Sisi, page 40
That report was of an entirely different quality: Sisi read the grisly recounting of a murder-suicide in which a young student had taken the life of his lover before plunging into the frigid waters of the Danube. The worst thing about the article was the reporter’s reminder that such an event was hardly uncommon; all that fall and winter, reports such as this one had filled the papers. Vienna’s businessmen, students, artists, and workers were hurling themselves into the river in startling numbers, turning the capital’s proud blue waterway—the inspiration for Strauss’s waltzes and artists’ brushes—into a grisly thoroughfare of corpses and terror.
Beneath the horrific article detailing the student’s murder-suicide was an editorial responding to the story. In it the reporter addressed what he labeled “a general air of discontent, a breath of melancholy brushed through our society. The rich do not enjoy their surfeit. The poor can bear their misery less than ever.”
Sisi put the Neue Freie Presse aside, frowning. This sense of malaise, this “air of discontent”—it was not an uneasiness that plagued only the commoners and bourgeoisie. It festered inside the palace as well. That fact was made all the more clear when Sisi received an unusual midday note from Franz. It was an invitation, a request from the emperor that Sisi join him for a private audience at lunch.
Sisi studied the note, frowning, as she considered the summons. Franz liked to work at his desk during lunch; she’d learned that fact all too harshly as a lonely young bride. It was his routine, and Franz kept meticulously to his routine, had done so for decades. That he wanted—no, needed—her companionship in the middle of the day made Sisi uneasy.
Franz filled the first half of luncheon enumerating to Sisi his many foreign policy difficulties. Germany’s ailing emperor had died, passing his absolute power on to his son. Wilhelm was, by all accounts, a bellicose young man, and he planned to make an upcoming official visit to Vienna. “And worst of all,” Franz said, making quick work of his luncheon, “the young German emperor, younger than Rudolf, will expect to be honored as an old friend and cherished ally while in town.”
Sisi groaned inwardly. So that visit would be a tedious few days.
Franz continued with his list of woes. Russia’s tsar, an important supporter, was in increasingly poor health, and the question was whether his son—a spoiled, timid boy by the name of Nicholas, whose household was reported to be full of charlatans—would be able to maintain his father’s vast empire. “Russia is sick from the inside. Her people are starving, and there are radical groups trying every day to stir up discontent. They’re crying out for the rights of the shackled worker…the overthrow of all monarchies. The only thing keeping that powder keg from exploding is the absolute power of the tsar. If the Romanovs lose the reins, we could lose Russia. And an unstable Russia would be a disaster for us, indeed, a disaster for all of Europe.” Franz’s facial expression darkened at the thought.
But Sisi suspected that there was even more to this lunch invitation than this list of troubles festering beyond Franz’s borders. And she was correct. As the final plates were cleared before dessert, Franz turned to the topic of his ongoing difficulty with his own son and heir. “I’ve just learned that Rudolf”—Franz wiped at his mouth with an agitated motion—“the crown prince…has reached out to the Vatican in pursuit of a papal dissolution of his marriage.”
Sisi’s mouth fell open. “He has? Did you know…Did you know that he intended to do so?”
Franz shook his head. “He did it without my permission.”
Though it was a matter of family delicacy and dynastic significance, Rudolf had written to Rome without telling anyone, begging Pope Leo for an annulment of his union with Stéphanie. The unspoken implication of this was, of course, that he intended to make his new mistress, Mary Vetsera, his wife.
“God help us all if she is already pregnant,” Sisi said, looking uninterestedly at the plate of dessert pastries now deposited before her. Would Rudolf dare? Would he have the audacity to jilt his wedded wife, the daughter of a king? To turn his baptized daughter, Erzsi, into a bastard?
Franz’s voice was low as he said, “The pope, God bless him, rather than responding directly to Rudolf, forwarded the request on to me, expressing his confusion at having been written to about the matter. He will not consider it without my response, of course.”
Sisi nodded, her mind spinning to make sense of it all. This latest bit of mischief came just days after a distraught Viennese man had arrived at the Hofburg gates with a petition to speak to the emperor. The man was inconsolable, and soon enough Franz Joseph shared his distress when he heard how the crown prince had jumped a horse over the funeral procession of this man’s beloved wife. “If you could have seen that poor man, Sisi, when he came to tell me of his heartbreak. Of my son’s shameful, insensitive behavior,” Franz said now, tossing his napkin down on the table, too disgusted to continue with his dessert. “That Rudolf used that dead woman’s coffin as an obstacle in his horse race through the capital…”
Sisi shut her eyes, and Franz stopped speaking, knowing that Sisi understood the depths of his own discontent. They sat opposite each other in silence, Franz cupping his chin in his hands, a rare lapse in his ordinarily impeccable posture. After a moment, Franz sighed. “And this is just the latest incident in a pattern of increasingly bad behavior.”
“What shall we do, Franz?”
“What can we do?”
“Perhaps an annulment wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Sisi reasoned aloud. “He and Stéphanie have never been happy.”
“Happy? One does not annul the union made with and before God just because one is unhappy, Sisi. Why, we both know perfectly well that there was no impediment to the match, no sound reason why it should be annulled. No, I will not embarrass Stéphanie in front of the whole world, and provoke Belgium—and the Almighty—just to appease my reckless son.”
Sisi thought about this, rubbing the bridge of her nose in an attempt to soothe the headache that ripped across her brow. “I don’t understand where…or when…he…”
Franz let out an audible exhale. “And I know that he abuses opium. Claims he uses it to treat his back pain after the fall from that horse. But he takes it daily now, mixing it with his champagne and cognac.”
Sisi’s stomach turned on itself, a bramble of knots, as she realized just how far past any possible paternal intervention her son was. That Rudolf was a man now somehow, beyond the grip of either Sisi or Franz Joseph. And that the last time they, father and mother, had spoken this honestly about their troubled boy had been when she had insisted that his sadistic tutor be dismissed. Had they really gone this long without speaking, openly and frankly, about raising their son? Sisi seethed with anger now—anger at herself, anger at Franz. Anger at the woman, long dead, who had raised her little boy and had set him on his tragic course toward mistrust and anger and nervousness.
Franz sat before her in wordless, frowning rumination. That he was being so reckless with his time—sitting at the luncheon table even though he was no longer eating—showed the depths of his alarm. There were papers to be reviewed and signed, ministers to be heard. And yet, they sat there, man and wife, in an uneasy silence, both of them thinking of their son.
Franz broke the quiet, his words coming out with a deflated but resolved exhale. “Well, only one thing to do. We shall do what we’ve always done, I suppose.”
Sisi lifted her wineglass and drained its contents before asking: “What is that?”
“What did I tell you on our wedding day? Repräsentazions-pflicht.”
“Keeping up the front,” Sisi said, repeating the court dictum.
Franz answered with nothing more than a grim nod before rising from the table. Lunch was over.
The capital’s printing presses hummed hot and black all winter, churning out new reports each day on the crown prince’s infatuation with the charismatic little baroness. Odd, Sisi thought, as she read the articles; one would not have guessed that Rudolf was a man “aglow with love” from the way he behaved inside the Hofburg. As January progressed, the weather turned back toward the frigid, and a curtain of iron-gray clouds rolled over the city. Rudolf’s demeanor inside the palace remained as dark as ever.
On the last weekend of the month, Franz Joseph hosted a grand dinner. The reception was in honor of Germany’s new young Kaiser Wilhelm, whose visit to Vienna was considered by imperial family members to be a substantial part of why Rudolf was so irritable. The following night the imperial family was expected at the German embassy, where yet another dinner was slated in Kaiser Wilhelm’s honor. Sisi attended along with Franz, Rudolf, and Stéphanie. Though it was in their city, custom dictated that both Franz and Rudolf were to wear the German military uniform in honor of their visiting guest.
It was a raw night of icy wind and the threat of snow. Inside the German embassy, hundreds of close-packed bodies generated some heat, but the mood was far from warm. Court and government officials from both Berlin and Vienna shuffled in, an uneasy and forced cordiality enveloping their stilted interactions. Kaiser Wilhelm, an unsmiling young man, had brought with him what appeared to be a small army of attendants and aides. Rudolf stood by without saying much, allowing Franz, Sisi, and his wife to greet the guests. Only late in the evening did his eyes take on any sort of glimmer—when Baroness Helene Vetsera was announced, along with her daughter, Mary.
Sisi felt the Vetseras approach—making their way through the receiving line—as one feels an illness slowly overtaking one’s body. By the time Mary Vetsera stood before her, Sisi fought hard to keep her hands from trembling. Her voice cool, she bid the lady welcome with a noncommittal nod of her chin as the two Vetseras curtsied before her. Franz did the same. As Mary and her mother slid to the place right in front of Rudolf, Sisi’s eyes followed them.
“Long time no see.” Mary beamed at Rudolf, showing none of the requisite humility that was due to Austria-Hungary’s crown prince, and all the more so from a presumptuous girl of the nouveau-riche class. Mary did look beautiful, Sisi admitted to herself begrudgingly. Her cheeks shone warm; her body was sheathed in a gown of soft blue with lemon-yellow detailing that fell perfectly over each one of her soft, well-shaped curves.
“Baroness Vetsera.” Rudolf offered his first smile of the evening. Beside Rudolf, Stéphanie’s pinched face seemed to match the drab color of her ash-gray gown. Though she had dressed as elaborately as Mary Vetsera, Stéphanie looked frumpy and dull by comparison, with even the flowers in her hair seeming to wilt as she beheld her husband’s mistress.
Mary, who had no choice but to pass Stéphanie right after passing Rudolf, did not offer a second curtsy, did not offer any recognition of the crown princess, but instead slid her eyes back to the man whose side she’d just left, flashing one more smile at her lover before walking right past his jilted wife. Everyone in the crowded hall seemed to take in a collective gasp—everyone but the crown prince, his lover, and his lover’s mother. Sisi looked to her daughter-in-law, whose eyes had widened to two impossibly round orbs. And then, a moment later, Stéphanie recalled herself. She shut her mouth, collected her stunned features, and turned to her father-in-law. With a tone of entirely unnatural cheer, she asked: “Father, when shall we have some dancing?”
Toasts were made by Franz and Germany’s ambassador. Waltzes were danced. Franz, ever dutiful, was nevertheless eager to be gone, eager to be out of the German uniform and out of the presence of the self-satisfied young German kaiser. Rudolf’s mood turned back toward the sour as soon as Mary and her mother left the party—perhaps with some instructions as to where Mary was to meet Rudy later that night, Sisi thought. Stéphanie put on a valiant show all night, chattering and laughing with an almost frenzied determination to appear merry, but when it was finally time to return to the Hofburg, Sisi did not know who among their small party was most relieved to be leaving.
As the horses carried them the short distance across the city, the mood inside the carriage was as cold as the frigid outdoor air. “What an unbearable burden,” Rudolf grumbled, practically ripping the German coat as he yanked it off.
“I thought you looked handsome in it,” Stéphanie said.
Rudolf grunted dismissively as Franz looked out the window, not acknowledging his son’s complaint. This had the effect of making Rudolf’s next words just a bit louder, just a bit more agitated: “I don’t know how you do it, Father.”
Now Franz turned, his pale eyes catching a sliver of light from a passing streetlamp. “How I do what? Act as a gracious host?”
Rudolf smirked, a short laugh escaping his tight-pressed lips.
“No, you wouldn’t, would you, Rudolf? You wouldn’t understand how I do anything that involves duty or graciousness.”
“Graciousness? That’s how you saw yourself—as a gracious host?” Rudolf’s words were heavy with mockery. “More like playing puppet before that buffoon. This uniform…his self-important ministers…Mark my words, Father; an alliance with that man, with Germany, will only get us into trouble. It will only lead to war. A great big war.”
“Don’t be foolish, Rudolf,” Franz said. Sisi sensed the silent fury just barely contained by her husband’s Herculean self-control; she could almost feel the pulse of rage lurking behind his measured words. “I’ve forged the alliance with Germany to avoid a war.”
“But with them as a friend, we will be drawn into war.”
Franz laughed—a joyless, exasperated laugh, the way one vents frustration with a small, uncomprehending child. “No one would dare. With Austria-Hungary and Germany and Russia united?”
“Russia is ripe for trouble within. The tsar abuses his people, and they will rise up to overthrow him. I know it, and you know it.”
Franz shrugged dismissively. “Foolish talk from a foolish boy. You know nothing of what it is to lead an empire.”
“No, I don’t. Because you never allow me to learn. You hold everything to yourself, make everything so secret. Except your secret police, who follow me in absolutely no secrecy.”
“When you start to act like you are worthy of the job, I shall reward you by involving you.”
“Worthy? What does worth have to do with it when you rule by divine right? Aren’t you God’s chosen vessel, sir?”
“Your mockery is only further proof to me that you are still only a boy. Would that you carried yourself like Wilhelm. Say what you will about his arrogance or self-importance; at least he holds himself like a ruler.”
“Wilhelm is younger than me! And yet he has the crown. He has a purpose. As for me? All I do is wait and wait. I can’t bear it. Each passing day, each passing year, is like—”
“You are not worthy to be my successor!” Franz roared. This, at last, served to silence Rudolf, whose cheeks blanched an unnatural shade of white. Through the shadows of the dimly lit carriage, Sisi saw how fatigue had carved deep semicircles under her son’s eyes, yet his gaze was smoldering. Weary but alert, a hunted animal’s.
A hum of tension buzzed inside the otherwise silent coach as the horses pulled them through the palace gates. “We’re back,” Sisi said, breaking the standoff, stepping forward as the coach door opened. She had never imagined—had never thought it possible—to feel so relieved to return to the Hofburg.
The next day, a Monday, Sisi kept to herself, exhausted by the weekend of the kaiser’s parties and even more exhausted by her family’s ongoing discord. She knew that Rudolf intended to go hunting with some male members of his household at the lodge at Mayerling in the Vienna Woods. He left without saying goodbye to either of his parents, but Sisi watched his party leave through her frost-tinged windows. Good, she thought, let him take some time away from his father, some time to clear his head with the cold air and outdoor sport.
The next evening was the night of their weekly family dinner in Franz’s private rooms. When Sisi and Valerie arrived, they found Stéphanie pale and Franz fuming. Rudolf had just sent his father a telegram excusing himself from the family gathering, claiming that a cold prevented him from traveling back from Mayerling Lodge. The meal was a quick, quiet affair. Franz alone was permitted to initiate conversation, but he did not. As a result, no one spoke.
Later that night, after completing her evening prayers in her bedroom, Sisi undressed for bed. “Marie?”
“Yes, Empress?” Marie Festetics looked up from where she crouched, picking up the bricks that she had placed before the porcelain stove. She carried them now to the empress’s bed and began to warm the sheets.
“Rudolf seems to be slipping further from our grip,” Sisi thought aloud.
Marie frowned; she did not need to offer words for Sisi to know what she thought.
“You think I should speak with him, don’t you?”
Marie stood up from her position leaning over the bed and walked slowly toward Sisi. “Empress, I’ve long thought that the crown prince yearns for his mother. He may look like a grown man, but inside, he is still just the frightened, timid boy.”
“You are right,” Sisi said, sighing. As she climbed into bed, fighting back a yawn, she made her decision. “Tomorrow. When he returns from Mayerling, I will speak to Rudolf. I might even speak to Stéphanie, as well.” Now she leaned back into the warmed pillows, feeling relief at having her hair undone, her body free of the tight corset. She guessed that sleep might come easily for her that night, without its usual resistance. But just then, a thought occurred to her. “Where is Larisch? I have not seen her all day.”
Marie’s scowl was visible in the glow given off by the candle she held. “She said she had to go into the city…had to see to some errands.” It was clear that Marie did not approve of Larisch’s activity, whatever activity it was.
—
Sisi awoke Wednesday to the familiar ache in her rheumatic limbs. She completed her prayers before ordering her daily bath. She took her time moving through her morning toilette. She grazed on a breakfast of tea and toast before welcoming her Greek tutor into her rooms in the late morning.
