Sisi, page 21
She inclined her head to the side, looking at him for a moment in silence. “You don’t really suppose that he alone feels that way, do you? I know that members of this court say the same. Why, he has included their interviews.”
“Enough of that,” Andrássy said, shifting in his chair. “They do not warrant your attention. How was Possenhofen? And Hungary?”
Sisi thought about this, weighing her answer. In truth, rather than reviving and restoring her, as they had in the past, her trips that autumn had left her feeling weary and disheartened. While in Bavaria she’d had several visits from Ludwig and had been discouraged to see his health in such steep decline. Regardless of what people thought of his eccentricity, Ludwig had always been an unequivocally handsome, well-groomed man. He prized beauty perhaps above any other virtue. But this past autumn, he had arrived at Possenhofen looking like a stranger. The first thing Sisi had noticed was that her previously fastidious and vain cousin had grown bloated and thick with self-neglect. His smiles, which had a fleeting, frenzied quality to them, revealed receding gums and rotten teeth.
Their time together had been filled less with meaningful conversations and long pleasant walks than with Ludwig’s illogical monologues, his speech veering, at times, toward the disturbing. He had spoken to Sisi of his recent reconciliation with Wagner, and of the composer’s upcoming operas, and of the work he was doing on his newest castle, modeled to look just like France’s Versailles. When she’d asked him how he had managed to raise the funds to finance these undertakings, Ludwig had erupted in shrill laughter. “I won’t allow my divine calling to be thwarted by something as base and vile as the want of money, Sisi.” When the time had come to bid Ludwig farewell, Sisi had sent her cousin home to Neuschwanstein with a feeling of relief—and deep foreboding.
Elsewhere in the Wittelsbach household, the mood had been bleak. Valerie had come down with the same cough that Sisi herself had been fighting. Her mother and father were as unhappy as ever—the Duchess Ludovika overburdened with the cares of her duchy and her family, and Duke Max claiming that he wanted to take off on another one of his rambling hunting expeditions. Helene remained cloistered in silence and solitude. She barely spoke to anyone but a local priest whom she invited to the home for her daily confession. But Marie—the time with Marie had been perhaps the most trying portion of Sisi’s stay. Marie walked around the home in a state of utter denial. With the haughtiest of smiles, she would declare that she was so happy to have this “brief respite” from her cares in Italy, predicting that it would be only a matter of time before “the crown would be restored to its rightful owner.” And somehow, inexplicably, both Marie and the Duchess Ludovika seemed to think that it was Sisi who would get that Italian crown back for her sister.
Sisi turned back to Andrássy now, groaning at the recollection of this chore that had been placed on her by her family. “You can’t think that I will let you and Franz forget that we owe my sister a response. Victor Emmanuel continues to—”
“Please.” Andrássy raised a hand. “Enough. We’ve discussed Italy ad infinitum. Franz has recognized Emmanuel’s kingship. The sooner your sister accepts that, the better. It is done.”
“Done? But it can’t be done! Why, he is not a legitimate king. My sister and her husband are the legitimate regents.”
“Victor Emmanuel…and the people of Italy…would say otherwise.”
“But this can’t be borne!” And even though Sisi had looked at her sister and seen only denial and self-delusion, now she railed at Andrássy on Marie’s behalf. She was so angry with him for so many reasons—reasons even she herself could not understand—and now, at last, she had an outlet. “You have no loyalty,” she declared. “Why, my sister waits in Possenhofen like a refugee—her rightful home seized from her, her crown snatched from her head. And that criminal pretends to have a claim! How can Franz, a legitimate monarch, recognize a usurper? And don’t you feel any sense of loyalty to me? If I tell you this is important to me, does that mean nothing?”
Andrássy let her rail against him, sitting motionless opposite her, studying her with a quizzical look. Eventually, when she fell silent, he spoke. “I always thought you the populist among the Habsburgs.”
Sisi smarted at this, at his cruel calm. At the veiled mockery that lurked behind his words. At the way he had avoided her last, and most urgent, of questions—if I tell you this is important to me, does that mean nothing?
Narrowing her eyes, Sisi answered: “You know that I put loyalty to my family above anything else.”
Andrássy landed his elbows on his knees and let out a long, slow exhale. “Do you not realize that your own husband—how did you say it?—snatched the throne for himself? Taking it from a weak uncle? And we will mark his silver jubilee this year, celebrating the fact that he did so.”
Sisi shook her head. “That’s different.”
“How is it different?” Andrássy’s voice was quiet, patient. “Aren’t all crowns stolen—in some way or another? If not from a predecessor, then from the people, who make up the only legitimate ruling power.”
Sisi waffled, her mind reeling. “But you work for the empire,” she replied, her tone defiant, even argumentative.
Andrássy nodded, tenting his fingers before his thoughtful face. “I’m a realist who works toward ideals. This is an empire in which we live, so I work for the people through this imperial structure. I simply seek to bring power and prosperity to my people. I thought you felt the same. And, it seems the people of Italy have chosen their authority figure decisively. If they wish to reject an ineffective king’s power, replacing him with a populist ruler who better represents their interests, and they are strong enough to do so…well, it isn’t the first time that a throne has been toppled. And it won’t be the last.”
Sisi crossed her arms. It was true; she had always advocated liberalism, had always labeled herself a supporter of the constitution and the parliament and ever-greater rights for the people. And yet, to hear Andrássy so openly dismiss her sister’s claim, to hear him diminish her husband’s authority—and, by proxy, hers—made her question whether in fact she truly believed what she had been saying all of these years.
Andrássy seemed to sense her inner turmoil, because he leaned forward, inclining his head toward her. “Perhaps that’s difficult for you to hear, being a Habsburg?”
The next day, Sisi took a ride through the Vienna Woods. The day was bitter cold beneath a steel-gray sky, too cold even for snow, and Sisi had faced the disapproving frowns of Ida and Marie as they’d helped her into her white fox fur cap and cloak.
Though she rode alone, she spent the afternoon arguing with Andrássy, berating him in her mind and cutting him with her imagined words. She’d gone for this frigid ride out of desperation—being in the saddle and free of all company was the only way she could fathom sifting through her warring emotions. Here, where the wind whipped so relentlessly that her tears froze and vanished before slipping down her cheeks, she could rail at him in the way she knew she never otherwise would.
After several hours, her lungs aching like the stab of a cold knife, Sisi slowed her horse and guided the tired animal toward a small hunting lodge. She knew this spot—Franz had brought her here in the earlier days of their marriage. The place was called Mayerling Lodge, and it was an imperial camp tucked deep in the Vienna Woods, reserved exclusively for the royal family’s use as a retreat during hunting or riding excursions.
The grounds at Mayerling, a former church, now comprised little more than a dingy, haphazard hunting cabin neighbored by the ruins of a small, ancient chapel. The grounds’ best feature were their large horse stables. The household was run by a sparse staff of servants, kept at the woodland retreat on the rare chance that a member of the imperial family made a visit as impromptu as this one. As Sisi approached now, a thin ribbon of black smoke curled upward from the cabin’s main chimney. At least it would be warm inside.
In the yard, Sisi spotted a hunched figure carrying two armfuls of kindling toward the cabin’s main door. The man turned in response to the unexpected sound of horse hooves. “Good afternoon.” Sisi slowed her horse in front of the cabin and smiled at the caretaker, a small, thickly built man with weather-beaten skin and a heavily patched winter cloak. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I thought I’d stop in for a quick rest.”
The man’s face showed first confusion, then mute shock. “Your…Imperial Majesty…Empress Elisabeth?” He dropped his armfuls of wood onto the hard ground, bowing as he did so. “Welcome to Mayerling Lodge, Your Grace. But I am all apologies; I’ve got no meat. I was not prepared for—”
“I only want a fire, please.” Sisi hopped down from her saddle and handed the man her reins. “I’ll see myself in if you will see to this poor, cold horse.”
Inside, the cabin was dim and chilly, the small fire in the corner seeming to contribute more soot than flame as it sputtered on the hearth, barely warming the open space. “Took you long enough!” A wiry woman in heavy wool skirts, her hair pulled back in a thin gray bun, crouched before the fire, stabbing at it with a rusted poker, as if trying to coax the reluctant embers into providing more warmth. “Chimney’s still blocked up. But bring me that wood anyway; we’ll try to thaw ourselves just the same. It’ll be stew again for supper—more roots than meat unless you’ve finally caught something.”
Turning, she saw that it was not her fellow servant to whom she had spoken so gruffly, but rather her imperial mistress. “Empress Elisabeth!” The woman’s face registered the same shock that the man’s had a moment earlier. “Can it be?” Rising, she dropped the poker to the stone floor and wiped her hands on her apron, bowing her head.
“Good afternoon,” Sisi said, sweeping into the front room.
“My, you are a vision in white, coming into our dark space.” The woman studied Sisi’s entire appearance with stunned, rounded eyes. “But I must apologize. I…we…had no warning of your visit.”
“I gave none.” Sisi shook her head, removing her fur cap and allowing her hair to fall loose. “Please, do not worry. All I want is this fire, and perhaps some hot tea. I’ll only be here a short time, an hour at most, just to warm myself.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” The woman nodded and shuffled off toward the kitchens, mumbling to herself as she did: “Tea, tea, tea at once. But they might have sent us word Her Majesty was coming….”
Sisi took off her gloves, tossing them along with her cap onto a nearby chair, its upholstery worn and dust covered. As she stood before the fire thawing her raw fingers, she heard another horse outside. She stiffened. Had someone found out where she was and come looking for her? she wondered. Some imperial guard sent by Franz? A moment later, the door to the lodge opened, and a tall figure blocked out the slice of gray daylight that seeped in.
“Andrássy?” Sisi stood still before the feeble heat of the fire, staring at him. After a moment, she pulled her gaze away and turned back to the hearth. “Close the door; you’re letting all the warmth out.”
“I’m happy to see you, too, Sisi,” Andrássy said, stepping into the room. She did not answer him.
Andrássy looked around the lodge, lifting his fur-lined hat from his head and placing it beside her white cap on the chair. Sisi stole a sideways glance and saw that his cheeks were tinged pink from the cold, his tall frame covered in a long, fur-lined coat. He crossed the room and approached her, raising his own hands over the fire. “I know you are wondering how I found you.”
Sisi did not say anything, keeping her gaze fixed on the flames.
“Marie Festetics told me you were riding in this area.”
Sisi fumed, silently forming a censure for her attendant. But Marie couldn’t have known the extent of her rupture with Andrássy—or the fact that Sisi had come here today specifically to be away from him. Meanwhile, she now stood next to him, in a secluded lodge in the pine- and snow-covered Vienna Woods, and he was staring at her, his face just inches from hers. She thought of all the times she had longed to be alone with him—and now here he was, the one person whose presence she most dreaded.
“It’s remarkable, really.”
She turned to him, curiosity gaining the upper hand as she asked: “What is?”
He paused a moment before answering. “How much you tell me with your face.”
She frowned at this and then, realizing that she was only making herself more readable, composed her features, assuming the mask so necessary at court.
“Ah, there it is.” Andrássy nodded, making her uncomfortable under the intensity with which he studied her. “Much better. Hide it all.”
“You are insufferable to be around.” She turned away, slipping off her fur coat and tossing it on the couch. Already she felt overheated, and she wasn’t sure whether it was from the fire, or her fury with him, or both. “I am not the one who has become a Habsburg lackey.”
“I wish you’d tell me how you truly felt.”
“In that case, I shall gladly oblige.” She turned, her tone biting. “I’ve found you to be insufferable of late. In fact, I feel as if I hardly know you, what with how much you’ve changed. I did not wish to see you today. That was why I left the palace, in fact. I came here to be alone.”
And now Andrássy’s face slackened entirely, and she saw his hurt so plainly across his features; she knew what she saw, because it was what she herself hid under her own bitterness and anger. What she beheld in Andrássy’s face was a pain that she knew so well—a pain that had no easy cure.
“Sisi.” He turned from the fire, taking off his coat and approaching her. She could smell him—he smelled like the cold, and the pines, and the smoke of this hearth. She shut her eyes, angling her body away, forcing herself to stay mad. If the anger gave way to the gnawing sadness beneath it, she’d have no hope of composure.
Andrássy reached forward and put a hand on her shoulder, and she stepped away to pull her body out of his reach. Just then the woman reentered with the tea. “Oh?” She nearly dropped the tray when she saw that yet another well-dressed visitor had arrived, also unannounced, at Mayerling Lodge. “Another one? My, we don’t have a visitor from court for five years straight, and on this afternoon we get two. Do I…shall I go and fetch another cup?”
“It’s fine; he’s not staying. Leave it,” Sisi said, her tone flat as she nodded at the tray with the single cup of tea. The woman did as she was told, depositing the tray and scurrying from the room.
Left alone with Andrássy once more, Sisi stood silently, then walked toward the window and looked out over the stark, frozen vista of the Vienna Woods. She didn’t touch the tea, nor did she look at Andrássy. On the hearth, a log popped before decomposing, sending a spray of ash onto the stone floor. When Sisi hadn’t spoken for a long stretch of minutes, Andrássy filled the silence: “I wish I knew…how we got here.”
“On horseback, it would appear,” Sisi said, throwing a glance toward the stables outside the window.
“You know what I mean, Sisi. How we—you and I…”
“Don’t,” she said, lifting a hand as she turned to face him. She shook her head once. “Don’t.”
She couldn’t say more; she knew her voice would break if she tried. Besides, they both knew how they had gotten here. They loved each other, but they both served a master—the Habsburg Empire—that cared not for love or the hopes or the heartache of any individual. After a pause, she managed a reply. “No words can change anything now, Andrássy. Perhaps it’s better if we just…don’t say anything.”
Andrássy seemed to be reading her thoughts, because he nodded once. Sisi saw the tears filling his dark eyes, giving them that velvety glimmer that had always struck her as so disarming, so impossibly inviting. “Yes,” he said, his voice low. He swallowed. “It’s better this way.”
She nodded, because she herself had decided the same thing. She knew what had to be done; she had come out here, riding and weeping across the frozen woods, to mourn it, in fact.
His voice sounded strangled when he continued: “Before we can break it, or be broken by it.”
She laughed to herself—a tormented, choking sound. She was pretty certain that she was already broken by it. But at least this way, they might escape with their dignity intact. With the memory of what they had felt—what they had shared—intact. Their love would be just the latest sacrifice brought to the altar of the empire, but at least it would be brought pure and beautiful.
This time, as he reached forward, Sisi allowed Andrássy to take her hands in his, knowing that it would be the last time she ever did. She looked down, saw the way their fingers intertwined. “How it began,” she said, keeping her voice low, but still hearing its tremor.
“Hmm?”
“How it began,” Sisi said, squeezing her own hands and his. “When I took your hand. So many years ago.”
He smiled, suddenly remembering, too. The night he had found her alone, heartbroken, in the halls of the Hofburg. It had been a troubling evening with Franz. She had bumped into Andrássy on her way back to her apartments, her spirits shattered, her confidence broken. She had taken Andrássy’s hand out of desperation. She had needed someone—a friend—to listen. To prove to her that she wasn’t alone. He had later confessed that it was on that night that he had fallen in love with her.
“How it began.” He nodded, stroking the top of her hand with his finger. And how it shall end, too, she thought, meeting his eyes. As he looked at her now, she saw a fleeting glimpse of every other time he had ever looked at her this way: their first meeting in the Viennese opera house; the balmy summer evening when he had asked her to dance in Budapest; the night he had found her weeping in the halls of the Hofburg; their rainy evening stroll across the grounds of Schönbrunn on the eve of peace with Hungary; the night she had found him, alone, on Castle Hill overlooking Budapest and the River Danube. Oh, those times and so many other times!
Andrássy inclined his head toward hers, his voice thick with grief as he spoke to her: “It’s better, Sisi, if I never tell you how deeply and achingly and permanently I shall love you. If I never tell you that you saved not only my country, but my very life. And how, knowing that, I would gladly lay my own life down for you, if I thought it could help you or bring you any more happiness.” He paused, fighting against himself. Eventually, his voice shaky but calm, he continued: “It would not do for me to tell you that I’ve agonized over this, and that I’ve come to realize that I cannot change you, or change whom you’re married to, or alter the purpose that God has for you in your life and your role. That I’ve realized that to keep loving you is selfish of me. That I think you, alone of all women, are perfect. And yet, by knowing you and loving you, I’ve come to see that in fact the best thing I can do—for you, for me, for this entire empire—is to release you.” He stopped now, his eyes shutting as his words expired, choked as they were on the sobs he fought against.
