The Accidental Empress, page 40
“Yes, but I mean that you have given birth to—”
“Yes, I gave birth to three children. One of whom is dead. And the other two are not with me. So I’m not sure what being a mother has to do with anything, Marie.” Sisi regretted her biting tone as soon as she saw the pained look that gripped Marie’s face. She sighed, turning her gaze back to her reflection in the mirror.
Eventually, Franziska broke the tense silence. “I think Your Majesty has the right to a little fun.”
In the mirror, Sisi noticed Marie’s scowl. The countess worried about so many things these days: Sisi’s fixation on her diet; her compulsive interest in her wardrobe and beauty routine; her complete disinterest in court life. Sisi’s budding relationship with this new hairdresser—a woman who had made her name styling actresses in the theater—was simply the latest cause for fretting.
“Put it back on the bed, Marie. I’ll wear it to dinner tonight.” Sisi handed the corset over, turning her head to glance out the window.
A dark-haired little boy came suddenly into view, pulling Sisi’s attention to where he skipped across the courtyard below. He wore lederhosen, a cap on his head, and a light summer blazer. He ran away from the palace, chasing a small white dog—that terrible creature belonging to her mother-in-law. Sisi’s heart stopped. “Rudy?” She leaned closer to the window, pressing her fingers to the warm glass. But he was gone, tucked behind a shrub and out of sight. Her heart hammered against her rib cage.
“Majesty, please, keep your head still.” Franziska took Sisi’s scalp in her strong, gloved hands, guiding her back toward the chair.
“Sorry.” Sisi answered absentmindedly. Her thoughts were no longer in this bedroom, no longer consumed with corsets and hair washing and which dress to select for dinner. Had Franz and the children returned to the palace already?
“Marie?” Sisi shifted her weight in the chair, ignoring Franziska’s audible sigh. “What time was the emperor expected back?”
The Hungarian noblewoman paused her unpacking, placing one of Sisi’s evening gowns down on the bed. She removed a small clock from her pocket. “I’d suppose any time now,” the countess answered. Sisi balled her hands, too restless, suddenly, to remain seated.
Franziska, responding to her fidgety subject said: “Almost done now, Empress. Just the pinning left. I told you already, it would not take so long if you would let me cut a few inches off.”
Sisi did not have to think about this. “No.”
The hairdresser finished her thick braids, which ran the length of Sisi’s back and past her waist. It had taken half a day to get to this point. The routine was always the same: once a fortnight, Sisi washed her hair in a solution that she herself had concocted. The solution had been perfected to maximize the shine of her glossy brown curls—a formula of slick almond oil, brandy, rosewater, cognac, and raw egg yolks. Next, the hair had to dry, which, given its volume and length, required several hours, even on a summer day as warm as this one. Once dry, Franziska—who had been sought after by every Viennese noblewoman in the city before joining the employ of the empress—would weave a series of elaborate braids, wrapping them around Sisi’s face like a crown. Finally, Franziska added in jewels, flowers, and feathers, pinning the hair back in a manner that had to appear loose, yet could not actually come loose. Sisi would inspect the finished product, and, if any hairs looked amiss or at risk of slipping out of the coif, her hairdresser was gently but firmly chastised.
“What do you think?” Sisi would ask, as she examined herself in her gold-gilded mirror, scrutinizing every angle.
Always her hairdresser would smile and answer in the same way. “I think, Madame, that you are worthy of your title: most beautiful woman in the world.”
And then the hairdresser would slip away, out of sight, to clean her combs; Franziska had learned long ago that seeing loose strands of hair distressed Sisi, even filled her with a gripping sort of panic. As if, in shedding a hair or two, she was at risk of shedding her beauty.
Altogether the process required several hours; on days when the empress washed her hair, her aides knew that she would skip luncheon and be otherwise indisposed for most of the day.
Normally it was a process Sisi enjoyed, and she looked forward to the familiar ritual. While Franziska worked behind her, massaging her scalp and manipulating the thick tresses, Sisi would dictate letters to Marie or supervise the tidying of her bedchamber: the sorting of her lotions and ointments, the organizing of her wardrobe, the ordering of new tonics, perfumes, and clothing.
But this afternoon Sisi felt restless. Being back in Vienna filled her with a sense of unease, even dread. Especially now that she knew Franz and the children were back at Schönbrunn.
Franz had not been at the summer palace when Sisi herself had arrived, days prior. She had expected—had even prepared herself—to see him after her long journey from Possenhofen. But when she had arrived, weary and anxious and tearful, Herr Lobkowitz had received her instead.
The aide, who had greeted Sisi with less hair and a more slumped posture than when she had left, informed his patroness that the emperor, along with the children and his mother the archduchess, had not yet returned from the summer retreat at Bad Ischl. Had any of the court ladies happened to spend the summer at the Kaiservilla? Sisi had asked. The aide had lowered his eyes as he waffled: yes, he believed it was quite possible that perhaps a few of the court’s noblewomen had traveled with the imperial retinue to the mountains. Sisi had presumed as much.
Several days later, the previously sleepy, empty palace was abuzz with preparations for the emperor’s return. And the imperial party’s arrival was precisely why Sisi had planned to devote most of the day to her bathing and beautification rituals. She was expected in the emperor’s state rooms that evening, she had been told, where she would meet with her husband before joining him for a private dinner. She had to look her best, she had told Franziska. Not because she harbored any hopes that Franz would return to her, to their marriage, and that they would be like they once were. That childish hope had been quashed years ago when Franz had abandoned her for the Italian campaign, leaving his children with his mother and his wife with nothing but his mistress’s illness.
And yet, Sisi felt a certain amount of nervous anticipation ahead of her meeting with Franz. It wasn’t every day that she had dinner with her husband after such a long separation. She wanted him to see her as strong, the master of her own fate, even desirable. Why did she still long for Franz’s approval? Franz’s attention? She did not know, but she did.
Perhaps she wanted him to know that he had been wrong, straying from her. Perhaps she wanted to torment her husband, putting herself before him as an alluring object that he could no longer possess. Yes, she admitted, she wished to arouse him, then reject him. She wished to hurt him. And even if she could succeed in those designs, it would never be enough to pay for the pain—the years of rejection—that she herself had endured.
But the mere glimpse of Rudy had shaken Sisi. It had forced aside the quiet intentionality of the morning like a freight train scattering seeds floating in the wind. Rudy would be four now, she knew. Entirely different from the last time she had seen him. That little figure below had been less of a baby and more of a young boy—running, laughing, playing chase. Would he even know his mamma?
Sisi felt as if she might faint, and she was about to tell Franziska that she needed a break when Herr Lobkowitz appeared at the doorway.
“Empress, good morning!” It was well after noon, but the aide was being polite, Sisi knew, not wanting to seem as if he were judging the fact that it was after midday and still the empress was not yet dressed. “May I impose on a moment of your time, Your Majesty?”
Sisi blinked, steadying herself on the arm of her chair.
“Empress, are you quite well?” Herr Lobkowitz took a tenuous step toward her but paused, heeding protocol. He had not yet been invited to enter.
“I’m fine.” Sisi took a slow, deep breath. “Come in, come in. Do you have news of the emperor?”
“Indeed I do, Madame. And in fact, I have a few matters I was hoping I might discuss with Your Imperial Majesty prior to your meeting with His Imperial Majesty this evening. It should be very brief.”
“Yes, what is it?” Sisi asked, her mind still teeming with the image of Rudy, even as she forced herself to focus. And Gisela—she hadn’t seen her daughter yet. What must Gisela be like now? No longer a toddler, but a proper girl, to be sure. A girl who would not even recognize her own mother.
“I can come back, if there is a better time, Empress?”
“There’s no better time. Come in.”
“Perhaps Your Majesty is in need of some refreshment,” Marie said, gliding forward. Ever solicitous, ever pushing these maternal suggestions on Sisi. “Shall I have some broth sent from the kitchens?”
“No,” Sisi said, turning back to her secretary. “Tell me, what news?”
“As you wish, Majesty.” Herr Lobkowitz slid his monocle onto the bridge of his nose and looked down at his papers. “As you know, the imperial party returned from the summer retreat this afternoon.”
“I think I’ve just spotted Rudy below,” Sisi said.
“Oh?” The aide followed her glance toward the window. “The crown prince was down there?”
“Yes, chasing a dog.”
Herr Lobkowitz crossed the room to look out over the meandering, manicured gardens—green, vast, and lit up in afternoon light. “I do not see the crown prince anymore. Nevertheless, I will make sure that his governesses have not been neglecting their duties.”
“Yes. Now, what business, Herr Lobkowitz?”
“Of course.” The aide adjusted his monocle and looked back at his notes. “As you know, the emperor has ordered a private dinner in his rooms this evening. The menu, which His Majesty’s secretary has sent to me, shall include—”
“When can I see the children?”
Herr Lobkowitz looked up, stammering. “On that topic I have not been briefed. Perhaps Your Imperial Majesty might wish to raise that topic with the emperor this evening?”
“Fine.” Sisi nodded. She felt Franziska pinning thick swaths of her hair along the back of her scalp, and her head already felt heavy with the weight of the coronet.
Herr Lobkowitz continued. “I thought it prudent to warn you, Your Highness, that the emperor has not had a particularly good summer in matters of foreign policy.”
“I know.”
“You know that the Italian kingdoms are officially independent from His Majesty the Emperor?”
“Yes, I know that,” Sisi said. Franz had been defeated in Italy. And badly. From what Sisi had read throughout her summer stay in Possenhofen, Franz’s popularity throughout the empire—and hers as well, though she hardly cared—was the lowest it had ever been. “What else, Herr Lobkowitz?”
Now the aide fidgeted once more with his monocle.
Sisi sighed. “What is it, Herr Lobkowitz?” She shifted in the chair, arranging and rearranging the folds in her wide skirt.
“As your Majesty no doubt suspects”—the aide paused—“news of your return has spread quite rapidly throughout the court.”
“Of course it has. News spreads quicker than the fever in this court.” Sisi laughed, a short, bitter laugh. “The disgraced, jilted queen has come back to face her estranged husband, her husband’s lovers, and the children who have no doubt forgotten her.”
“No, Your Majesty, what a horrid joke!” Herr Lobkowitz attempted a lighthearted laugh. “Everyone is so happy to have you back, of course.”
Sisi leaned her head to the side. “I’m sure that’s what it is.”
“Please, Empress, sit still,” Franziska interjected.
“Sorry.”
“Indeed we are all so happy . . . overjoyed . . . to have you back,” Herr Lobkowitz continued, his cheeks flushed. “I beg you most humbly to believe that.”
“I believe that you are happy to have me back, Herr Lobkowitz.”
“Quite, Madame. Especially after you were away for so very long.”
“That’s very nice of you to say, but I’m sure you must have some point.”
“Yes.” The aide leaned close, lowering his voice. “I would advise that, given the length of your time away from your family and your . . . official duties . . . that perhaps you have some explanation ready. So as to be prepared should anyone dare to ask . . . well, why it was that you were away . . . ahem, for so long.”
Other than the fact that her mother-in-law was impossible to live with? And that she had had to heal from an illness transmitted to her from her husband’s mistress? Other than the fact that her husband—who had abandoned her—and her children—who had been taken from her—had been the only ties holding her to this suffocating, unbearable court?
But no, she could not speak that bluntly. One did not speak such garish truths—not in Vienna. Not to the bashful, pious Herr Lobkowitz. And certainly not in the righteous Habsburg Court.
“I’ve already explained to you, Herr Lobkowitz. I was ill . . .” Sisi lingered on that one word, still bitter. “And, seeing as my husband was in Italy fighting anyway, it was advised by the court physicians that I take a tour to the southern countries for an extended period of rest and recovery. And so, like a good patient, I obeyed. I traveled throughout Madeira, Greece, and Corfu. There, will that do for a testimonial?”
“Yes.” Herr Lobkowitz considered the answer. “And I’ve been sure to offer that information to all who inquire.”
“And I’m sure there have been many such inquiries.”
The aide fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other. “But that only explains the first two years.” And now Herr Lobkowitz paused. “What about the past two years? You’ve traveled throughout Bavaria, and spent an extended stay at Possenhofen. Do you . . . does Your Imperial Majesty . . . really mean to say that the climate of Bavaria is warm and restorative?”
“I was visiting my family,” Sisi snapped. “I had not seen some of them since my wedding. I had not been home in years. And besides, I longed to stay at Possi to see the marriage of my dear sister Helene.”
Herr Lobkowitz nodded, digesting the words. “Yes, that should work.”
And that had worked. That was how Sisi had convinced her parents to let her stay for as long as she had. But even their joy at having their daughter home—their indulgence as she had listed her grievances with Vienna and the Habsburg Court—had reached its limits.
“Sisi, my girl.” Duke Max’s expression had seemed to darken over the course of the summer, as he had sensed his daughter’s desire—her intention—to remain at Possi as long as she was allowed. “As wonderful as it is to see you . . . your place really is with your husband and your children. Don’t you long to see your children? Don’t you believe that the emperor deserves to have his wife by his side as he weathers these disasters throughout his kingdom?” These refrains had been repeated often, by both Max and Ludovika.
Ludovika’s hints and insinuations had turned to outright insistence once Sisi had seen Helene happily married off to her own husband, a German prince from Thurn.
“Yes, you stayed to see the wedding of your dear sister. People here remember Helene, such a sweet girl.” Herr Lobkowitz was scribbling something in his notes, already planning his strategy for the prying, disapproving court. “Good, that’s settled then.”
“I’m glad you feel more comfortable,” Sisi answered, smirking at the fastidious aide.
“And, if I may be so bold, Empress Elisabeth, how long do you plan to stay at court?” The aide held tight to his pen, poised for the answer.
“I suppose until they turn me out,” Sisi said, her tone gloomy.
“Empress, such a humorist today.” Herr Lobkowitz looked at her appraisingly. “So, I might tell people that you have returned . . . indefinitely?” His voice betrayed his hope that her answer might be in the affirmative.
“Where else can I go?” Sisi sighed. “I’ve traveled for years. My parents have sent me back here. I suppose you are stuck with me.”
“I’m so very glad to hear it.” Herr Lobkowitz smiled, and Sisi knew that he meant it.
“Well, in that case”—Herr Lobkowitz rapped his pen against his paper—“perhaps now that you are officially installed back at court, and with the emperor returning for the fall and the coming winter season, perhaps you might like to add to your household? I was hoping I might find you some additional attendants.”
Sisi looked at Marie, still busy unpacking and sorting Sisi’s trunks from her voyage. Since her sojourn to Madeira four years earlier, Sisi had had Marie by her side every day, but no one else. Marie had been the only lady Sisi had taken with her when she had quit the court. Franziska had been a recent hire, when she’d found the woman and recruited her away from her post at a theater.
Now, back in the palace, Sisi felt the absence of Agata, after years of ignoring the loss. The maid had resigned from her post, years earlier, when the empress had announced her intention to leave court for an extended period of traveling. It was too much for Agata to leave her new husband, the woman had confessed, tearful and red-cheeked. Sisi, still irate back then about Franz’s infidelity and Agata’s silence on the matter, had let the maid go without so much as a hug. She had told herself that it was for the best. That she wouldn’t miss Agata. But still, sometimes, Sisi dreamed about the sweet Polish woman—dreamed that they were back in Bavaria, giggling with Helene and gossiping about Karl. Aggie had been the last link to Sisi’s former life.
“Yes.” Sisi agreed now, swallowing hard as she nodded to Herr Lobkowitz, pushing the memory of her old friend, Agata, from her mind.
“I’ll need a new chambermaid. Someone to tend to the apartments. But that’s it. I have you, Herr Lobkowitz, to help me in my duties. Marie, Countess Festetics, is my lady-in-waiting. And Franziska does my hair. I prefer to keep my household small.”
Sisi shuddered, remembering the courtiers who had once shadowed her every movement, scouring her space with prying eyes, filling it with the faint scratch of whisper: the Countesses Esterházy and Karoline and Paula. She had dismissed them on the day that she had decided to leave court for Madeira, and had not spoken to them since. “I don’t like being surrounded by people I cannot trust.”
