Sisi, page 29
Dearest and most esteemed Madame,
News of your special closeness with Captain Bay Middleton has reached as far as my own ears. I express my deepest disappointment in your choice of constant companion, as well as my most ardent wish that you might, going forward, conduct yourself in a manner that will, if not extinguish, then at the very least not further inflame these vicious reports—stories that are damaging both to your own name and the name of our entire family.
Sisi crushed the paper in her hands, flew to the hearth, tossed the vile words over the logs, and watched them crinkle and turn to ash before anyone else might see her shame and her son’s censorious words. “Marie?” Sisi said, hands clenched at her sides as she watched a flame lick the charred remnants of the paper, devouring Rudolf’s message in the small blaze.
“Yes, Empress?” Marie Festetics said.
“Cancel my ride. Send Bay away. I’m not well.” These words, spoken like a series of frantic pleas, set off a flurry of excitement as Ida helped Sisi into bed.
Hours later, with just Marie Festetics and Ida beside her, Sisi thought it over. She was regretting burning the note—she would have liked to read it one more time to see if, on a second reading, she might be able to make more sense of Rudolf’s words.
Rudolf was wrong; that was all there was to it. Sisi and Bay had never overstepped propriety’s line. They had behaved like the closest of friends. Certainly she didn’t think of Bay as she thought of other friends, but they had never done anything improper. She was simply enjoying a few months of freedom away from her suffocating role at court. Was that not her right?
And yet, these rumors existed, and they were pervasive enough to have reached her son. Dangerous rumors. And if someone had dared utter them to the crown prince, it was only a matter of time before someone might whisper them in the presence of the emperor. And then, whether what she was doing was wrong or not, her days of riding with Bay would be over.
“But who would have said such vile things to Rudolf?” Sisi asked aloud to the room, her voice raspy from the hours she’d spent weeping. She was embarrassed that she was so clearly being gossiped about. She was frightened that Rudolf had heard these rumors—had Franz, too? She was smoldering with shame that her own son had thought it necessary to rebuke her. She was indignant, too, that he had dared to do so, when he himself led such a debauched life. She was outraged that she was being chastised when she and Bay had never even acted on what they both so clearly longed to— But she cut that thought short, stamping it out like a dangerous flame. She asked once more: “Who would dare?”
Ida and Marie exchanged a meaningful glance before turning to Sisi. Marie sighed. “Empress, there is one in your household who speaks with the crown prince regularly, even more often than Your Grace does.”
“There is?”
“Yes,” Marie said, as Ida nodded somberly.
“Who is that?”
The dislike hung heavy on Marie’s lips as she spoke the name: “Countess Larisch.”
Sisi fidgeted in bed, rumpling the covers in her hands. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. They were the same age, Rudy and Larisch. Rudolf, though he wore a perpetual frown in the presence of his parents, was apparently quite the charmer with ladies. And he was handsome, with his mother’s slender build and honey-colored eyes. And Larisch, well, she was an energetic and lively young woman in a loveless marriage; there was no containing her coquetry, no missing the way men admired her soft, youthful body and her easy, frequent smiles. Why, Nicky had certainly been taken with her, Sisi reasoned, and she all too happy to be taken by him.
Of course Larisch and Rudolf would have found each other’s company enjoyable, especially given how much time they had spent together in Vienna and Budapest. Perhaps they’d even begun some sort of flirtation. But would Larisch be stupid—or wicked—enough to gossip about Sisi to Rudolf?
Just then, as though she’d heard her name spoken, Larisch swept into the room carrying an armful of lace riding kerchiefs, freshly pressed for Sisi. The young lady’s entrance brought with it the scent of her pleasing floral perfume, and she smiled innocently at the three women gathered in and around the empress’s bed. “Empress.” The girl curtsied before crossing the room to sort the kerchiefs.
Larisch had been the only one to whom Sisi hadn’t explained the contents of Rudolf’s letter earlier. For some reason she hadn’t quite understood in the moment, Sisi hadn’t wanted to confide in Larisch. And she was certain that neither Marie Festetics nor Ida would have filled Larisch in, so strong was their dislike of her. So, the girl didn’t know anything, for once.
“Larisch.” Sisi forced calmness into her tone as she said the girl’s name aloud. “Leave those kerchiefs. Come sit with us.”
Larisch obeyed, placing the pile down and skipping happily to the bed. “Is everything all right, Empress?”
“Fine, just fatigued,” Sisi lied. “I’m trying not to fall ill. But answer me one question, my darling girl.”
“Anything, Empress.” Larisch perched on the edge of the bed, ignoring Ida’s unwelcoming scowl.
“You speak regularly to the crown prince, don’t you?”
“I do, Madame.” Larisch, silly girl that she was, didn’t even attempt to mask the way her cheeks flushed now.
“Tell me, then, what is the latest news from him?”
“Well, you know that he is close by, Madame,” Larisch said. “That the crown prince is on an international tour of his own.”
“Yes, he’s in London,” Sisi answered. It had struck her as odd—and vaguely sad—that though they were both in the British Isles, neither one of them had put much effort into seeing the other.
“He’s a smashing success in London,” Larisch continued, with a blushing, almost proprietary pride. “They say that the English ladies love him even more than they love the Prince of Wales.”
“He is…? They do…?” Sisi asked, incredulity momentarily throwing her off her purpose.
“Why, yes, Your Majesty!” Larisch said, her chest puffed out like a boastful bird’s. “Even old Queen Victoria has spoken openly about how charming she finds Rudy…I mean, the crown prince.”
This struck Sisi as curious and incomprehensible. Queen Victoria—that unsmiling, irascible, surly old widow? Charmed by Rudolf? But how had her son managed such a feat? And how could he present such a different image in public compared to the moody, argumentative persona he showed to his family? Did he save all his virtues for the outside world and show only his vices when in the presence of his family? But Sisi pushed these questions aside. She’d worry about Rudolf’s idiosyncrasies later. For now, she turned her focus back to Larisch, who remained perched beside her. “It makes me so happy that you speak with my son so often. I’m going to depend on you to keep me filled in on his life.”
“Happily, Empress! We write almost every day.”
This was all the confirmation that Marie Festetics and Ida needed, as Sisi could tell from the expressions that now passed between the two ladies. She felt her own body go rigid beneath the covers, but she forced herself to flash a placid smile as she leaned forward and patted the girl’s heavily ringed hand. “Good girl.”
Sisi decided, in that moment, not to confide anything else in the pretty little countess. In fact, a part of her was tempted to dismiss Larisch right then and there, to send her back to Georg Larisch’s isolated, gloomy castle, where she’d be out of sight and out of trouble. But there was no guarantee that this girl, having tasted the excitement of the Empress Elisabeth’s household, would return to her husband’s castle. What if she chose to make a life for herself instead in Budapest or Vienna? She was pretty enough and smart enough, and she certainly knew how to get what she wanted for herself—some rich gentleman would fall prey to her beguiling ways and would happily support her; Sisi was sure of it. And then what sort of trouble would the careless girl get herself into? Liberated and at large, with a smitten patron to fund her lifestyle and the credentials of her time at court to propel her into society; how would she reflect on Sisi? And what of Sisi’s private information would this girl share? As she felt such little trust in Larisch, Sisi decided that, for now, the best course was to keep the girl close. Only not quite as close as Sisi had once allowed.
And besides, Sisi reasoned, the young lady was so valuable in providing other gossip to Sisi that she kept the empress far more informed than modest Marie Festetics or pious, tight-lipped Ida ever would. So, Sisi kept Larisch in her household, only taking care to no longer confide any secrets to the girl. Instead, she’d use her to find out what she, Sisi, needed to know.
This, of course, concerned Bay Middleton. At Sisi’s request, Larisch soon brought home the news that, yes, in spite of his reticence on the topic, Bay Middleton was still most certainly engaged to Charlotte Baird.
“But why does he continue in the engagement to Miss Charlotte Baird when he so clearly does not love her? Why, he never even sees her….” Sisi mused aloud one evening, hoping that Larisch would hear the question and take the bait. Sure enough, like a bloodhound bred to catch the whiff of fox, Larisch returned several days later having sniffed out her own prize, which came in the form of juicy gossip.
“It’s a matter of finances, really,” Larisch declared. “Bay Middleton is only engaged to Charlotte Baird because her family has bought up all his family’s land, and he has absolutely no means for himself, other than his measly stipend as an officer.” Larisch sat opposite Sisi as the empress got ready for bed. Outside, the distant neighing of one of Sisi’s horses filled the dark evening. Larisch continued: “Hardly enough money to live off of as a professional man of hunting and sport. Charlotte will bring him an income of twenty thousand pounds a year.”
So Bay didn’t love Charlotte Baird, Sisi assured herself, not bothering to ask why she herself cared so much, or what she would do now that she possessed such information.
The news from Rudolf worsened when he wrote from London to tell his mother that he had accidentally shot himself in the hand. “Misfire of the sporting rifle,” he explained. He was in incredible pain and seemed embarrassed that the British papers had caught wind of his mishap, but he assured his mother that he was being given the best possible medical attention by Victoria’s physicians. Sisi glowered at the letter. No doubt Rudolf’s wits had been dulled at the time of the accident by too much alcohol.
Franz Joseph’s next letter railed against their son, calling him “reckless and irresponsible.” The only solution, Franz declared, was that it was time for Rudolf to marry and assume his role as the head of his own family. He was twenty years old now, after all, and finished with his formal education. If he wouldn’t grow up on his own, it was time that some responsibility be placed on him.
Sisi didn’t know that this was the right solution—nor did she share Franz’s belief that matrimony caused one to suddenly become mature. All she had to do was think back to what a disaster her own early years of marriage had been to see the fallacy of that theory. But she didn’t want to be bothered with all that, at least not at that particular moment. She had only a few weeks left to enjoy her freedom in Ireland, and she wouldn’t allow anything—not sadness over Andrássy’s departure, nor the disastrous news of Rudolf’s injury, nor even Franz’s calamitous rants from Vienna—to ruin her time.
She and Bay loved Ireland. They marveled at the soft earth rippling with clover, at the stone walls that presented endless challenges, even to them. She loved the briny ocean air that filled her lungs and made her feel as if she were being scrubbed clean from the inside out. She delighted in the droll, clipped cadence with which the locals spoke. She mingled whenever she could with the peasantry, ignoring protocol and opting instead to enjoy impromptu meals in public restaurants during her rides and smiling at the fair, freckled children and auburn-haired farmers she passed on the country lanes.
“I am in love with the Irish,” she declared one evening as she undressed for bed, a hearty fire warming her bedroom against the damp, blustery air outside. “They remind me of the Hungarians. Brave and spirited, humorous, even a bit irreverent. Nothing like our serious and stern Austrians. And what’s even better? There’s no ‘Royal Highness’ on this island who expects my visit.” Sisi chuckled, recalling her frigid encounters with Queen Victoria.
But it seemed the more Sisi enjoyed herself, the more Franz urged her to depart Ireland and return to Vienna at once. His protests began as mild statements, not so much complaints as hints and thinly veiled insinuations. He started out by telling Sisi that, given his renewed efforts to forge a friendship between Austria and England, it didn’t help his cause that his wife was so publicly enjoying her time in Ireland, a region that caused constant trouble for Queen Victoria.
Sisi ignored these statements, pretending she didn’t see the implications lurking behind Franz’s words. She instead filled page after page to him with the details of her daily rides and her lighthearted meetings with the locals around Meath. But then Franz’s words grew bolder. Before long, his daily letters contained regular and increasingly forceful urgings for Sisi to return until, finally, they reached such a level of sternness that Sisi could practically feel his anger seeping out of his cramped and formal penmanship.
I’ve received with misgivings the news that you attended Catholic mass at the seminary at Maynooth College and that you made a formal visit to the priests there. I applaud your piety, and yet, surely you must know that the Catholic priests in that region of Ireland are some of the most vocal and combative agitators for Irish rebellion within all of Queen Victoria’s empire. Your public praise and acknowledgment of them, coupled with the fact that you have yet to pay a formal visit to Her Majesty during this trip, has caused great offense to the queen and great embarrassment to me. Your travels, far from simply causing me personal sadness and private loneliness, have now become a source of public stress to the entire kingdom, threatening to undo the work I have undertaken with the hope of forging amity between our two thrones. I was willing to endure it when I was the sole victim of your prolonged absences and frequent removal from our family life, but I grow increasingly uncomfortable when I see that others now suffer as well.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sisi grumbled, lowering the paper, not needing to read more. “I smile at a few people in public, I attend a mass at the nearby church, and it becomes the cause of an international scandal?” Sisi tossed the letter onto the hearth to be gobbled up by the flames.
This was just the latest entreaty from her unhappy husband, his well-practiced patience clearly fraying. There would be another letter tomorrow, perhaps even more strongly worded. Franz’s correspondence was getting so tiresome that Sisi began to think that perhaps she should in fact draw her trip to an early close. When she floated the idea to her ladies, both Ida and Marie Festetics agreed wholeheartedly with the emperor, causing Sisi further irritation. Only Larisch seemed to understand how badly Sisi needed this time away.
But she should have known that it wouldn’t last. Anything that was stolen would have to be returned eventually, and that applied not just to jewels and goods, but to time, as well. Only a few days later, Franz Joseph sent yet another stern letter. This one, rather than boldly entreating, instead insisted that Sisi leave Ireland at once. The entire trip had been ill-advised from the start, just as he had warned her, and he could not allow it to continue.
Sisi looked up from the note in panic, wondering if, somehow, this new sense of urgency meant that Franz had learned of her feelings for Bay. Had he learned of the afternoon under the leafy copse, when Bay had pressed the four-leaf clover into her palm? But no, as she read on, she saw that Franz’s motives were, as always, of an entirely political nature. With tensions mounting to the point of violence between Ireland and England, Victoria’s ministers had conveyed to Vienna that they were unequivocally furious at the fact of Sisi remaining in Ireland.
We cannot allow our fragile—and highly necessary—friendship with England to be compromised, Sisi. Especially given Andrássy’s recent departure and the uncertainty we face with the changes in our ministry and advisory council. We have no choice but to honor Victoria’s position, deferring to her preeminence as ruler of that realm, and so I must insist that you return at once to your own lands.
The offense was so bad, in fact, that Sisi learned from a subsequent telegram that she was to travel through London on her journey home. Franz insisted that she make the trip—more like a pilgrimage, Sisi thought—to pay homage to the insulted queen.
It would be a tense visit to Queen Victoria; Sisi knew that. She hoped it would be over quickly, lasting just long enough to be acceptable to protocol, but not so long that she might inadvertently do something to add further offense. Just long enough so that Victoria could have its happening reported in the London newspapers. Just enough that Victoria could boast that Austria’s queen was her friend, and not the friend of the rebels who loved Sisi—and hated Victoria—throughout Ireland.
“I appreciate your delicacy in handling these most difficult, most unfortunate of circumstances.” Queen Victoria did not rise as Sisi joined her in the receiving room at her ancient seat, Windsor Castle. The queen appeared older than she had during their last visit, her expansive body covered, as always, entirely in black crepe, a tribute to the long-ago passing of her beloved Albert.
“I meant no offense, Your Majesty,” Sisi said, feeling like a chastened child. But Victoria turned away at this, casting her gaze toward the windows. They sat in silence for a moment as the elderly woman fanned herself, her hands skittering in a restless motion. Sisi studied the woman’s profile, noticing the loose, flaccid flesh that dangled beneath her chin, like molten wax oozing down a candle. The pale, rubbery skin trembled as the older woman continued to fan herself. Lord, don’t let me grow rotund as I age, Sisi thought.
