Nature endowed Elizabeth with great beauty, a noble nature, and a good mind; fate gave her wealth and the most exalted position a woman can occupy, and she seemed to have been destined for a life of ease and happiness. Perfect as she seemed in outward appearance, however, her character was full of contradictions. She loved nothing so much as freedom and solitude, yet when forced to appear in public, no princess in Europe could equal her for grace and majesty. Simple and economical in her own tastes and habits, in many respects she had no idea of money, as, for instance, when she furnished her cousin Ludwig of Bavaria with enormous sums to gratify his passion for building palaces. Her generosity was boundless, and wherever she went she scattered gifts and money broadcast. She never followed the freaks of fashion, yet her slender figure was the delight and envy of modistes. She dressed as simply as any of her attendants, but whatever she wore it was impossible to conceal her inborn dignity and air of distinction. Her favorite costume for every-day wear was a short, close-fitting skirt with loose waist, and she never put on her elaborate court dresses except when absolutely necessary, though even these always bore the stamp of her individuality. In her later years she was rarely seen in anything but black or white; on a few special occasions she would wear light gray or lilac, but never bright colors. Her hair never lost its beauty, though before her death it began to show a trace of silver here and there,—much to her annoyance, for she had a horror of growing gray. When loosened, it fell far below her knees and enveloped her like a mantle. She used to have it brushed for hours every day and often grew impatient of the trouble it caused her. “My hair tires me,” she said one day to her Greek teacher, running her hands through its waves as if to relieve herself of a burden, “it is such a weight upon my head.” “It is Your Majesty’s crown!” was the courtly answer. “But not so easy to remove as the other kind of a crown!” she retorted with a melancholy smile. Another time she declared impatiently: “I am a perfect slave to my hair! I think I shall have it all cut off sometime.” But remarks such as these were made only in moments of annoyance and weariness. As a matter of fact, she was very proud of her magnificent tresses. It was almost the only sign of vanity she ever displayed. Chapter XIX Death of Crown Prince Rudolf On the thirty-first of January, 1889, a terrible affliction befell the Emperor and Empress in the sudden and violent death of their only son. The tragedy of Mayerling is well known in its main points, and hundreds of different stories have been told concerning it, but the real circumstances of the affair are wrapped in impenetrable secrecy, and perhaps it is just as well if what the King of Belgium wrote to his brother, the Count of Flanders, is true.