SCHÖNBRUNN SUMMER PALACE, VIENNA
SPRING 1855
They moved shortly after the Easter feast, when Sophie decided that the court would quit the Hofburg Palace for the few warm months before their departure to Bad Ischl. Sisi welcomed the decision, preferring the summer palace with its tall windows, swan-filled ponds, and mazy, flower-strewn gardens to the cold stone walls of the Hofburg.
May waltzed into Vienna with longer days and balmy weather, soft and delicate as the new buds that peeked out on the tree boughs. Master Strauss told anyone who would listen that he was hard at work on a new waltz for the imperial pair. Sisi, relishing the return of pleasant weather, spent as much time as she could out of doors, riding through the sloping hills that held Vienna in a gentle, newly green embrace.
It was a bright morning shortly before their relocation to the summer villa at Bad Ischl. Sisi sat in her bedroom with Agata, arranging her travel wardrobe.
“It will be several months, so you will need to pack at least sixty pairs of slippers for me. Oh, what a silly rule, wearing a new pair each day,” Sisi grumbled, making a note to have Herr Lobkowitz order the shoes. “It was wasteful extravagances such as that which cost our poor cousins in France their heads.”
“And gloves, Your Imperial Majesty,” Agata said, eyes lowered.
“And gloves, as well.” Sisi sighed, looking at the maid. “Another foolish court custom. Having to wear those bothersome gloves at every meal. As if dirtying my hands is such a crime.”
The maid nodded but did not smile, as she usually would have. “I shall be sure to fetch your gloves, Empress.”
“You’re awfully quiet today, Agata.” Sisi glanced at the maid, handing her a light-yellow gown to pack. “Something on your mind?”
“Majesty.” The maid fidgeted, keeping her gaze downward. “I’ve been hoping to speak with you about something.”
“Yes?” Sisi smiled at the maid’s uncharacteristic shyness. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Agata.”
“I’ve been wanting to mention it for a while now.”
“Then tell me,” Sisi coaxed.
The maid stood quietly, fiddling with the trunk buckle and avoiding Sisi’s look.
“Come now, Aggie. It’s me.” Sisi leaned forward and broke protocol, placing a hand on top of her maid’s. “No need to be shy.”
“I was hoping to tell you about . . . a gentleman.”
Suddenly Agata’s bashfulness became clear. “I see.” Sisi crossed her arms, her head falling to the side. “Go on.”
“He’s Polish, like me. He works in the palace storerooms.”
“And what is this Polish storeroom worker’s name?”
“Feliks.” Agata’s round cheeks plumped into their wide smile as she spoke the name. “His name is Feliks.”
“Feliks.” Sisi repeated the name. “That’s a nice name.”
“Feliks has asked me to marry him,” Agata blurted out.
“He has?” Sisi felt guilty as soon as she’d said it—the shock in her voice had not been subtle. She’d just never imagined her maid carrying on with a man seriously enough to consider marriage. Come to think of it, she’d never imagined her maid doing much of anything outside of cleaning her rooms and tending to her needs.
This realization made Sisi feel embarrassingly foolish. And how selfish she had grown! Why wouldn’t Agata wish to marry? Agata, when not serving in Sisi’s suite, was the leading character in her own life. This woman before her had wishes, and hopes, and desires, just like any of the noblewomen in the palace. “Well, that’s wonderful, Aggie,” Sisi said, sitting up tall. “And would you like to marry Feliks?”
“Aye, Madame.” Again, that sheepish grin took hold of Agata’s features. “He asked me to dance after the Christmas supper. Since then, I’ve known he was sweet on me.”
“Well, this is joyous news, Agata.” Sisi smiled broadly. “I give you my wholehearted blessing—I wish you and Feliks nothing but the best. You will of course both remain at the palace, I hope?”
“Of course, Madame. This is my home.”
“Good.” Sisi startled her maid by taking her hand once more in her own and placing a kiss on it. “Because I don’t know how I’d survive without you. When would you and Feliks like to be married?”
“As soon as it would please Your Majesty to allow it,” Agata answered, her apple cheeks flushing involuntarily.
“Well, in that case, we shouldn’t keep the love-struck pair waiting. How about when we depart for Bad Ischl in a few weeks, you remain behind? You and Feliks may be married while we are away, and enjoy the summer for yourselves. I shall speak with Herr Lobkowitz to ensure that you are installed in a proper apartment fit for a married couple in this palace.”
“Oh, Your Majesty, you are too kind. Thank you!” Agata kissed Sisi’s hand. “But, an entire summer . . . away from you? Without work?”
“Consider it my wedding present to you.”
“Oh, thank you, Madame. Thank you!”
“There’s no need to thank me, Agata. I am just eager to see you happily married—you deserve nothing less.”
Agata was still beaming as she turned back to folding Sisi’s clothes. “I hope we’ll be as happy as you and the emperor are, my lady.”
“Indeed,” Sisi answered, not sure why the remark caused her heart to lurch, just for a moment, the way it did.
It was a joyous summer for Sisi. Arriving at Bad Ischl after the trying year she’d spent was like opening a window out over a warm afternoon and allowing sunshine to pour in, casting out dust and shadow.
The Kaiservilla felt familiar, even though the complex had been renovated and expanded. She and Franz occupied a large suite of rooms with tall windows, their view that of the Alpine peaks rising up behind a stretch of soft green fields. Away from the multitude of courtiers and without the stringent demands on her time, Sisi was largely free to dictate how she filled the long, sunlit days.
Sisi spent happy mornings walking the fields with little Sophie on her back, picking wildflowers and packing picnics to be enjoyed along the shores of the Traun River. Though little Sophie was still spending nights in a nursery attached to her grandmother’s bedroom, the less formal setting of Bad Ischl allowed Sisi to take her meals with her daughter, and she watched in delight as her daughter evolved each day—sometimes appearing with a new tooth, or a new lock of soft auburn hair, or even forming new sounds that Sisi hoped would soon turn into words.
Each afternoon, while little Sophie napped in the Kaiservilla, Sisi set off to explore the mountains atop Diamant, sometimes with Franz beside her. When they were able to shake the trail of the imperial guards, they sought out shaded coverts in the mountains, where they made love and napped and laughed about the funny new habits and quirks their daughter had displayed that morning at breakfast.
Sisi left Bad Ischl that autumn strong, happy, and pregnant.
“This time it will certainly be a boy!” Sophie predicted.
It was a frigid New Year’s Day, and Sisi had just returned from mass with the court. Prior to the holy services, Sisi had arranged to have the priest announce to the gathered crowds that they were to pray for their empress, expectant with Franz’s second child.
Franz had known, as well as Agata and Countess Marie, but Sophie had been as shocked by the announcement as the rest of the noble congregation. The look on her mother-in-law’s face had been precisely what Sisi had hoped to see—already the year was off to a promising start.
“But my dear, why did you keep this news from me for so long?” What Sophie truly meant, Sisi, knew, was how had she kept this news from her mother-in-law for so long? How had the archduchess’s spies, especially the ever-hovering, always-watching Countess Esterházy, failed to sniff out this most important piece of palace gossip?
It was a feat of which Sisi was truly proud, having concealed her condition for months. She had achieved it with the ingenious help of Agata and Countess Marie.
“There are ways . . .” Marie had suggested, when Sisi had first confided the news to her favorite lady-in-waiting, in addition to her improbable wish that it remain a secret for a while.
“The archduchess will know as soon as you pass your first month without your ordinary cycle. But we could trick her. There are ways.”
“What sort of ways, Marie?” Sisi asked, whispering. Paula and Karoline sat in the antechamber and very well might have had their ears pressed to the keyhole. Countess Esterházy was visiting Sophie for what Sisi referred to as “her daily report.” She had only a brief window in which to discuss this with Marie and Agata. “How can it be done?”
“I’ve heard of people using creative methods. Agata, have you not?” Marie looked at the maid.
“I have, my ladies.” Agata nodded. The maid was, herself, brimming with joyfulness lately, perpetually humming in her newly married state.
Marie continued. “There are ways to play tricks on the eye, I hear. Often used so as to convince someone of a bride’s maidenhead. But I don’t see why we can’t do it this time, as well.”
It seemed duplicitous and highly risky. But since it afforded her several months in which to celebrate the joyous news with just her husband—months without the prying and prodding of her overbearing mother-in-law—Sisi happily ordered her ladies to enact their plan.
How Marie and Agata had managed it, she had not asked. All Sisi knew was that Countess Esterházy and the maids who changed her bedlinens each morning had reported back for the past few months, as the dutiful spies they were, that the empress was most definitely not carrying Franz’s second child.
“Perhaps you don’t own as many palace spies as you think you do, Mother,” Sisi answered now in the sunny breakfast room following the New Year’s Day mass. “Care for more coffee?” Sisi took a slow sip of her warm drink, smiling over the top of her cup.
“Spies? Goodness, child, who do you think I am, the tsarina of Russia? I don’t have spies.”
“Fine, gossips. Whom you happen to reward with money and favors. Call them whatever you like.” Sisi shrugged, smiling at her husband, who sat opposite her.
“You would paint me as a monster.” Sophie turned her gaze on her son. “Franz, you let your wife assail your mother like this? When all I’ve ever done is help you both?”
“Mother, please. Elisabeth, darling.” Franz sighed, lifting a soft-boiled egg and depositing it into a small silver eggcup. “We’ve just come from mass where we prayed for our child. Can we behave in a civil manner?”
“Never mind. I shall endure Elisabeth’s abuse, since she is clearly not feeling well.” Sophie reached for a roll and sliced herself a glob of butter. “Though I must say, I’m surprised with you as well, Franzi. Why didn’t you tell your dear Mamma?”
Franz didn’t reply, didn’t look at either of them as he tapped against the shell of the egg, releasing a rivulet of the bright, runny yolk. His motions were tight, efficient. Perfectly composed.
“Oh, it matters not.” Sophie sighed, waving a hand and the buttered roll in it. “What matters is that you are pregnant, and we shall have a male heir at last.”
“At last? Why, we’ve been married for less than two years. I’ve conceived immediately both times. My dear lady, patience is a virtue.” Sisi sipped her coffee, enjoying this new position of power she suddenly wielded. She was the one carrying Franz’s child, and he had kept her secret, abiding by her requests, these past few months.
“Oh, you are so argumentative today, Elisabeth.” Sophie wrung her hands, throwing a frustrated glance at her son as she finished off the last of her roll and served herself a macaroon. “But never mind, do you think it is a boy?”
“I do.” Sisi softened, reaching across the table for her husband’s hand. She took it, ignoring the disapproving look that this too-public display of affection solicited from her mother-in-law.
Sophie nodded curtly. “I do, too. I just know it this time.” How Sophie was so certain, and to what logic she had subscribed, Sisi did not know, but for once, she hoped that her mother-in-law would get what she wanted.
But they were both mistaken. Months later, in the thick midnight hour of July’s hottest week, Sisi gave birth to her second daughter. A little girl whom the archduchess promptly swept up into her arms, naming her Princess Gisela, and placing her in the nursery to which she had already laid claim. For someone who had longed for a boy, Sophie certainly seemed delighted at the arrival of yet another little girl, wrapping her in a blanket she herself had stitched and insisting that this granddaughter, like the sister before her, remain with her at all times.
The baby being safely delivered and removed by her cooing grandmother, the doctor had fixed a draft for the exhausted, depleted mother. Too fatigued to protest, Sisi had taken it, slipping into a welcome sleep.
When she awoke the heat had broken. Sisi blinked, noticing absently that a bird sat on her windowsill, trilling a song of puzzling simplicity. “Hello?” She opened her lips to speak, but her mouth cracked with dryness. She blinked again. The sun seeped in, a spear of light slipping through a gap in the gently swaying curtains. Sisi was alone in the room. “Is anybody here?” She blinked again, tugging on the bellpull. And then she remembered: she had delivered a baby. A baby about whom she knew nothing.
“Franz? Franz!” Sisi began to weep, frustrated by the dryness of her throat, by the pain below her abdomen. She didn’t understand what had happened—why she felt so weak and why she had awoken alone in this bed in the middle of what appeared to be a clear summer afternoon. When she realized that crying would not bring her baby to her, she attempted to lift herself from her bed. She was successful only as far as collapsing into a kneeling position on the floor. The wood felt hard as her knees smacked the floor.
“Agata? Hello?”
“Your Grace!” Countess Marie swept into the room from the direction of the antechamber. “Majesty, please, you must stay in bed. You are weak still.”
Sisi allowed herself to be lifted from the floor and helped back into the bed. Even though it was July, it felt nice when Marie tucked the blankets around her—in just the few moments out of bed, Sisi had caught a chill.
“Where is my husband, Marie? And my baby?”
“Please, Your Majesty, you must rest.”
“Marie, please, my baby. Was it . . . ?”
“You delivered a baby girl, Majesty. Wait until you see her, the Imperial Princess is just perfect.”
Sisi began to weep.
“She’s healthy and strong, just like you soon will be, Your Grace.”
Sisi shook her head.
“Don’t cry, Majesty. A healthy baby is cause for joy, no matter the gender.”
“A girl. Please, Marie, where are they? I must see my baby and my husband.”
“The emperor has been called to meetings, Your Majesty. Seems something has come up from Budapest.”
“Budapest? The Hungarians?” Sisi’s mind raced, dazed by the fact that the world’s affairs had continued their forward march as she had slept.
Marie fluffed the pillows behind Sisi’s head. “His Majesty only left your suite when the doctor assured us that you were resting comfortably.”
Sisi absorbed this news, but didn’t feel any less disoriented. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“You’ve woken a couple of times, though you did not seem to know your surroundings. It’s been nearly two days, Empress.”
Sisi shook her head, fending off the fogginess that persisted, like stubborn cobwebs. How potent had that sleeping draft been?
“At one point you awoke and asked for your mother and Helene. And Franz. And little Sophie.”
“I don’t remember that,” Sisi said.
“Not to worry, Majesty.” Marie rested her palm on Sisi’s forehead. “Your body has been through a lot, but you shall be back to full strength in no time. How do you feel now?”
“Cold,” Sisi answered. Cold. Alone. Frightened. Angry. She stopped at “cold.”
“Yes, Empress. You look pale. I’ll alert the doctor that you’ve awoken, and if he thinks it’s all right, I’ll have Agata fetch some warm broth for you.”
“No, I want to see my baby first.” Sisi insisted. Her throat still burned with dryness. “A little girl.”
Marie paused, the hesitation apparent on her broad, honest face.
“What is it, Marie?”
“Majesty, I’m afraid your baby . . . the Imperial Princess . . . is not here.”
Sisi’s heart dropped out of her chest. “What do you mean, not here? But . . . you told me she was healthy.”
“Healthy, yes, Majesty.” Marie seemed unable to meet Sisi’s eyes as she answered. “But the weather has been so hot, and the fever has taken hold of much of the city. The archduchess was fearful that the little princesses might be at risk. She’s taken Sophie and Gisela to Laxenburg. Just until we send word that the fever was gone from the capital.”
“Gisela?”
“That’s the name on which the archduchess and the emperor settled. I’m sorry they didn’t wait for you, Madame. I know how you had hoped to name her Helene.”
“Never mind that.” Sisi shook her head. Why should she be surprised that her mother-in-law had taken the liberty of naming her second daughter, as she had the first? But to leave the palace without Sisi, removing her daughters without her permission? She could hardly believe Sophie’s audacity. Sisi’s frame began to tremble with fury, compounded by the realization that her babies were out of her reach, and she was completely powerless to fetch them back.
“Franz allowed her to take our babies?”
“I’m afraid the emperor has been so preoccupied with his council and his envoys, he seemed to think it was rather a good idea.”
“How that woman could think it wise to travel with a baby and a newborn . . .”
“She took the wet nurse, and several of the other nurses. And Countess Esterházy.”
“So all of those people get to see my baby, and I don’t?” Sisi ground her teeth, setting the muscle in her jaw atremble. “That is the final blow. It will end right now.”
“Please, Majesty. Just stay in bed.” Marie pushed gently against Sisi, stopping her from rising. “I shall go fetch Doctor Seeburger and some of that soup.”
“You take this—” Sisi reached for paper and scrawled a quick, biting note—“to my husband right this instant. You tell him to come to me immediately!”
Again Marie’s gaze rested on Sisi, a barely perceptible line of—what was that, worry?—knitting her brow. “Madame, I’m not sure if now is the best time to have an audience with the emperor.”
“Why not?” Sisi snapped. “You’d have me wait until tomorrow? When is the best time to berate your husband for allowing your children to be stolen from you in your slumber?”
“You must rest, Majesty, regain some of your color. Perhaps tomorrow might be better for a visit with the emperor.”
Irritated, Sisi reached for her small ivory mirror on her dressing table. When she saw the reflection staring back at her, she nearly gasped in horror.
The face into which she stared was pale, almost gray in hue. The eyes, once vibrant and alert, the color of molten honey, now sat deeply in a sunken face, framed by purple rings. Her cheeks appeared like hollow ruts, her cheekbones twice as sharp and prominent as they had been just days ago, and her hair was flat and unkempt. The worst part of all, however, was the frantic, hopeless expression that pulled tight across the haggard features. She had the appearance of a cornered animal—willing to fight, but exhausted and disheartened.
Sisi sighed, her shoulders drooping as tears pooled in her eyes. “You’re right, Marie. If Franz sees me like this, he might be inclined to send me to the asylum. I look half mad.” Sisi shuddered, placing her mirror back on the bedside table, face down. “Bring me some chicken broth and some wine. And have Agata come in. We must wash my hair.”
“Right away, Madame.” Marie tugged the blankets so that they formed a tight cocoon around Sisi. Because she could not bear to look once more at the bedroom, empty of her daughter and any sign that the baby even existed, Sisi closed her eyes. Within minutes, she drifted into a merciful sleep.
The sun rose the next day on the heels of a warm breeze that rustled softly through the open windows. After a breakfast of broth and dry toast, Sisi felt achy but strong enough to rise from bed. With the help of Agata and Marie, she dressed and then sent word to Franz, requesting that he meet her for lunch. “It’s a lovely day outside. How about we meet at the Gloriette?” It was perhaps the most picturesque spot in all of the imperial gardens, a set of stone archways perched atop the hill, overlooking the Neptune fountain and the mazy network of tulip beds below.
She would meet him at lunch appearing chipper and fresh, no matter how she felt. The better way to earn Franz’s accord, she had learned, was to charm him, not berate him. He only obeyed a bossy and domineering woman when that woman happened to be his mother, Sisi admitted to herself, her stomach knotted with resentment. Well, if charm was her best weapon, then charm him she would.
Sisi selected a light summer gown of pale, rose-colored brocade. She washed and perfumed her hair, arranging her braids in a loose coronet that framed her face. Franz’s preferred style. She covered her sunken cheeks in rouge, and her colorless lips with painted lard. She splashed a fresh jasmine scent on her neck and wrists. And she was certain to wear the gold pendant that Franz had given her at their first Christmas.
Franz appeared at the table, stepping lightly up onto the stone path, a pile of oversized maps and papers tucked under his arm. “There’s the mother of my girls!” He handed the documents off to the nearest footman and leaned forward to kiss his wife. “Elisa, my empress.”
“Franz!” She smiled widely, leaning into the kiss and suppressing the urge to launch a series of insults at the man who had allowed her children to be taken from her. The man whose frame remained so light and agile through the birth of their children, while hers felt ruined.
“Good to see you looking well, Elisa.” Franz took the seat beside her, reaching for her bare hand. She had deliberately kept her gloves off, flouting Sophie’s ridiculous rule.
Franz’s eyes traveled now to the low neckline of Sisi’s gown, noticing how her breasts, full from the infuriating ban on nursing, swelled. He didn’t speak for several moments.
“You look . . . very well, Elisa. Very . . . healthy . . . indeed.”
“Thank you.” Sisi smiled, leaning toward him, allowing him to gape. “I feel as if I slept for days and days.”
Franz nodded, his eyes still fixed on her ripe curves. “And when . . . when do you think you shall be able to resume your usual”—he swallowed, stammering—“well, has the doctor told you when you will be ready for . . . back to normal?”
“Soon,” she said, smiling as she surmised his thoughts. She looked out over the hillside now, the tidy flower beds intersecting the perfectly groomed grass. The palace in the distance. Turning back to Franz, she cocked an eyebrow. “And I awake to the news that our little daughter was named Gisela?”
“Gisela. Yes.” Franz looked up into her eyes now, smiling as he thought of his second daughter. “It’s been so hot. Ghastly hot. Fortunately Mother had the wise idea to remove the girls to Laxenburg.”
“Yes, I heard that.” The hard edge became obvious in Sisi’s voice. “I’ve wanted to speak with you about that, Franz. You must write your mother immediately and tell her that we are all very well back here, and that you want your daughters back. All right, Franz?” She attempted to soften her tone, but even she knew it sounded frantic.
“Let’s not be too hasty. Let’s just wait and let you get your strength back. The heat might return, and we heard reports that there is fever in the city.”
“No, Franz, I cannot wait,” she snapped. “I must be allowed to have my own children with me. Can’t you understand?”
He stared at her, his eyes unblinking—perhaps growing irritated at his wife’s quick displeasure. But just then, Grünne appeared at the edge of the archway.
“Pardon my interruption, Your Majesties.”
“Grünne, what is it?” Franz waved his general forward, breaking Sisi’s gaze. She scowled, knitting her hands together on the table with a sigh of protest.
“We’ve received our answer from our envoys in Paris.”
“You have the letters?” Franz dropped his fork, eyeing his minister.
“Right here, Your Grace.”
“Excellent, take them to the council. Get everyone together; we’ll have a meeting as soon as I’ve finished luncheon.”
“Right away. Oh, and we’ve heard back from Petersburg.” Grünne shifted restively from one foot to the other.
“And?”
Grünne shook his head.
“Go on, tell me.” Franz barked at his aide in a manner that Sisi had never before seen.
“Our fears have been . . . confirmed.”
“What did the Russians say?”
Grünne looked a moment at Sisi, apologizing for conducting the foreign policy discussion in her presence. Then the aide answered: “The tsar is resolved. Russia will pull out of the alliance.”
“Can we not convince them . . . is there nothing?”
Grünne shook his head. “We are very much alone, I am afraid.”
Franz cradled his head in his hands, and Sisi saw how his auburn hair was traced with thin streaks of silver. Signs of age and worry that she had never before noticed.
“Can’t I have one lunch with my wife without the world threatening to collapse around us?”
“I do apologize, Majesty, for the less than preferable news.”
“Leave us, Grünne. I shall finish my meal and take this up in an hour. Get the council assembled.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“That’ll be all, Grünne.” Franz turned back to his veal dumpling, a glower now clouding his face.
Grünne bowed and sped from the Gloriette without another word, leaving Franz in a restless silence and Sisi stewing. Was it best to press him now, while he was distracted, or would she just further aggravate him with her domestic petitions? What could her own personal anguish matter when Russia had just declared Austria to be its foe?
But the matter of her two girls being returned to her could not be postponed. For her, a mother, there was nothing more pressing or immediate. Let the Hungarians and the Russians cry for war all they wanted—to her, all that mattered was being reunited with her daughters.
A pair of footmen swapped out the dumplings for plates of breaded perch accompanied by cold potatoes and garden greens. Sisi felt no appetite for the food, but she poked the fish distractedly as she prepared to reinitiate her suit.
“Franz, let’s talk of joyful things.” She spoke in a chipper tone that belied the gnawing urgency she felt within. “Like our little girls. How I long to see them. Why, I have not even seen Gisela yet. Have not even held my own child. Can you imagine it?”
Franz shrugged his shoulders but kept his gaze fixed on his lunch, which he cut into with quick, efficient movements.
Sisi knew she must continue. “Gisela. How did you pick the name? Your mother?”
Franz blinked, dropping the fork onto his plate with a loud clamor. “Elisa, that’s how things are done. Why do you always have to be so obstreperous with court protocol? I wish you would just accept how things are done.”
Sisi stared at her husband, rendered wordless at the blunt rebuke. At Franz’s visible frustration. “Fine.” She nodded, reaching across the table to take his hand in hers. “You’ll have no quarrel from me. I like the name.”
Franz studied her, unsure of whether that was truly the end of it. Sisi offered a conciliatory smile. He picked up his fork once more and began to stab at his fish.
Sisi cleared her throat. “Now, I would just like to see our little Gisela. Franz, I beg you, write your mother and tell her to return with our girls.”
“Elisa.” Franz lowered his fork again, pushing his plate away. “You just heard a snippet from Grünne. And that’s not the half of it. Things are . . . precarious.”
“Russia, right? They are angered with us.”
Franz snorted, a low, bitter laugh. “They are simply the latest to join the long list.”
“Franz, I understand that events have occurred with Hungary as well. I heard that you’ve been preoccupied with your council, in meetings for days. Before we move on to that topic, please, I need your agreement on our daughters.”
“But Elisa, that’s precisely it. Things have happened in Hungary and I’m not sure it is the right time to bring our girls back to Vienna.”
“What do you mean?”
“I must travel to Budapest.”
“Are we at war with Hungary?”
“No. Quite the opposite, actually. We have decided to enter into negotiations.”
Sisi sat back, folding her hands before her on the table. She couldn’t help but smirk at that. Hadn’t she suggested this exact route, months ago, while her mother-in-law had continued to advocate aggressive measures?
“Well”—she leaned her head to the side—“I am glad to hear it.”
Franz nodded. “There is so much hostility abroad, with England and France pushing for a treaty with the Russians. And Prussia continues its threats. We are very much alone. Mother might say that we need no one, but we damned well need Hungary. And so I need to shore up Hungarian loyalty from within the empire.” Franz paused, as if reluctant to force out his next statement. “I’m going to Budapest to sit down with Andrássy.”
Sisi let this news sink in. Budapest. It was to the east, she knew, along the Danube. But she knew little else.
“How long shall you be in Budapest?” She imagined the summer stretching out before her—sweating in Schönbrunn, alone, while Franz was in Budapest. She couldn’t stand to be alone with Sophie in Laxenburg, not without Franz there as well.
“Months, maybe more.” He reached for her hand across the table. “I shall stay as long as it takes to repair relations with the Hungarians. I cannot have them declare independence. Not now. Not while Prussia and France are threatening us with war.”
“Months, maybe more.” Sisi repeated his equivocal reply. Her husband was leaving her for an indefinite period of time. As long as he was gone, she stood no chance of regaining control of her daughters.
“I’m sorry, Elisa. It will be difficult, I know. But it will be even more difficult if you oppose me. Please, support me.”
The vague outline of an idea began to take shape in her mind—at first as formless and fragile as a cloud. But as she examined it further, the idea gained strength and substance. She reached for it, greedily. Yes, she decided, she had her solution. Now the thought seemed so brilliant that she was hesitant to speak it aloud, for if Franz refused her, she did not know how she would bear it. But it was the only way. “Franz, take us to Hungary with you.”
Now it was Franz’s turn to be speechless. “Elisa—” he began, but only shook his head. Overhead in the curved ledge of the archway, a bird trilled out a midday carol, mocking the emperor’s muteness.
“Franz, hear me.” Sisi felt encouraged by the fact that it wasn’t a flat refusal. “You say this is a journey to repair a relationship. It sounds as though it will be perfectly cordial. Take us with you. The girls and me.”
“Elisa, I’m not sure that you understand the nature of these . . .”
But she had to seize on his surprise, had to further pierce this opening with the merits of her argument. “It will be wonderful for your image, Franz. Just think of it! The young emperor and his wife come to Hungary with their adorable little princesses.”
“But you are still weak from the delivery, and besides . . .”
“You will win the Hungarians over. Rather than thinking of you as a foreign conqueror, they will see you for the wonderful family man you are. The girls and I will do everything we can to win them over.”
“But it wouldn’t be . . .”
“Just think about it, it will be so good for us. And for your image. A family trip to Hungary, imagine it! I’ve never seen that part of our empire.”
“But you are not thinking of the . . .”
“The empress should visit her people, too, should she not?” Sisi flashed what she hoped was her most disarming smile. “Remember how they loved me in Salzburg and Bad Ischl? Perhaps I might win them over in Hungary as well.”
“I suppose, but not in this capacity. I don’t think—”
“Franz, you know how popular I am with the people. Allow me to help you. Please, I beg you, take us with you.” She clung to his hands, her husband looking at her hesitantly.
Eventually, he shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. Not this time.”
“Franz, if you ever wanted to do anything to make me happy, do this.” The desperation was apparent in her voice now. “Please. I am begging you.”
He let out a long, slow exhale, which Sisi did not know how to interpret.
“Oh my love, how do you always manage to do this?” Franz cracked a feeble, acquiescing smile. “You really wish to come to Hungary with me?”
Her heart seemed to momentarily suspend its beat. “If you agree that the girls can come, then yes, I really do, Franz.”
“Very well,” Franz shrugged. “Hungary it is. To Hungary, with my wild, adventurous wife.”
“Thank you!” She leaned forward and landed an assault of kisses on his stunned face.
“Don’t thank me, Elisa. The journey will not be a comfortable one.”
Sisi smiled. “You forget, Franz, I wasn’t always this coddled empress. The thought of a rough journey does nothing to scare me.”
“Well, Mother would never consider coming,” he said, looking back at his plate, his appetite suddenly returned. “Never mind that she detests the Hungarians, and is angry with me for even going myself.”
Sisi suppressed the laugh that threatened to burst forward from her lips. Instead, she leaned forward and put her hand on her husband’s. “I imagine I’m going to like the Hungarians quite a bit. When can we leave?”
Sisi swept into her bedroom, panting.
“Empress? Is everything all right?” The maid stiffened to attention.
“Agata, everything is wonderful! We must pack at once. I’m leaving for Budapest.”
Sisi was certain that whatever color had drained from her cheeks was back; whatever shine had gone out of her hazel eyes was surely alight once more. The thought of the trip to Budapest had renewed her hope. Just she and Franz and the girls going away together! The family as it was meant to be. And free not only from Sophie, but from Countess Esterházy, and her gossiping ladies, and the rest of the prying, rigid, lonely court.
There was no time to order new clothing—no, she’d have to order her new dresses for herself and the girls in Budapest. Certainly Herr Lobkowitz could find her several talented seamstresses in Budapest. How darling the girls would look, as they sat in the carriage between their mamma and papa, waving out at the crowds of Hungarians as they rolled east along the shimmering Danube. They would win those reluctant Hungarians over, Sisi was certain of it.
To manage and maintain her suite in Budapest’s castle she would take Agata. The maid would most likely be less than thrilled to leave her new husband behind, but it would only be a few months, and Sisi needed at least one servant whom she could trust.
Marie would come as well. Not only was Marie a Hungarian by birth, and thus would prove invaluable in translating both Hungarian words and customs, but she had proven very conscientious in overseeing Sisi’s correspondence and administrative tasks. Plus the countess was eager to visit her homeland.
Herr Lobkowitz would remain in Vienna to manage Sisi’s apartments in her absence—he would oversee her daily correspondences, responding to petitions on her behalf and keeping her abreast of news from court. And hopefully, he would prevent the snooping of bored maids, the fingering of the empress’s jewelry box by Karoline or Paula.
Sophie was summoned, and she returned from Laxenburg with a pinched expression on her face. A barely audible line of complaints about a journey to Hungary being “too taxing for the little princesses.” About Sisi’s unsuitability to have the little girls to herself.
Sisi had been able to hold little Gisela—a sweet little bundle of pink flesh, staring back at her with her mother’s honey-colored eyes—when she had first arrived back at Schönbrunn, but Sophie had been miserly with the girls’ time since. There was always an excuse, and they were never to be found when Sisi sought them out in Sophie’s apartments. The archduchess took them for carriage rides; she brought them to church; she arranged private meetings with the court physician. Imperial guards were perpetually outside Sophie’s doors, so that each time Sisi tried to visit, she was sent away before she could knock on the always closed doors. Many times she was told that “the archduchess and the princesses were sleeping,” even as she heard little Sophie’s giggles within.
The separation was torturous, but somehow palliated by the fact that Sisi knew it would soon be over. It was not worth waging a war, or risking Franz’s anger, when she had won the ultimate victory. She and the girls would be departing court with Franz, and that knowledge bolstered Sisi’s spirits as the days grew shorter and cooler weather nudged aside the final days of summer.
Sisi found her bedchamber empty when she returned one afternoon, a few weeks later, following a solitary ride through the woods outside of Vienna.
“Agata?” The maid, the mainstay of her royal bedchamber, did not answer when Sisi called. She tugged at the bellpull. “Agata?”
Probably off on a midday dalliance with her husband, Sisi thought with a chuckle. Let the maid have her fun.
The room had been tidied and fragrant flowers, clipped from the imperial hothouses, burst forth from the vases. The bedding was freshly changed, and a lemon-colored tea gown waited atop Sisi’s bed, ready for her afternoon wardrobe change. Beside the gown sat a letter.
Sisi reached for the letter, remembering in that moment that she owed a note back to her cousin Ludwig, and another for Helene. Even the mundane tasks of sending and receiving mail somehow seemed so much more enjoyable, now that she knew she would be leaving for Budapest so soon.
Sisi turned her attention back to the note in her hands, unfolding the paper as she studied the unfamiliar penmanship. The note had been delivered unsigned. Intrigued, Sisi began to read.
“The natural destiny of a Queen is to give an heir to the throne. If the Queen is so fortunate as to provide the State with a Crown Prince this should be the end of her ambition—she should by no means meddle with the government of an empire, the care of which is not a task for women . . .”
Sisi’s hand trembled as she digested the words, causing the letter to quiver in her grip. Still, she forced herself to read on:
“If the Queen bears no sons, she is merely a foreigner in the State, and a very dangerous foreigner, too. For as she can never hope to be looked on kindly here, and must always expect to be sent back whence she came, so will she always seek to win the King by other than natural means; she will struggle for position and power by intrigue and the sowing of discord, to the mischief of the King, the nation, and the empire.”
Just as Sisi finished this letter, Agata entered the room, humming a merry tune. “Good afternoon, Empress Elisabeth. Didn’t realize you had come back so soon.”
“Agata.” Sisi’s voice was unsteady as she turned toward the maid. “Who delivered this letter?”
The maid looked at the paper, confused. “I’m not sure, Madame. I’ve been in the . . . kitchens.” Agata was lying, and this further enraged Sisi.
“You didn’t see who placed this letter on my bed?”
“I apologize, Your Majesty, I did not.”
“Agata, you are not to leave my room unattended in the middle of the day ever again.” Sisi walked toward the maid, still clutching the letter in her grip. “I need you, don’t you understand? You are commanded to attend to my rooms at all times, not to go meeting that husband of yours.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
Sisi noticed the wounded look on Agata’s face, and she felt a moment of guilt. But she did not have the time to care. Her mind was racing.
“Where is Herr Lobkowitz?”
“He went to make inquiries about the Hungarian fabrics, like you requested.”
“Fetch him, now.”
“Right away, Majesty.”
Herr Lobkowitz arrived, and he, too, swore ignorance of the letter’s delivery and authorship. As did Marie, Paula, Karoline, and Countess Esterházy. But Sisi had already guessed from where it came; there was only one answer.
“I need to see the archduchess.” Sisi was stopped outside Sophie’s apartments, a guard, stiff in posture and his starched wool uniform, preventing her entry.
“The archduchess is resting at the moment with the imperial princesses, Your Grace.” The guard said it with infuriating formality. Did he not know that those little princesses were her two daughters?
“I’ll wait, then.” Sisi glowered at the man, taking a seat in one of the antechamber’s creaky wooden chairs.
After several moments the muffled sound of Sophie’s voice, doled out in tender, soft coos, slipped through the cracks of the bedroom door. Sisi rose from her chair, her blood roiling. “She is awake.”
“Our orders are not to disturb the archduchess and the princesses, Your Grace.” The guard’s tone was matter-of-fact, his face maintaining a mask of well-conditioned indifference. It only further infuriated Sisi.
“This is ridiculous. I am the empress and I demand to see my mother-in-law.”
But the guard stood rooted in place, impassive. “Majesty, I’ve been ordered that she wishes to have no visitors this afternoon while she sleeps.”
“She is awake! I can hear her within the chamber!”
Now the guard shifted his weight, and Sisi sensed his resolve cracking, ever so slightly. He was there to follow orders, not to negotiate a feud in the imperial family.
“Step aside. Please.”
“But . . . my orders are my orders, Majesty.”
“Well, my orders override hers.” Sisi threw her shoulders back, standing to her full height. “The empress counterorders you to disregard the orders of the archduchess. If Sophie punishes you for allowing me in, you shall have an immediate replacement post at my chambers. Or better yet, the emperor’s. Now let me pass.” Sisi did not wait for the guard’s agreement, but rather slid past him and opened the door.
The scene she walked into was enough to cause her knees to crumble beneath her. Sophie was not sleeping. Neither were the girls. The baby, dressed in a crisp white gown, had been sprawled out on a soft pink blanket on the floor. Little Sophie sat beside her sister, playing with a baby doll, while the archduchess reclined, instructing little Sophie on the best way to brush the baby doll’s blond hair. It was a tender moment, a beautiful moment, but Sisi should have been in it—it was she who should have been playing the role of mother.
The pain Sisi felt only solidified her resolve, so that any deference she might have displayed to her mother-in-law now hardened into a bitter iron in her gut. From the corner of the room, Sophie’s small dog looked up from his plush pillow, growling as Sisi approached.
“Sophie, please have the nurse remove my girls. They are to be taken to my apartment.”
“Elisabeth! This is a surprise.” Sophie looked up from the floor, struggling to hoist her thickening midsection to a seated position. “I ordered that no visitors were to be admitted.”
“Mamma!” Little Sophie smiled up at Sisi, reaching her pudgy hands forward.
“Hello, my darling.” Sisi reached down and lifted the little girl, planting two long kisses on each round cheek.
“My baby.” Little Sophie held forth her doll, proud.
“She is a lovely baby, Sophie,” Sisi answered, brushing an auburn curl behind her daughter’s ear.
Sisi wept inwardly as she handed the toddler to the nurse. “Please take her out while I speak with the archduchess.”
“No!” little Sophie protested, trying to wriggle free from the nurse. “Grandmamma, come with me.” Little Sophie threw Sisi a wounded look, stunned by her mother’s betrayal, before reaching for her grandmother. The evidence of the little girl’s preference stung Sisi like an arrow.
“I shall be right there, my little pet.” Sophie rose from the floor, allowing a second nurse to remove Gisela as well. When the two women were left alone, Sophie allowed the feigned smile to slip from her face. “Well, this is something new, Elisabeth—do you think it is appropriate to burst into my apartments and start ordering my servants around?”
“They are all Franz’s servants, I believe.”
“You’ve upset the children. What is it, Elisabeth?” Sophie stood just inches from her now, her light eyes meeting Sisi’s furious stare in an expression of cool defiance.
“Would you please explain this, Sophie?” Sisi raised the letter in her hand.
Sophie stood, unfazed, as she stared at the paper in Sisi’s hand. “I have no idea who wrote that letter, Elisabeth.”
“I didn’t tell you it was a letter.”
Sophie looked up, her eyes betraying a fleeting hint of fear, but she did not speak.
“I suspect that you know precisely what it is, Sophie. And that you wrote it.”
“Believe whatever you want.” Sophie turned and walked toward a large rosewood desk, for which she pulled a key from her skirt pocket. “I learned a long time ago not to waste my breath trying to sway you. You are as wild and obstinate as a mule. Just like your father always was.”
Sisi followed her mother-in-law toward the desk, teeth clenched as she fought to keep her voice composed. “Sophie, how dare you threaten me with a letter of this nature?”
Sophie unlocked and reached into a desk drawer to retrieve a pair of spectacles, which she now slid onto her nose. “May I?” Sophie pointed toward the letter.
Sisi placed it into her mother-in-law’s thick, ringed fingers. Sophie read the words slowly, as if seeing them for the first time. After several minutes, she lowered the page.
“As I said, I did not pen this note. But nothing in it is threatening, unless you see the truth as threatening.”
“It threatens to exile me from court if I discuss foreign policy with my husband.”
“There are people in this court, Elisabeth, who find it highly inappropriate that you are attempting to meddle in the relations with Hungary. That you have demanded that you be allowed to join him in Budapest.”
“Doesn’t the emperor dictate, Sophie? Isn’t that . . . custom?”
“Of course, but don’t think for a moment that I . . . that people . . . don’t see how you attempt to sway him with—”
“Then, as long as my husband approves of my joining him, I care not what anyone thinks. You have no right to threaten me like this. How do you think Franz would feel if he read this?”
“I think Franz wants a son. In fact, I know he does.”
This point stung Sisi, because she also knew it to be true.
“That’s the only purpose of this note, Elisabeth. Someone thinks it necessary to remind you of your place here. And your purpose is to give Franz sons. Not to go gallivanting off to Hungary to ride horses.”
This last point took Sisi by surprise: someone in her room, having overheard her confessions of how eager she was to ride along the Hungarian plains, had reported it back to Sophie. Was everything she said reported?
Sisi threw her shoulders back, looking squarely into Sophie’s eyes. “I have had two of Franz’s children in two years.”
“Both girls.”
“I’m not barren—a son will come. I cannot be banished because it has yet to happen.”
“Worse things have happened to emperor’s wives before. You wouldn’t be the first to fall out of favor when she fails to deliver on her end of the arrangement.”
“I remember hearing that it took you . . . how long was it? Six years to conceive your first child?” Sisi snapped, indignant. The stunned look on Sophie’s face filled Sisi with momentary satisfaction.
“Well, this is hardly . . .” Sophie stammered, patting the folds of her skirt as her eyes fell to the floor. And then, after just a moment, she stood up tall, jutting her chin out. “No one in this court questioned my utter determination to have my husband’s children. I made it plain that that was my primary purpose. You could benefit from doing the same.”
“You would disband the union which Franz and I made before God? The union which has produced your two beloved granddaughters?”
“I will do nothing of the sort if you begin to show that you take seriously the business of having a son. But what I will say is that dashing off to Hungary to ride horses and meddle in discussions with the likes of Andrássy is the last thing you should be thinking about. You should be pregnant and you should stay here and rest.”
“Franz and I might be a lot happier, and a lot more likely to produce an heir, if you would stop meddling in our marriage. Did you think about that, Sophie?”
Sophie stammered, her face drained of color. Sisi was certain that the archduchess rarely—if ever—engaged in arguments this impassioned. No one would have dared.
“Don’t think for a minute, Elisabeth, that you are irreplaceable. My son might be smitten with you. But there are plenty of other young women in this court who would happily do your job. And unlike you, they would not spend their days complaining and quarreling.”
This latest point was too absurd, too painful, to warrant a response, and Sisi turned on her heels to leave the room. She felt more relieved than ever to be quitting this court for Budapest.
A state of perpetual pregnancy—that was what Sophie expected? And only boys within her womb, as if Sisi could control that? But a thought gave Sisi momentary pause, and she hovered in the doorway, standing tall with artificial confidence.
“Sophie, shall you be sacking this guard who allowed me into your chamber?”
Sophie stared at her daughter-in-law, considering this question. “Yes,” she stammered, after a pause. “Yes, I most certainly shall. You, man, you’re dismissed.” Sophie pointed a menacing finger at the guard.
“Fine, come with me. You’re rehired,” Sisi said, waving her hand. “All right, Sophie, I must go. I must finish packing for Budapest. The girls are going to be so adorable with their papa and me—I can hardly wait for the trip.”