in a safe place at once. It is imperative that it should not be found in my possession, for at any moment the Emperor may order my personal belongings to be seized."
    "How long am I to keep this dreadful thing in my possession?"
    "Until I ask for it," answered Rudolph, "or until some one else asks for it. If it should come to that," he added, gravely, "you must know how to act. There is one person who knows the secret of this casket, and he alone has the right (falling me) to ask for its return."
    "His name?"
    "Never mind his name. You can deliver it to the person who can tell you four letters. Write them down now and repeat them after me. Listen," and the Crown Prince slowly uttered the letters "R.I.U.O."
    I asked: "Does the trouble concern your dissensions with Stephanie?"
    Rudolph laughed. "Stephanie! Oh, dear me, no; she's merely a domestic trouble. The danger which menaces me is political!"
    I was now thoroughly alarmed, for I never suspected that the Crown Prince would be so mad as to embroil himself in dangerous political intrigues.
    "Oh," I said, "I implore you, Rudolph, lose no time. Confide in the Empress, or — better still — go to the Emperor."
    "You fool!" he exclaimed; then, more gently, "I don't mean that, Marie. Listen. If I were to confide in the Emperor I should sign my own death warrant." My heart nearly stopped beating at this dreadful disclosure, and I could say nothing.

    The Countess succeeded in getting permission for Mary to go out with her, and took her by a private way, of which Rudolph had informed her, to his apartments. Rudolph asked her to wait for ten minutes while he and Mary had a little talk in private. At the end of the ten minutes he returned, but alone, and told the horrified Countess that Mary was gone and that she would have to return without her and explain her disappearance as best she could.
    The Countess threatened to go straight to the Empress, and when Rudolph reminded her that the doors were locked she rushed to the window and screamed for help.

    The Prince violently put his hand over my mouth and dragged me back. "Do you want me to hurt you?" he asked with dreadful meaning in his voice.
    "Oh, you dishonorable man," I panted, "you are lost to all shame. I won't be silent, I will tell the Empress, let me go — you must — you shall."
    "Unless you swear to be quiet, I'll kill you," hissed Rudolph. He released my wrists, which he held as in a vise, and without another word he opened a drawer in his writing table and took from it a little black revolver. He came to where I stood.
    "Do you want me to shoot you?" He caught me by the throat and pressed the weapon against my forehead.

    At last he succeeded in getting her to agree, and she went to the Vetseras and told them that Mary had run away. Of course, they knew at once that the Crown Prince must have instigated the flight, and a search was instituted for him. He was reported first to be shooting at Luxemburg, and then reported at Alland. In the middle of the search the Countess was sent for by her husband to go to him at Pardubitz.
    On the morning of Jan. 31 her maid awoke her with the news that the Prince had been killed — not at Alland or Luxemburg, but at Meyerling. He was reported to have been accidentally shot while hunting. She went at once to Vienna, and when she arrived at the Grand Hotel she "was surprised to find that people stared and whispered as I passed, for I was not then aware that the thousand tongues of slander had already begun to busy themselves concerning me."
    Here she learned, to her amazement, that the Vetsera Palace had been closed and that the Prince was now said to have been killed in the forest, but not by accident. She was not long left in ignorance of the real nature of the tragedy, for she immediately received a visit from her "old friend and physician Dr. Wiederhofer," who had broken the news to the Empress. It was he who first told her that Mary Vetsera, too, was dead.
    The secret police had discovered that it was she who took Mary to the Hofburg, and the Empress wished to know if the Crown Prince had been himself at that interview. When the Countess told him, the doctor gave her this account of the tragedy:

What Happened at Meyerling.
    "The Crown Prince wrote to Laxenberg, it appears," said the doctor, "and told his wife he was going for three days' shooting to Meyerling, but that he would return for the family dinner on Jan. 30. There was consequently no anxiety felt about his movements, and the Prince left Vienna two hours after Mary Vetsera, who was driven to the shooting lodge by Bratfish. The unhappy girl went in unnoticed by the private entrance, and Loschek took her to the little dressing room in the apartments which the Crown Prince occupied. She remained that day and night alone with her lover, and on the 29th some of Rudolph's friends came for the shooting."
    "Was Philip of Coburg among them?"
    "He was. Philip," continued Dr. Wiederhofer, "knew that a woman was at Meyerling (it was no rare event) because on such occasions Rudolph never sat long at dinner. The Crown Prince, who pleaded a bad cold, did not go out with the guns, and that evening he sat at table with his throat muffled in a silk handkerchief.
    "Supper was served to the Prince and Mary in their apartments, and Loschek received instructions to awaken his master at 7 o'clock the next morning.
    "Downstairs a drunken orgy prevailed, but those two sinful souls spent their last night undisturbed."
    "Oh, for pity's sake be brief, I cannot bear it!" I sobbed.
    "You must hear everything," replied my friend. "Loschek came to waken his master at 7 o'clock, and the Crown Prince told him to return in half an hour. He did so, but as there was no answer to his repeated knocking he became alarmed and sent for Count Hoyos, who was at breakfast."
    "And — what happened?"
    "They broke open the door, and I hope they may never see such a sight again. There was blood everywhere. It stained the pillows, it bespattered the walls, and it had flowed in a sluggish stream from the bed to the floor, where it had made a horrible pool. Rudolph lay on his side, his hand still holding the revolver, and the top of his head was almost completely shattered.
    "The bed bulged a little and Count Hoyos lifted the coverings. Mary Vetsera lay under them — dead; she, too, had been shot in the head.
    "Count Hoyos told Loschek to take the body of the girl into another room and to lock all the doors of the death chamber. The Count then went downstairs and informed the shooters that the Crown Prince had been suddenly taken ill, and that he must leave for Vienna at once to acquaint the Emperor, and to bring a doctor bark to Meyerling. He dispatched a telegram to me and I arrived at the Hofburg almost at the same time as he did.
    "We saw the Empress first; she had just finished her gymnastics. * * * If was dreadful to find her SO unprepared.
    " The Empress seemed like a woman suddenly turned to stone. She shed no tears; all she said was, 'How can we tell the Emperor?'
    "I found strength to say, 'You must tell him, your Majesty — you alone can.' The Empress stared at me almost without comprehension. Then she started, and shivered a little. 'Well, let us go,' she said.
    "We walked with the Empress to the Emperor's apartments and waited outside. I do not know what passed between the bereaved parents, but when we were called in Francis Joseph sat by the table with his face hidden in his hands, and the Empress stood beside him.
    "I received my orders to go to Meyerling at once. Count Hoyos gave me the key of the room on my arrival.
    "When the Empress came back Madame Ferenzy told her that the Baroness Vetsera begged for an audience. The Baroness insisted that the Crown Prince had abducted her daughter and implored the Empress to help her.
    "Elizabeth hesitated and then told Madame Ferenzy that she would receive Madame Vetsera. The Empress stood in the middle of the ante-room; her whole aspect was terrible in its unnatural calm, and the Baroness was brought into her presence. The two mothers looked at each other in silence; then Madame Vetsera fell on her knees with a despairing cry, 'Mary — my daughter'—
    "Elizabeth shrank back from the poor woman's outstretched arms. She examined her with pitiless curiosity, and then said coldly and cruelly, 'C'est trop tard. Ils sont morts tous les deux.'
    "Madame Vetsera fainted. The Empress looked at her unmoved and walked away without a word."

    Wiederhofer told her what he had seen in the shooting lodge when he made the examination. The rest of the story she learned from Count Stockau, one of Mary's uncles. He and her other uncle, Alexandra Baltazzi, had been instructed to go at once in a closed carriage to Meyerling, and thither they went, accompanied by the secret police. They were taken to Mary's body, and this appalling scene then followed:

    The uncles were then told that the orders were that the corpse of the Baroness Mary was to be fully dressed and taken to the carriage which was waiting. "And," said the policeman, "you are to support the body between you in such a way as to make it appear that the Baroness still lives."
    It must have been an awful experience for those who assisted at this last toilette of Mary Vetsera, for as her uncles were preparing to put on the coat her head drooped heavily on her breast and she could not, of course, be taken out like that.
    The police officer at once thought of an expedient, and he slipped a walking stick down the dead girl's back and bound her neck to the stick with a handkerchief. Count Stockau and Alexandra Baltazzi then put on the fur coat and lifted the corpse off the chair.
    It was a cold, windy night; from time to time the face of the moon was hidden by the flying clouds, and, as the frost quite obscured the windows, it was impossible, to see in what direction they were proceeding. At last the carriages stopped before a dark, iron-barred door, which was immediately flung open, and two monks, lanterns in hand, came forward.
    There was no occasion now to force the corpse into that horrible mockery of life. The monks lifted Mary from the carriage and placed her upon a stretcher; then, with a gesture, they invited the gentlemen to follow them.
    The policeman shut the gates noiselessly, and Count Stockau and his brother-in-law found themselves inside a graveyard, where crosses and monuments gleamed ghostlike from the darkness as the sad cortege passed. This was the burial ground of the Cistercian Abbey of Heiligenkreuz, and here Mary Vetsera was to find her last resting place.
    Mary Vetsera, whose only crime was love, was buried like a dog, and her uncles who knelt by the grave were only allowed to pray for a few seconds beside it, for the policeman tapped them on the shoulder and told them they must not linger. They made their way back to the carriage, and reached Vienna late at night.

The Last of Archduke John.
    The next day the Countess received a note containing the letters "R.I.U.O.," which Rudolph had told her would be given by the person who was to claim the steel casket. The note appointed a meeting place for that evening, and the Countess, carrying the box, kept the appointment.
    The writer of the note was the Archduke John, of Tuscany. "You could not save a coward like Rudolph, but you've saved my life," he said to her. She began to cry, and the Archduke, taking her hand, said:
    "Don't regret Rudolph. If the Emperor had found these papers matters would have been infinitely worse. The Crown Prince has killed himself, but if the Emperor had known all it would have been his duty to have him tried by military law and shot as a traitor."
    "Do you think that Rudolph's plans miscarried," I asked, "and that he received information to this effect while he was at Meyerling?"
    The Archduke was silent. "It may be," he answered evasively, "But do you understand what the fear of discovery must have meant to Rudolph, with his nervous constitution undermined by drugs and brandy? Fear alone might have made him commit suicide. It is a pity he was so weak. He broke his word to me, and I trusted him. But a bottle of brandy seems to have turned him into a contemptible coward. However, we must not stand here any longer; there are police spies all over Vienna. Goodbye, Countess Marie; you may never see me again, but I shall always remember what you have done for me."
    I was greatly puzzled. "Imperial Highness," I asked, "are you going away from Austria?"
    He smiled. "Yes. I'm going to die without dying, for I am tired of the hollow things of life, and I intend to begin a new career — and now farewell. Don't forget me."

The Countess sums up her story as follows:
    There is not the slightest doubt that the Prince anticipated a crisis of some sort, and it is unquestionable that he and the Archduke John had planned a coup d'état together. Something transpired to make Rudolph afraid of the consequences should his plans be discovered, and rightly or wrongly he miscalculated the extent of his father's displeasure. He may have felt that flight or a return to Vienna was equally impossible, and, rendered desperate through fear, inflamed by brandy, he made up his mind to kill himself.