Sisi, page 20
Sisi strode to the bedside to inspect the silver gown she had selected for the evening. “And what’s more,” she continued, “you know that he complained at being housed at Laxenburg Castle, as he wished to be closer to Franz…the emperor? And yet, do you know what he has insisted on doing at Laxenburg?”
“Dare I ask?” Marie allowed the hint of a smile to plump her cheeks.
“He has insisted that they construct an open hearth in his bedroom so that his rams may be slaughtered daily and roasted right before him on the open flame. And he’s using the neighboring bedroom as his slaughtering room!”
Marie put a hand to her mouth, hiding her giggles. Serious Ida stood in the back preparing Sisi’s jewelry for the evening—she never indulged in such gossip.
“I think my days of visiting Laxenburg are over,” Sisi said, her mind awhirl. “And people called me demanding? And Ludwig eccentric?”
“He is telling everyone, Empress, that he is more excited to see you than the fairgrounds,” Marie said.
“Well, then, let’s finish getting ready. If the stars are propitious for the meeting tonight, I shall finally meet the man who so humbly calls himself the Blessed Center of the Universe.”
—
Sisi and Franz welcomed the shah and his massive entourage that evening at the feast. Having heard of the visitor’s colorful and extravagant tastes, Sisi had dressed even more opulently than usual. She wore a wispy gown of silver and cream, her waist wrapped tight in a violet sash, strands of amethysts and diamonds trimming her loose chestnut waves. Upon his introduction to his hostess, Shah Naser al-Din lifted his golden pince-nez to the bridge of his nose and allowed his eyes to rove freely and unabashedly over her entire figure. Then, turning to his grand vizier, a tall man with black eyes lined in heavy kohl, he muttered in French, as if Sisi couldn’t hear or understand: “My Lord, but she is as lovely as they say she is.”
Sisi turned to Franz, barely suppressing the urge to giggle. She didn’t know what she found more amusing, the shah’s unselfconsciousness or Franz’s clear discomfort.
Throughout dinner, the shah sat beside Sisi like a shy schoolboy, looking at her but barely speaking to anyone but his vizier, who sat to his other side. “Are you looking forward to visiting the fairgrounds tomorrow, Your Majesty?” Sisi asked in French, valiantly attempting to draw the shah into conversation as the dessert was served. Farther down the table, Franz was chatting dutifully with one of the shah’s many brothers. When the shah did not answer her, Sisi posed a second question. “Perhaps there is some exhibit in particular you look forward to?”
“No,” the shah answered, his tone as direct as his staring.
“Oh?” Sisi sat back, momentarily at a loss.
He continued: “But I would like to invite you out to my lodgings at Laxenburg. I hear that Your Majesty is a great admirer of horses, and I would be honored if you would allow me to show you mine.”
“You are too kind, sir.” Sisi lowered her head, nodding. She was saved just then by the announcement of dancing. The evening progressed with waltzes and quadrilles, during which the shah observed but did not participate. Afterward, there were fireworks in the gardens in his honor.
The successful night was followed by a trying day, one in which Sisi saw even Franz’s well-practiced hospitality worn down until he was teetering uncharacteristically close to overt frustration with his guest. The shah arrived at the grounds two hours late for his official tour with the emperor and empress, leaving them both to stand in the harsh midday sun without explanation. As they milled through the exhibits, seeing sights that Sisi had now beheld dozens of times, Shah Naser al-Din was decidedly less interested in the goods on display than he was with the pretty and well-dressed Viennese women he passed. Several times he looked squarely in the face of a young girl and pressed his tongue to his lips in a provocative manner.
His ministers assured Sisi that the Blessed Center of the Universe meant no offense with this gesture, however lewd it may have appeared to those who didn’t understand; it was simply His Majesty’s habitual way of telling a woman that her looks pleased him. At one point the shah went so far in his zeal to express his pleasure that he reached out to a passing woman and grabbed her arm, pinching it before allowing his fingers to glide toward her breasts.
The young woman began to shriek, attracting an embarrassing amount of attention to the scuffle, and Sisi and Franz Joseph hurried ahead as the imperial guards intervened to usher the girl to safety while Andrássy swept forward to divert the shah.
The most awkward part of the day occurred when a particularly buxom young woman fell before the shah’s appreciative eyes and the Persian monarch whispered an order to his vizier. The vizier then approached his host and hostess, eager to dispatch his leader’s will. “Emperor Franz Joseph?”
“Yes?” Franz turned from Sisi to the minister.
“You have an opportunity to make your holy guest, the Blessed Shah, most happy.”
“Anything,” Franz said, somewhat coolly, but nevertheless expressing his eagerness to be an accommodating host.
“If you would—that beautiful woman over there…” The minister pointed, and both Franz and Sisi followed his finger with their eyes to a pretty young girl, dressed in perhaps fewer layers of clothing than propriety would have dictated. But then, it was a wretchedly hot day.
The grand vizier continued: “She has greatly pleased Shah Naser al-Din, and His Excellency would like to know how much he might pay in order to enjoy her company…in private.”
After the shah departed, Sisi stood firm and told Franz that she needed to leave the capital for a brief stay in the country. Her cough, rather than improving in the summer heat, was worsening, and now she broke out with rose-colored spots on her chest. An incapacitating pain had taken hold of her abdomen. On top of that, she had come down with a fever and was still experiencing persistent headaches. The court doctor had diagnosed her as suffering from typhoid fever coupled with exhaustion and had urged the empress to leave the city. Sisi almost celebrated the diagnosis; at last, she could get away, and not even Franz, with his steadfast adherence to duty, could protest.
The day before her planned departure to Gödöllő, Andrássy found Sisi walking in the gardens of Schönbrunn accompanied by Valerie, Miss Throckmorton, Ida, and Marie. “If you wouldn’t mind, Empress, might I join you on the stroll?”
“Of course,” Sisi said. They stood before the Neptune Fountain, a fantastical pool filled with the naked bodies of ancient Roman gods, their muscular forms of white stone writhing and wrestling, as their open mouths spit gurgling water. Swans skimmed the glassy surface beneath them, unfazed by the epic battle of the gods overhead.
“We were just about to climb the hill up to the Gloriette.” Sisi gestured up the slope toward the magnificent stone structure that rested atop Schönbrunn Hill. The miniature palace adorned the summit like a delicate puff of cream and pastry and looked down over the private grounds of Schönbrunn. “Valerie said she wishes to see the giant wedding cake.”
Andrássy laughed. “In that case, I will gladly accompany you.” He fell in step beside Sisi. As they made their way up the meandering path that scaled the hilly grounds, Sisi couldn’t help but remember a night, years earlier, when she had snuck out of the palace to climb this same hill. It had been dark and rainy, but sleep had eluded her, as it still so often did. She had been surprised and delighted to find that Andrássy, too, had followed his midnight restlessness to the same picturesque spot. They had sat on the summit, sheltered from the rain by the creamy stone archways of the Gloriette, speaking about their love for Hungary and their dreams for peace between their two lands. Sisi wondered if he rememberd that night. Whatever it was he now thought about, he seemed restless.
For her part, Sisi was enjoying a finer mood than she had in weeks; she was looking forward to the break from court, a brief reprieve from the trying pace she’d kept all summer. As soon as her fever was cured and her cough was fully gone, she planned to enjoy the remaining warm months in the saddle, riding through the wilderness around her Hungarian estate. But Andrássy fidgeted beside her as they walked, as if he needed to confess something. “What is it? Why do you appear so nervous?”
Andrássy didn’t respond to her question. He didn’t even turn to look at her as they continued up the pebbly lane.
“What is it?” She studied his profile, unnerved by his silence.
“Empress, I wish…” He turned to face her for the first time. “I would most humbly request…that you would consider postponing your departure from the capital.”
Sisi paused her steps, unsure of how to respond. It was Andrássy the bureaucrat who stood before her now; she could see that clearly, and she found it endlessly frustrating. She drew in a long breath, looking out over the magnificent grounds of Schönbrunn that spread before them. “Andrássy, I’m ill. The doctor has diagnosed my fever. Even Franz understands that I must get away for a bit.”
“But…the timing is not good, Empress. It will not reflect well if you—”
“Will not reflect well? I’ve stood dutifully by Franz’s side the entire summer. What could possibly be more important now than my health?” Sisi asked, the edge in her tone sharpening. “The doctors are in agreement that I must go and recover my strength.”
“But we have someone coming who might be offended.”
“Haven’t we already played host to every single crowned head of Europe…of the world? Who remains?”
“The King of Italy…”
“Victor Emmanuel?” Sisi spat out the name as she would the name of a criminal. Which was what he was. “The man who besieged my sister Marie and then drove her out of her kingdom entirely? The man who now wears her crown and sits on her throne as she lives as an exile in Possenhofen?” Sisi didn’t wait for Andrássy to say more. Instead, taking two fistfuls of her skirt in her hands, she set off at a brisk walk, her heart thrashing angrily in her chest as she continued to climb the hill.
She did not pause until she arrived, panting, at the summit, which afforded a bird’s-eye view over the grounds and gardens of the palace. Far below, the royal maze unfolded within a series of tight-clipped hedgerows and bushes. Sisi saw the faint outlines of courtiers strolling through the maze, perhaps discussing some secret business or whispering of a hidden love affair. Her mind darted and weaved as if she herself were stuck in some maze far more labyrinthine; what was Andrássy asking of her? He was asking her not only to stay, at the risk of her own well-being, but also to play gracious hostess to the man who had ousted her sister? How could he ask such a thing of her? Had he so completely turned into the bureaucrat that he now entirely disregarded her feelings?
“Sisi, please, wait.” Andrássy trotted to catch her. “Please don’t run away from me. Listen to me.”
“No, Andrássy, you have some gall asking that of me. Forget that I am sick—regardless of that, how can you possibly expect me to remain here to receive that impostor? My sister’s tormentor. Does Franz…the emperor…know about this? No, he can’t possibly. He has already told me that he does not expect me to receive that…man. Not when he has abused my sister so. Franz would never ask me to—”
“The emperor recognizes that this is a matter of state importance and not a game of petty grudge holding.”
“Petty…grudge…holding?” Sisi repeated his words back to him, her tone going low.
Andrássy simply looked at her, stone-faced, his demeanor unwavering. “You are allowing your personal feelings to interfere with important matters of state.”
Sisi tossed her shoulders back, straightening to her full height. “So, what then? I betray my sister…hop quickly onto the side of some lawless revolutionary simply because he has grabbed the reins of power?”
“It’s what is best for the empire. Your husband sees that. Your sister should understand that it’s your duty. And so should…” He didn’t finish his thought. But he didn’t need to. And so should you, he wanted to say. His unspoken words hung in the air, his meaning encircling them like a ring of smoke.
Sisi shifted on her feet, grinding her teeth to prevent herself from lashing him with her words. And then, turning to her ladies, who had nearly reached the summit with the little princess, Sisi said, “Ida? Marie? Prepare my bags. Miss Throckmorton, prepare Valerie. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow. We’ll leave for Gödöllő this afternoon.”
The world’s fair came to an end just as its hastily built halls and rotundas began to chip and crumble. As workers set to the task of dismantling the fairgrounds, the busy summer turned inevitably toward autumn. The court relocated to the Hofburg, settling in for the colder months and shorter days, and Sisi returned, reluctantly, to the capital. Andrássy found Sisi back at the Hofburg shortly after she had returned for the upcoming holidays and her husband’s silver jubilee celebration. He wrote requesting a visit, and Sisi granted it.
“Emperor for twenty-five years already,” Andrássy said, lowering himself onto the settee in her formal receiving room. Ida and Marie had just left the room, heeding the empress’s orders to go check on Valerie in her new nursery.
“Twenty-five years,” Sisi repeated, looking out the window. Outside, the frozen grounds were dusted with a thin layer of the winter’s first snowfall. Beyond the Hofburg gates, all of Vienna was in a state of anticipatory excitement, preparing for the parades and festivals that the emperor’s silver jubilee celebration promised.
“And nearly twenty years that you have been married. Does it feel like it has been that long already?”
Sisi turned to look at Andrássy, considering his question. Her anger toward him had lessened slightly over the past few months—the acute sting fading to a more dull but persistent ache. Had he really come here today to talk about her marriage to Franz? She crossed the room and sat on the settee opposite him. “Married nearly twenty years, yes. And yet I’m only in my thirties and have this preposterous idea that I still have a lot of life to live.”
Andrássy nodded, looking down at his hands. “As well you should, Empress.”
“You know I hate it when you call me that.”
Andrássy shifted in his seat, looking around the room now for the tenth time to ensure that they were alone. Sisi wondered how they had ever sat so companionably together—and where that ease between them had gone.
“Should you order some tea?” Andrássy suggested, perhaps only to fill the silence.
“Would you like tea?”
“Not especially. But I don’t know”—he shrugged—“I feel as though an afternoon visit should be accompanied by tea?”
Sisi sighed. “Andrássy, your timing could not be worse; if you’ve come here hoping to find me charming and agreeable, I fear your suit will be an unsuccessful one.”
“Why is that? Are you still so very cross with me over Victor Emmanuel? I had hoped to find you returned from Hungary and Bavaria with your spirits restored.”
“Yes, well.” Sisi riffled through the pile of papers before her—the dozens of letters, petitions, and prayers that had awaited her upon her return to the capital. “Ah, here it is. What a lovely homecoming.” She handed Andrássy the article she’d clipped from that morning’s newspaper. It was an open letter penned by the editor in honor of Franz Joseph’s jubilee. After praising the emperor for providing his people with the gifts of peace, stability, and progress, the editor went on to contrast Franz Joseph’s successes with the failings, both personal and public, of his wife.
“The Strange Woman.” Sisi read the title of the article aloud now, masking the hurt she felt behind a tone of bitterness. Bitterness was easier to admit to than deep sadness, both to oneself and to others. “There are so many good bits in here,” she said, trying to keep a calm voice as her eyes scanned the article. “Let’s see. Here they critique me for my long absences from court. The ‘imagined health conditions’ that I use to justify my negligence as a wife and mother. Then there’s a nice passage on my ‘illogical love of and dangerous preference for the Hungarian minority.’ And then there’s the review of my vanity. And then they’ve printed these lovely interviews with anonymous courtiers who swear to have heard Franz and me ‘in the throes of violent quarrels.’ How mortifying, whether those are authentic interviews or not. But here’s my favorite bit: ‘As the emperor this year commemorates the triumphs of his twenty-five years, he has every right to look back over these decades with tremendous satisfaction in his record and his service. We can’t help but feel, however, that the only grave error he made in this otherwise exemplary tenure was the one he made in 1854.’ ” Sisi looked up at Andrássy now. “Marrying me—you understand their point, yes?”
“Why would you even read such filth?” Andrássy reached for the paper, snatching it from her hands and rending it apart in one quick, decisive gesture. His face was expressionless, but she saw that he had gone pale.
“Because it’s on the front page of the newspaper. I can’t very well miss it, can I?”
“You should never have been allowed to see that paper.”
“Oh, Andrássy, I’m not like Franz. I don’t have my papers read ahead of time, cut up with just the positive bits put on my desk. I like to know the truth. It’s just…” Sisi looked at the shreds of paper in his hands now. “Well, I pick up the journals, looking to see what I’ve missed while I was away, and it’s right there. For all to see.”
“Has Franz…has the emperor seen it yet?”
“Oh, yes, I told him he must read it.”
“And?”
“He’s livid. He’s penning an open reply and demanding that they print it on the front page of every paper, as well as read it aloud in parliament.”
“Good,” Andrássy said, nodding. “It’s one bitter man’s opinion. He’s staunchly pro-Austrian and he resents your support for Hungary; he rails that you’ve been away from court, but you’re back now. I wouldn’t give it another thought, Sisi.”
