The Accidental Empress, page 37
“Will you come with me?” Sisi asked.
“Of course I shall come with you.” Ludovika sipped her beef broth.
Sisi thought about it. Eventually she answered: “All right, then.”
“Good.” Ludovika nodded.
Sisi turned back to her soup, giving thanks for the hundredth time that day that her Mamma was beside her.
“Sisi?” Ludovika continued, her tone tenuous now. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
Ludovika paused, taking a fortifying breath. “Do you see Franz—the emperor—often?”
Sisi shook her head, lowering her spoon. “I used to. Before little Sophie . . . well . . . before . . .”
Ludovika reached her hand across the table.
“Before that . . . well, even when things were good between us . . . I barely saw him then. He rises so early, Mamma. He spends his days reading news from around the empire, and getting reports, and meeting with his ministers, and meeting with the generals and the police. When he has free time he often goes hunting. So, usually, I wouldn’t see him until dinnertime. Or after that.”
Ludovika nodded.
“But then, when little Sophie . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Since then,” Sisi resumed speaking, her voice shaky. “I’ve been awful to him. I’m afraid I told him to stop coming to me.”
“And he did? He stopped coming to you?”
“Not at first. At first he tried to reason with me. He was really very patient.” Sisi allowed her spoon to slip into her broth, her appetite gone. “But I suppose he finally gave up on me.”
“Obviously he did not give up on you entirely.” Ludovika pointed at Sisi’s growing belly and forced out a quick laugh.
“Oh,” Sisi put her hand on the bump. “There was one night.”
“And then, since that night, he’s been . . . absent?” Ludovika asked, still sipping her soup.
“Yes.” Sisi cleared her throat. “I’ve been so terribly melancholy. I remain in my bed most days. And I wouldn’t have allowed him into the bedroom, even if he had wanted to come. But mercifully he did not.”
“Sisi—” her mother did not mask her look of concern now—“this can’t go on. This retreat from your marriage. You must force yourself to remain dutiful to Franz.”
Sisi pushed her bowl away, her elbows landing on the table. “How, Mamma?”
“You simply . . . you force yourself. When he knocks, you welcome him in. Into your bedchamber. Into your bed.”
One must always do one’s duty. But Sisi shook her head. The thought was too much. “No.”
“Sisi, listen to me,” Ludovika said, her tone insistent. “Do you think I loved your papa?”
But when Sisi lowered her eyes, unresponsive, Ludovika softened her voice, changing her approach. “Listen to me, Sisi. You are still so young—there can still be many years of children and happiness ahead of you. These are the most important years of your marriage.”
“Mother, it’s too hard. I tried, really I did. But Sophie is always with us. Even when she’s not. And she’s had Countess Esterházy in my apartments ever since the earliest days of my marriage.”
Ludovika listened silently, her lips pressed together in a tense line.
“And, Mamma,” Sisi continued, her throat feeling tight. “Sophie took the girls, and then when little Sophie . . . you know . . . well, since then, she barely lets me lay eyes on Gisela. I fear she is poisoning my own daughter against me with talk of my carelessness and frivolity. Do you know what she said, when I demanded control of my children?”
Ludovika shook her head. “What did she say?”
“That of course I could not have my children to myself. That I myself was only a child—far too reckless and wild to take care of myself, let alone them. As if I couldn’t take care of my own babies. I just can’t care anymore, Mother.”
Hot tears seared their way down Sisi’s cheeks, as she stared into her mother’s eyes. It was the first time she had spoken these thoughts aloud: “It hurts too much. Loving him, Franz. Loving Gisela. Even this baby. It’s better to just remain detached, where I can’t be hurt further.”
Ludovika no longer seemed hungry, either. They sat at the table, an uneasy silence hovering between them as Sisi wept noiselessly. Eventually, Ludovika propped her elbows on the table and, sighing, answered in a slow, husky voice. “But if you have a boy, everything changes, Sisi. Then you are the mother to the Crown Prince. Do you understand how much power that gives you?”
“Not if Sophie takes him from me.”
Ludovika tented her fingers together in front of her face, thoughtful. “How does she take them? Why doesn’t Franz protest?”
“I have asked him that so many times that he has grown frustrated—exasperated—with me.” Sisi exhaled a short, bitter laugh. “I fought for them at first, I really did. And I fought for Franz, too. And I think, for a while, I had won. Hungary was the happiest time of our lives. But when little Sophie . . . after that, I think Franz truly did believe that Gisela would be in better hands with his mother. And I agreed. I was in no state to be an attentive mother. I gave up. And now it’s too late.”
“It is not too late, Elisabeth.” Ludovika pressed a closed fist down on the table, causing Sisi to jump back. “Your daughter is still very much alive, and only a few doors down this hallway. And your husband can be won back. But that rests with you. You must fight, Sisi.”
“I feel no strength to fight for them, Mamma. I see no point.”
“Let us hope for a boy. A son who will love his mother. That is our best hope. That would change everything.”
“I do wish for a boy, Mother, believe me. I can’t stand the idea of having any more daughters. It is too sad for me.”
A voice sounded from outside, in the hallway. “Let me in now!” Just then Sophie entered, unannounced, appearing at the door to the suite.
“Hello, Sophie.” Ludovika threw Sisi a furtive look, whispering, “You sit. Finish your lunch. I shall deal with her.” With that, Ludovika rose and crossed the room toward her sister, reaching out to give her a dutiful hug. “Good day, Sophie. We are just finishing up our luncheon.”
“And I’ve come to see the little mamma.” Sophie looked from her sister to Sisi, her features set in an artificial smile. “Since you two have been avoiding my summonses and notes. Holed up in here, ignoring the entire court. How are you feeling today, Elisabeth?”
“She gets stronger every day,” Ludovika answered, stepping between her sister and Sisi.
Sophie shifted, sliding around her sister so that she might look squarely upon her daughter-in-law. “You look much recovered. Mercifully. Franzi and I have been beside ourselves with worry.”
“You can visit anytime you like, Sophie,” Ludovika said, her hands knit together in front of her waist. “Franz has been devoted, coming to visit often. The door is open, as you know.”
“Yes, all right,” Sophie said, her glance darting back and forth between her sister and her daughter-in-law. “But Ludie, why have you not been answering my notes? I’ve been summoning you. The entire court knows that my sister is here, and yet you have failed to appear with me at a single dinner, a luncheon, even as much as a game of cards.” Sophie leaned forward now, her eyebrows lifting in two angry crescent moons. “People see how little regard your daughter . . . and now you . . . show to me. They are whispering.”
“People always whisper.” Ludovika sighed, her head falling to the side.
“Yes, but I won’t have it, not when—”
“I did not wish to leave my daughter’s side when she was so ill. I thought surely I’d see more of you in my daughter’s apartments. I thought you’d be here beside her, comforting her. And bringing little Gisela in to comfort poor Sisi.”
“Bring the baby? In here?” Sophie lifted her fleshy, ring-covered fingers to her mouth, displaying her horror at the suggestion. “I’d never expose the child to illness.”
“She’s quite recovered now, Sophie. I think a visit from the child would do Sisi good.”
“I’ve been getting updates on a daily basis from Doctor Seeburger. Of course I’ve been worried.”
Too worried to visit? Sisi wondered. But she did not need to fight with her aunt, not now that her mother was here. Her mother would protect her, and that understanding instantly unwound the tension that had coiled Sisi’s nerves at the sight of the archduchess.
“I’m glad to hear that you’ve been concerned, Sophie. It is your grandchild she carries, after all.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Sophie’s eyes narrowed but she caught herself, pulling her features back into a calm expression. “And how is the child?”
“Franz and Sisi’s little baby is doing quite well. We’ve had a visit with the doctor today to confirm that. You can tell Franz. Have him come visit. Have him bring Gisela, in fact.”
“You are now telling me what messages to deliver to my son?” Sophie laughed, a sound with no mirth. “I say, Ludie, you never really did understand what it meant to be a guest in someone’s home, did you?”
“I do apologize, Sophie,” Ludovika said, pressing her hands together in front of her waist. “I was under the impression that this was the home of the emperor.”
“Oh Ludie, let’s not argue.” Sophie smiled, putting a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Anyway, I’m happy I came to see for myself how well you both are. Now that Sisi . . . Elisabeth . . . is on the mend, will you finally come join me for a dinner? Many in this court would like to meet the mother of the empress. It’s poor form for you to be cooped up in here, behaving like a hermit. Behaving like . . .” Sophie’s voice trailed off but her eyes, which slid to Sisi’s seated figure, finished the thought.
At this, Ludovika threw her shoulders back, standing to her full height so that her long, lean frame now faced her sister’s. “Now you listen here, Sophie.” Ludovika raised a finger, staring down at her sister. “You may issue orders and summonses to everyone else in this house, but you hold no dominion over me.”
“Ludovika, how dare you raise your voice at me. You will stop this or I shall—”
“No, I will not stop until I am finished, Sophie. Now, I have heard quite enough of what you have put my daughter through, and I am telling you this—it ends right now.” Ludovika spoke with none of her usual deference or patience. Her anger was bare and exposed, dripping off her words and as red-hot as her flushed cheeks. Sisi felt even herself trembling; no one, not even Sisi, had ever spoken so forcefully to Sophie.
“I have loved her like a daughter, Ludie.”
“A daughter? A daughter, she says.” Ludovika turned to Sisi and gasped out a laugh. Sisi did not speak—she simply watched the exchange, transfixed.
“I have given your daughter everything she could ever want, even after she has defied me, time and again.”
“Sophie, you’ve done nothing but issue orders to her since the first day she arrived from Possenhofen. Now listen: Elisabeth is pregnant with your son’s baby, and I will not allow anyone to harass her or punish her.” Ludovika, her lip quivering, continued on. “It was not her fault that your son fell in love with her, against your wishes. Nor is it her fault that her daughter fell to a fever. Do you hear me?”
Sophie, who looked cowed before her sister’s erect frame, fidgeted, not answering.
“Do you hear me, Sophie? Because if not, I may need to summon Franz in here and have him explain. If only your son knew the way his wife has suffered. Blaming herself. Elisabeth almost lost this baby once. If she does lose it . . .” Ludovika crossed herself now. “Well, that’s the future heir of which we speak. So we all must do what we can to make her comfortable and safe. Do you understand?”
Sophie still did not answer.
“I asked: Do you hear me?” Ludovika somehow looked even taller than she had a moment ago.
“I heard you, Ludie. You certainly spoke loud enough.”
“Good. Now, starting today, Gisela will be permitted to visit with her Mamma. Every day. We’ll have no more of this separation. It’s not good for Elisabeth to miss her daughter so, and it won’t be good for the unborn baby to have a mother who is so sad. Do I have your agreement on this?”
“You have my agreement,” Sophie answered, her mind clearly distracted with trying to make sense of what had just occurred.
“Good. Then that is settled.” Ludovika turned from her sister, sitting back at the table and calmly scooping herself a spoonful of broth, as if they had just agreed on the lovely weather outside. “And besides, I’d like to visit with my granddaughter.”
Whether it was Ludovika’s stern warning or her own superstition that she risked upsetting the baby growing inside Sisi’s belly, Archduchess Sophie behaved entirely differently for the remainder of the pregnancy. She was politely distant—sending gifts and pieces of fruit as she had in the previous two pregnancies. She pulled Countess Esterházy from her post in Sisi’s suite, telling the gray-haired woman that the empress wanted privacy with her mother. She advised Franz to visit with his wife, which he did. And she willingly granted the request that Sisi be given time to visit with her daughter each afternoon.
Ludovika was quickly smitten with Gisela. “She looks just like you did, Sisi. Look at these chestnut ringlets. We must order some new bows for them immediately.”
“That’s what Franz has always said, that Gisela reminds him of me.” Sisi shifted in her seat, delicately balancing her growing belly with her squirming toddler.
“She is truly your daughter.” Ludovika smiled.
“Down, Mamma,” Gisela asked quietly, sliding herself off her mother’s lap. Sisi noticed with a sharp tinge of sadness that the little girl never wished to stay in her mother’s arms for long.
They were outdoors in the gardens; a picnic sprawled before them on the tapis d’herbe, the neatly clipped carpet of lawn. Gisela wobbled tenuously off the blanket, putting one slippered foot on the grass before turning back for reassurance.
“Go on, darling, you may walk. We will watch you.” Sisi laughed as her unsteady daughter clutched a bush for support.
“Flowers!” Gisela pointed a chubby finger at the beds of nearby tulips, the parterres brimming with vibrant red and yellow petals.
“Flowers, that’s right.” Ludovika smiled at her granddaughter, rising from her own seat on the blanket. “Shall we walk over to the flowers and find some butterflies, my little dear?”
Gisela spotted her grandmother walking toward her and ran back to her mother, collapsing into Sisi’s skirts. “Where’s Grandmamma?” she asked, her little lip quivering.
“Afraid of Grandmother Ludovika?” The duchess leaned her head to the side, staring at the bashful toddler. “She is so shy. In that way she is unlike you, Sisi, you were not shy. A bit dreamy. Sometimes a bit moody. But not timid.”
“That’s Franz,” Sisi said, sweeping her daughter up into her arms for a kiss.
“Indeed.” Ludovika agreed. “He was such a timid little boy, I remember that. Of course, Sophie has that effect on most people.”
Sisi shifted in her chair. “I wish you had met little Sophie, Mamma. She was so . . .”
“I wish that, too, my love.” Ludovika put a hand on her daughter’s, noticing how Sisi swallowed hard, fighting the urge to cry.
“But you mustn’t let the grief for that lost child prevent you from loving this perfect little girl in front of you.”
“Do you think Gisela will remember her sister? Will she even recall how she loved her?”
Ludovika’s eyes softened, reflecting her daughter’s sadness. “Perhaps she will. And perhaps she will not. But she will certainly know this baby.” Ludovika gestured toward her daughter’s belly. “And the siblings to come after.”
Sisi sighed, fingering the Sophie-shaped charm she wore on her wrist. After a long silence, she asked: “When does it stop?”
“When does what stop, Sisi?”
“The pain. Of losing a child. When does it stop hurting like this?”
Ludovika’s face sagged, her shoulders rising and then falling with a slow exhale. “It never stops.”
“But I don’t ever remember you suffering like this, Mamma. Even after you lost . . .”
Ludovika winced and Sisi let the question wither, unfinished. Eventually, her mother spoke.
“It becomes something that you learn to live with. You carry it, always, but you learn to enjoy the life that you still have before you. You learn that a beautiful summer day in the garden with your daughter is a gift from God, meant to be enjoyed. And so that’s what you do—you enjoy it.”
These times, with three generations of Wittelspach women—Ludovika, Sisi, and Gisela—were sweet times for Sisi. Her mother’s presence cast a protective cocoon around the three of them, like a holy relic whose presence wards off the haunting presence of dark spirits. Sisi felt at ease, safe in her rooms once more. She found that her days were once again busy: she answered the many letters she had cast aside, she ordered new dresses for after the birth, she walked outside the palace to give alms and attend mass, and she looked forward to the afternoon visits with Gisela.
Franz had started visiting their suite again, and even though he rarely spent the night, Ludovika had moved into a bedchamber adjacent to her daughter’s rooms, deeming it appropriate to give her daughter privacy for when the emperor did visit.
Fortunately, though she was installed in a separate suite of rooms, Ludovika was able to hear Sisi’s groans on the night in late summer when the labor began.
“Is it time?” Ludovika flew into the room, her hair wrapped in curling papers, her eyes alert.
“It’s time.” Sisi winced, fighting through a sharp spasm. “Mamma, fetch the doctor.”
Agata, Marie, and Ludovika remained by Sisi’s side for the entirety of the labor, while Franz paced nervously in the antechamber, surrounded by his ministers, his mother, and a carafe of port. When the baby emerged into the world hours later, a pink, screaming ball of black-haired fury, Sisi heard the words she had been too fearful to hope for.
