The Accidental Empress, page 18
All of Austria, it seemed, had descended on Vienna, ready to welcome the bride with a crushing embrace. Sisi’s picture appeared everywhere throughout the capital: hanging in the windows of the coffeehouses in Stephansplatz and painted on the porcelain plates in the bistros on Kärntner Strasse. Blue and white, the colors of Sisi’s native Bavaria, blanketed the city, from the awnings of the posh hotels, to the hats on display in the milliners’ windows, to the flower markets’ choicest bouquets.
Sisi awoke early to the sound of the church bells, feeling weary before the day had even begun. Her mother and Néné, who had arrived in the capital shortly after her, came to her room to help her dress.
“Happy wedding day, Sisi.” Néné said it quietly as she entered. Again, there was that indecipherable look on her sister’s face, like a grimace that Helene did her best to mask with a smile.
“Good morning,” Sisi said, feeling too tired to smile at either her mother or sister. They ate a small breakfast, nibbling on the corners of toast and exchanging only a few words. Afterward, it was time to dress. As Sisi stepped out of her nightgown, her new lady-in-waiting, the stern Countess Esterházy, arrived in the bedroom.
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness.” The old woman bowed low before sweeping into the room without invitation. This was yet another new daily occurrence, and one to which Sisi had definitely not grown accustomed.
“Good morning, Countess Esterházy.” Sisi now pulled the nightgown back up, covering her figure as she exchanged a look with Néné.
“Carry on, continue dressing,” the old woman said, her voice like the pecking of an old hen as she made herself comfortable in one of Sisi’s chairs. “I won’t be in your way. I shall read to you as you dress.” And with that, the countess began reading aloud from one of the voluminous tomes that had been prepared for the new empress. These materials included the Ceremonial Procedure for the Official Progress of Her Royal Highness, the Most Gracious Princess Elisabeth, along with a pamphlet on wedding procedure, titled Most Humble Reminders. And finally, the material with which Sisi felt the least comfortable was the massive Book of Royals. It was a seemingly endless registry listing the name, rank, and exact greeting for the thousands of guests who would congratulate her on her wedding day.
As tedious as Sisi found these texts, Countess Esterházy seemed to relish them, pausing her reading every few sentences to quiz Sisi on some fact.
“You have reviewed these materials, have you not, Your Majesty?” Countess Esterházy sighed, as Sisi fumbled through a family of Prussian counts.
“Yes, I have. I promise. It’s just that . . .”
“Never mind. Let’s just continue on with the Austrian history,” Countess Esterházy said, her lips pressed tight in a disapproving scowl as she fingered the pages. “Please, Duchess Elisabeth, be so kind as to tell me your future husband’s full title?”
Sisi inhaled, thinking, as Néné and her mother buzzed about her, preparing her combs and jewelry and toilette. She had studied this. She knew the answer. “It is . . .” her palms were sweaty, made worse by the Countess Esterházy’s impatient tapping of her heeled boot.
“I know this,” Sisi said, ignoring the noblewoman’s censorious stare. “It is: Franz Joseph the First, by the Grace of God, Emperor of Austria; King of Hungary and Bohemia; King of Lombardy and Venice; Grand Duke of Tuscany and Kraków; Duke of Lorraine; Grand Duke of Transylvania; Margrave of Moravia; Duke of Upper and Lower Silesia, of Modena, and Parma, and Piacenza—” Sisi faltered. That was as far as she remembered. She looked to her mother.
“I think that’s quite enough.” Ludovika stepped forward, having pried open the row of pearl buttons lining the back of her daughter’s wedding gown. “Quite impressive that she made it that far. Now, my darling, let’s get you dressed.”
“She cannot be too prepared.” Countess Esterházy stood up, clearing her throat. “This is her kingdom now. And Her Royal Highness Elisabeth will be expected to know this,” the woman said, her tone imperious. “Now, Duchess Elisabeth, please. If you would be so kind, we must continue. Please tell me, how many souls inhabit the realms of our blessed emperor?”
“Approximately forty million souls,” Sisi answered, noting Helene’s approving nod. Her elder sister had been her most devoted tutor these past few months.
“And, from where does the name Habsburg come?” Countess Esterházy asked.
“From Habichtsburg Castle, the imperial family’s first seat.”
“And tell me about Habichtsburg Castle?”
“It mean’s Hawk’s Castle. It was in Switzerland.”
“Where in Switzerland?” the countess asked, the only movement on her face being a lone eyebrow that lifted beneath an impossibly long forehead.
Sisi’s spirits faltered. She didn’t remember that part. Countess Esterházy made a disapproving noise, like a purr in the back of her throat. “It was in Aargau, Switzerland, Duchess Elisabeth.” And with that, the old woman riffled her way through the book, scouring for her next morsel of trivia.
The countess cleared her throat. “Oh! This is important. Tell me, who was the first Habsburg ruler?”
“Charlemagne!” Sisi exclaimed, exchanging a triumphant look with Helene where she stood. “Crowned in the year 800.” With that, Sisi crossed her arms. She did not feel that she was performing that poorly on this first test of her preparedness.
“Wrong!” The countess snapped, as if thrilled to say so.
“Wrong?” Sisi asked, the smile sliding from her face. “But I’m certain that Charlemagne was a Habs—”
“He was a Habsburg, yes. But the Austrian Habsburgs trace their reign back to Count Werner, who ruled around the year 1000.”
“But that is tricky,” Sisi began to protest, but her mother cut her off.
“I think we’ve had enough.” Duchess Ludovika put her hands up, stepping in between her daughter and the countess. “We must dress you, Sisi, or you shall never be ready.”
“The most essential part,” Countess Esterházy interjected, throwing a barbed look toward the bride’s mother as she clutched her procedural book like a precious relic, “will be the names and greetings for each of the court ladies. Your Majesty will have a special time to visit with them during the Kissing of the Royal Hand Ceremony. It would be highly . . . indecorous . . . to err on any of their names, as they are all most eager to meet you. Their good opinion is of the utmost importance.”
Sisi nodded, cowed by the severe look on the countess’s face, as well as the thought of the day’s duties. Plus her body felt entirely too fragile to bear the weight of the wedding gown now held before her by her mother.
“Enough of this. She will be fresh and lovely and charming, as she always is.” Ludovika stepped in front of Countess Esterházy, lifting the ivory gown like a shield. “And let’s not forget, Franz chose her, and not any of those other court ladies.”
The countess answered with a raised eyebrow, as if to challenge Ludovika. But whatever barbed remark she had thought of, she refrained from uttering it, instead pinching her lips and burrowing back into her tome of Habsburg trivia, though Sisi was certain that the old woman already knew every word of that book.
Sisi’s wedding gown was the heaviest, most ornate gown she had ever beheld, even after the hundreds of gowns that she had received in recent months. It was trimmed with gold thread, embellished with lace and crystal and stitched roses. She was sewn into it, the neckline and sleeves draping below her shoulders, allowing the ivory skin of her neck and shoulders to peek out, rivaling the pure, creamy color of the gown itself.
Her waist was squeezed to an impossibly narrow dimension, and her hoopskirt was so wide that, when the time came, she struggled to fit into the carriage that was to carry her to the cathedral. She was loaded in by several footmen, clutching the hand of her mother, who would ride along with her. A stiff-postured footman gave the signal and eight prancing Lippizaners pulled them forward, the horses’ manes braided and trimmed in gold thread and scarlet tassels.
Sisi rolled through the Hofburg gate reserved only for members of the royal family, plunging into a crowd so vast that she could not see its end. The Augustine Cathedral was less than a mile from the palace, but it took Sisi’s coach several hours to make it there, so packed were the boulevards with thousands of revelers crying out for a view of the empress. Her passage was heralded by trumpeters, footmen coifed in impeccable white wigs, and banner men bearing the Habsburg flag. Imperial guards lined every step of the way, and even the horses pulling the coach appeared haughty, seemingly sensing the importance of the procession in which they took part.
“There now, Sisi, how about a smile?” Ludovika, who huddled beside her daughter in the coach, looked tired. Sisi turned and stared into her mother’s eyes—her throat dry as she considered her response. But this was her mamma; surely she could be honest.
“Am I the only one who finds this frightening?” Sisi trembled, a lone tear sliding from the corner of her eye. Ludovika sat up tall, wiping the tear from her daughter’s cheek before its existence could be detected by the hordes surrounding them.
“Nearly there, Sisi. Just remember—Franz is waiting for you at the end of all of this. Think of him.”
Sisi nodded. “Yes.” Once she saw Franz, all would be well.
When Sisi arrived at the church, a legion of attendants descended on her to fluff her gown, inspect her jewels, and approve of every strand of her hair. They adjusted the buttery satin that draped over her with layers of crystal-encrusted lace. They adjusted Aunt Sophie’s opal tiara, perfecting her dark blond curls that had been trimmed with diamonds and pearls. Sisi marveled, remarking how much more beautiful a woman became when she had the full backing of the imperial court, with all its seamstresses, tailors, and artists stitching, sewing, and conspiring to make her a figure worthy of the empire into which she married.
Augustinerkirche, the medieval cathedral built by the royal family in Vienna’s Josefsplatz Square, was swollen with more than a thousand guests and lit up by more than ten thousand candles. Seventy bishops stood before the altar dressed in gowns of gold thread, solemn and eager to assist in blessing the divine union.
Sisi was ushered to her father. Together they stood at the back of the cathedral, staring up at the staggeringly high gothic ceilings, propped up by white pillars that seemed as fragile as wishbones. Gilt chandeliers created an ethereal, glittering canopy over the length of the aisle. Delicately carved and lacquered pews were filled with courtiers, nobles who temporarily forgot their highborn manners as they elbowed and craned, vying to catch the first glimpse of Franz Joseph’s beloved. Thunderous organs mingled with the fanfare of trumpets and horns to stun all in the audience, to overwhelm them with the august power of the Habsburg dynasty.
“Ready, Sisi?” Her father took her hand in his, waiting to commence the long march toward the altar. She nodded. Yes. Even though she was certain that one was never ready to make this walk.
“Then let’s go, my girl.” Duke Maximilian looked dignified in his old military uniform, presenting a stoic face even though his hands trembled as he kissed his daughter one last time.
Through the haze of the tiring, chaotic afternoon, Sisi felt cowed by the sense of awe that was stirred inside of her: the same awe that she now saw reflected back to her on the faces of her wedding guests. This was not about a sixteen-year-old German girl marrying the young man she loved. This day was about empire and the continuation of the Habsburg-Lorraine line.
The one memory that Sisi was certain she would savor from that day was the way her groom had looked at her. Franz is waiting for you at the end of all of this—remember him. How Franz had waited for her before the gold-leaf altar of the church, his eyes fixed on her with such earnest love and longing that she had almost felt bashful in front of the congregation. How he’d kept that gaze locked on her, immutable, as she processed down the aisle, her narrow satin shoes and heavy gown forcing her to walk more slowly than she would have liked. How he had smiled in the moment after they had exchanged their marital vows. And how, in that moment, a battalion of grenadiers outside the church fired off a salvo of cannonfire. All of Vienna knew, in that moment, that God’s anointed vessel on earth had joined his hand to a Bavarian beauty named Elisabeth.
“Goodness,” Sisi jumped at the sound, the cannons mingling with the roars of the crowd assembled outside the cathedral. “I think they’ve just heard the news of our marriage all the way to Russia.”
Franz smiled down at her, taking her hands in his. “If they haven’t yet, they very soon shall.”
Back at the Hofburg Palace, a dozen aides and attendants were on hand to ensure that the newlyweds stepped gracefully through the procedure and protocol that was expected of them. The imperial couple made their first appearance as man and wife on the main balcony above the palace’s grand staircase. Below, a crowd of hundreds of courtiers—dressed in their most formal regalia—stared and waved, elbowing one another aside in an effort to get a better look.
“Repräsentazions-pflicht,” Franz whispered to his bride, through close-knit lips. He, like her, was waving down at the courtiers.
“Pardon me?” Sisi asked, breaking protocol, turning her glance from the crowds to look at her husband.
“Keeping up the front. That’s what this is. We play our roles today. And then, tonight, I may finally be with you.”
Sisi turned back to the crowds below, hoping that they assumed her sudden smile and blush to be for them, and not in response to her groom’s whispers.
Next, in the state receiving room, the couple was to grant their first private audience as man and wife. This honor was given first to the generals who had led Austria victoriously against the Hungarians in the uprisings of 1848 and 1849. Next came the court envoys and ambassadors, as well as Franz’s ministers. Sisi had a special smile for Count Grünne, the only man whose face she remembered. The count leaned forward and bowed, whispering: “You are ravishing, Empress.”
Last, in the position of least honor, marched in the Hungarian noblemen. Sisi marveled at these tall, dark-mustached men, proud and disinterested, bedecked in leopard skin cloaks and spurred boots. Sisi noted, with interest, that Sophie excused herself from the hall upon the entrance of the Hungarian lords, as Franz greeted them with cordial hospitality.
With these meetings over, the pair entered the Hall of Mirrors to begin the portion of the afternoon Sisi most dreaded. This was to be the sacred Kissing of the Hand ceremony, the first moment in which the noble ladies of the court, hundreds of them, would have the opportunity to step forward, one at a time, to meet their new empress. At this time, the aristocratic ladies would be granted permission to do something that no one else in the kingdom, save the members of her immediate family, would ever again be able to do: touch Sisi. More precisely, on this wedding day, the highborn ladies were permitted to place a kiss on Sisi’s now-imperial hand.
“Is this the Kissing of the Hand?” Sisi whispered to Franz as the noblewomen swished in, their heads plumed in feathers and fruit, their faces fixed with probing looks of appraisal and scrutiny. “Or the Parade of Broken Hearts?”
Franz laughed at the joke, but Sisi caught her mother-in-law scowling. Nowhere in the protocol guide did it say that the newlyweds were permitted to whisper to one another. And certainly, there was to be no giggling on their wedding day.
The first few women stepped forward without incident. Countess Esterházy stood at Sisi’s side, whispering the names so that Sisi could maintain the illusion of preparedness, her hand resting and ready on a plush, velvet cushion. She sat still, her spine stiff against the high-backed chair, as the ladies filed past: some nearly as young as she, some as old as grandmothers. All of them bowed obsequiously as they stole furtive glances at their empress. Sisi noticed, too, the sideways looks some of them angled toward her husband. The young ones, the pretty ones, flashed quick smiles to Franz. When he returned their smiles, that’s when Sisi realized: he knew them. He’d come of age mingling with them. She sat up taller in the uncomfortable, high-backed throne, suddenly keenly aware of how many other women had wished to sit in this same chair.
After more than a dozen ladies had been met, Sisi spotted a familiar face in the line. “Helene!” Sisi did not wait for her sister to approach, but instead rose from her chair and ran to her sister for a hug, dropping the cushion to the ground as she did so. “Oh, Néné, I am deliriously happy to see you!” Sisi nearly tripped as she folded into her older sister’s arms.
“Sisi! Oh, Sisi!”
Immediately, the sisters heard gasps popping up from around the hall, like small puffs of gunfire. Sophie appeared by their side.
“Empress. You forget yourself.” Sophie’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Oh, Aunt Sophie.” Sisi pulled away from the hug, wiping a tear from her eye. “But it’s my sister. Surely I am allowed to hug my sister on my wedding day?”
“Empress . . .”—Sophie stared, her lips pinched and her face as stone-like as her posture—“this is not how things are done.”
Sisi dropped Helene’s hand, swallowing hard. And there it was, Sisi saw it again; that same look on Helene’s face. That was when Sisi realized. It was not a look of envy or bitterness that had flickered behind Néné’s familiar features all of these months. No, it was a look of pity. Her sister did not covet this role, or these jewels, or this groom, or this life. Her sister pitied Sisi for the fate she had willingly stepped into.
Realizing this, Sisi stepped back from the line, avoiding Franz’s gaze, avoiding the gaze of her sister, the gaze of her new mother-in-law.
Helene was ushered out, her turn having come and gone, and the next woman approached, bowing before Sisi’s hard, high-backed chair. But Sisi’s vision was suddenly blurry as she watched her sister’s receding figure, like a lifeboat drifting away from the flailing limbs of a drowning swimmer. Néné! Her heartbeat quickened, and Sisi found herself longing to leave the room with her sister. Come back, Néné! Please, don’t leave me!
