The Accidental Empress, page 48
It was an afternoon in late spring. Around the palace, tulips pressed their way through the green lawn and the sun poured down over a landscape of heavily budded trees.
“It’s a lovely day for a picnic. I thought it would be nice to get outdoors for a bit.” Sisi’s tone was merry as she looked out over the grounds, the nearby Obelisk fountain jutting up out of the gardens. At the base of the fountain the famous Schönbrunn grotto gurgled and hummed with the voice of a dozen fountains. The mountain gods, their muscular forms carved from stone, writhed and wrestled as their opened mouths splashed water into the pool. Swans skimmed its glassy surface, their regal presence a welcome sight after a long, fierce winter.
“Brilliant idea,” Franz said, nodding. “I’m glad you proposed it.”
A dozen uniformed footmen buzzed around them, sorting silver, draping white linens over a table, and unpacking baskets of meats, cheese, wine, and bread. Not as rustic a picnic as Sisi had envisioned, but that did not matter.
“I confess, I had a purpose in asking you to this lunch, Franz.”
Franz looked at her now, his eyebrow tilting upward. “Oh? And what’s that?”
Sisi allowed a coy grin to tug on the corners of her lips. She lowered her eyes, blinking. And then, smiling broadly, she lifted her eyes, holding fast to his. “I have something for you.”
She waved one of the footmen forward. The liveried man carried a large rectangular bundle, draped in a sheet.
“What’s this?” Franz leaned back in his chair, his interest piqued.
Sisi rose from her place and walked toward the package. With a flick of her wrist, a dramatic gesture like a performer, she tugged on the sheet and its contents were revealed.
Franz gasped when he saw it, a gloved hand coming to his face to conceal his open mouth.
It was a portrait. A portrait of her, Sisi. She had commissioned it specifically for Franz from one of Europe’s most-sought-after portraitists.
Herr Winterhalter had captured her alone, in a scene of considerable intimacy. In it, her hair was loose, her long dark tresses tumbling around her shoulders as only her husband had the right to see them. She wore nothing but a thin, white shift, almost like a nightgown. The loose material slid off her, revealing a naked shoulder and a soft, ivory neck.
Herr Winterhalter had captured her in such a way that one got the sense, as they looked at the canvas, that in the next moment, the gown might slip off entirely, tumbling to the ground and revealing the full splendor of the empress’s famous figure. Sisi’s gaze was quizzical and evasive; she didn’t look directly at the observer, but off to the side, as if tempting you to catch her attention, begging you to turn her head.
Sisi had blushed the entire time she had posed for Herr Winterhalter, and she blushed now, as she beheld the finished product. Especially as she saw the speechless awe with which Franz admired her likeness.
She inhaled quickly, standing up tall. “I thought it was about time that I have some new portraits done. And Herr Winterhalter is the master.” Sisi slid back into her seat opposite her husband. “It’s for you, Franz. And only you.”
“Elisabeth . . .” Franz’s voice faltered, even as he sat, transfixed, eyes fastened to the large canvas.
“Do you like it?”
He took several moments to answer. “It’s . . . it’s exquisite.”
Sisi smiled, lowering her eyes. “Good. Then it shall be yours. Though I beg you to put it somewhere private.”
“Of course.” Franz looked at her now. She hoped the real subject wasn’t a disappointment after his eyes had held the portrait for so long. “I would share this with absolutely no one, believe me. I want it entirely to myself.”
“Good.”
Just then the footmen deposited the entree course, a peppery beef stew. Franz looked once more at the canvas, as if reluctant to keep his eyes away from it. Eventually, he gestured for the footman to cover it back up. Turning back to the table, his face composed once more, he took up his napkin and lifted his fork. Sisi forced herself to tuck into her own bowl.
They ate in silence a few moments before she asked: “How do you like this dish?”
“Quite tasty.”
“I’ve ordered us a Hungarian menu.”
“Indeed.” Franz looked down at his plate.
“I remember enjoying the food immensely while we were in Hungary.”
Franz nodded, eating.
“Didn’t you, Franz?”
“I prefer our food here in Austria.” Franz was dipping his bread in the sauce. “But every once in the while, Hungarian food makes for a nice change.”
“Agreed,” Sisi said, already full of the beef after only a few bites. She took a small sip of wine. “How are things going on that front, with the Hungarians?” She knew the latest. Andrássy kept her abreast of every exchange he had with Vienna. But she hoped to hear Franz’s perspective.
“We’ve reached an impasse,” Franz said, pausing to wipe his mouth with a linen napkin.
“On what point?” She knew the answer, but she asked anyway.
“Deák and Andrássy . . .” Franz paused, clearing his throat with a sip of wine. Sisi noticed the small lurch in her gut, the flutter that happened when Franz spoke Andrássy’s name.
Franz continued: “They insist that Hungary would have its own prime minister. They would like to break from Beust.”
“But not a separate monarch, I hope. They would still recognize you as their king?”
Franz nodded.
“And how does Beust feel about that?” Sisi posed the question as if she did not already know the answer.
“He supports it,” Franz said, an incredulous frown pulling on his features. “He says: ‘Let them squabble over their own affairs; what’s important is that we preserve the empire.’ ”
“That’s the critical point.” Sisi felt full from the rich meal and lowered her spoon. “Franz, why do you need to be involved in their petty domestic disputes anyway? Let a Hungarian deal with that. Even Beust is happy to allow that. As long as they acknowledge you as their king and they remain loyal members of the empire.”
“But Mother suggests that I will willingly cede my power if I allow them a prime minister.”
“Your mother really underestimates you so?”
Franz paused, thinking about this.
“Would they be under your military still?”
Franz nodded yes.
“So we would remain one empire. Under one king. You. And one military.” Sisi forced herself to pause, to keep her tone measured. To not too wholeheartedly betray her passion on the subject. And yet, it was thrilling, having a voice, and Franz not abruptly dismissing her, as he so often had in the past. She inhaled, continuing: “But we let them take over the tedious and tiresome tasks of their own internal affairs. And no more blood need be shed. It sounds as if we retain the best parts of power and cede to them those of the least importance.”
Franz thought about this for several moments before propping his elbows on the table. “It’s a compelling argument.”
Sisi pressed her case: “Beust seems to feel that it’s very important we act, and quickly. He thinks it would be the end of the empire if we lost the Hungarians.”
Franz ran his fingers through the auburn beard, traced with gray, that covered his cheeks. “I know what Beust thinks.”
“Please, Franz, write to Budapest. Invite Deák and Andrássy to make this compromise.”
He looked at her directly now, his light-blue eyes holding hers with a tinge of wariness. “Why are you so eager?”
Sisi was taken aback by the directness of the question. She couldn’t answer the full truth. She wasn’t even sure if she could have told herself the full truth. Instead, she lightened her tone and glanced out over the view, over the grotto and the Obelisk. “You know I’ve always loved Hungary.”
“I remember.” Franz nodded after several moments. “You loved the Hungarians, and the Hungarians loved you.”
But she thought of one Hungarian, in particular. She rested her cheeks on her hands, hoping to hide the flush that rose to her skin.
“Do you still study Hungarian?” he asked after several minutes.
She nodded. “Yes.”
He looked down at his bowl, his appetite gone.
“Franz.” Sisi leaned across the table, putting her gloved hand on top of his. Her silly dining gloves, another Habsburg custom. She swallowed that thought. “Franz.”
He looked up at her.
“These are tumultuous times over which you preside.” She paused. “But, I hope to tell Rudy someday . . . that we did all we could to preserve his empire.”
Franz sighed.
“You’ve ruled during such difficult and changing days.” Sisi’s tone was beseeching now, her entire body leaning toward his in a way it had not in years. Like a flower angling toward the sun. “None of those other calamities could have been stopped. But this one . . . this one developing right before our eyes . . .”
Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes. And then, perhaps even less expected, Sisi bowed forward and placed a slow kiss on his hand. “Please, Franz. Please do not let this last piece crumble.”
Franz, moved to wordlessness by her uncharacteristic and unsolicited display of affection, took several moments to speak. When he did, his voice was meek. Even melancholy. “All right, then, Elisa.”
Sisi’s heart quickened as she looked at him, awaiting his next words. It was a positive sign that he used her nickname, the nickname from the years when he had adored her, and she had adored him.
“I will invite them here.” Franz propped his elbows onto the table with a heavy slouch. “But I make no guarantees—it will be up to Andrássy and his side to win me over to this compromise.”
Sisi lifted her gloved fingers to her lips to conceal the wide grin that burst across her face. When she had regained her composure, she said, “You are wise, Franz.”
“I just hope I don’t regret . . . well . . .”
“Regret what?”
Franz sighed. “Inviting Andrássy here might be the most foolish thing I do as emperor.”
Andrássy arrived in Vienna weeks later, delayed for several days due to heavy thunderstorms. Sisi saw him for the first time at the formal state dinner the night they arrived, given by the emperor and empress for the Hungarian delegation. Sisi had spent the entire afternoon preparing for the dinner: she appeared now with her hair in a glorious coronet of braids and jewels, her figure tucked into a snug dress of a rich, raspberry satin.
“Welcome to Vienna, Count Andrássy.” Sisi greeted him in the receiving line at the back of the Spiegelsaal. It was one of Schönbrunn’s grandest halls, opulent with gold gilt and rows of glittery mirrors. Every candelabra was lit, so that the dancing candles illuminated the frescoes that swirled overhead. But Sisi cared about none of the grandeur of the room. Standing there, staring at Andrássy after such a long absence, she longed to smile. Longed to inquire about his arduous, soggy journey. To revel in their joint progress on behalf of Hungary. But she was aware that Sophie stood beside her, listening.
Sophie had worn a scowl on her face ever since Franz had announced his intention to invite Andrássy and Deák for negotiations: “Don’t you remember what they did to us in ’48? And don’t you remember, it was a Hungarian who tried to stab you to death?” But Sisi had prevailed, perhaps because Franz now saw the painted image of his wife’s bare shoulder, her loose and glossy tresses, every time he stepped into his study to consider his foreign policy.
“Thank you, Empress Elisabeth.” Andrássy bowed to Sisi now in the receiving line, his dark eyes twinkling as he said her name. The appreciative way in which he studied her appearance filled Sisi with satisfaction.
“It is good to have you in Vienna, Count.” Sisi tried to keep her facial expression calm as she beheld him. Inside, her heart clamored, beating so violently that she feared it was louder than the nearby violins.
“The palace feels welcoming and warm after our days on the road, Empress.” Andrássy looked as handsome as she had remembered, and in spite of her better judgment, she smiled.
“I understand that the journey was a tiring one, Count Andrássy. I hope you have recovered?”
“I am quite comfortable now, Your Majesty.” Andrássy lingered before her, his eyes holding hers, smooth and rich as dark silk.
“Count Andrássy.” Sophie stepped forward, impatient in the receiving line.
“Archduchess Sophie, it is splendid to see you.” Andrássy peeled his gaze from Sisi to turn and pay his respects to her mother-in-law. And like that, their reunion was over. At dinner, Andrássy was seated beside Franz, at the far end of the table from Sisi. Throughout the meal, they exchanged brief, fleeting looks. Sisi, for her part, chatted with Deák through most of the dinner. Though she longed to let her eyes wander to the far side of the table, she forced herself not to. She could not stare, Sisi knew. Someone would surely notice the pull between the two of them—if they hadn’t already.
The following day marked the beginning of negotiations—discussions to which Sisi was not invited. Sisi passed the morning with the children, attempting to remain distracted as she helped Rudolf study his French. In the afternoon, even though the heavy rain persisted, she rode—a long, strenuous ride that she hoped would tire her out and beat back the restlessness that gnawed at her.
That evening, Franz took his supper in his suite and ordered no visitors. Sisi, chilled from her outing and frantic to hear how the day’s meetings had gone, felt edgy and without an appetite. Unsettled, she paced her apartment, barking orders at Ida and dismissing Franziska when sitting still to have her hair brushed proved too tedious. At dusk she decided to set out for another walk.
“But, my lady, it’s raining out.” Ida, who was turning down the bed for the evening, eyed Sisi disapprovingly.
“Then fetch my cloak.” Sisi paused at the doorway, allowing herself to be bundled into the hooded cloak.
“It is nearly dark out, Empress.”
“I will stay on the terraces.”
“Why don’t I prepare you a bath instead?”
“I am too restless tonight. I can’t stay here.” And with that, Sisi set out into the waterlogged gardens. She ordered her guards to leave her, promising them that she would remain within the private grounds. She was too on edge to have to listen to the sounds of their boots pattering behind her, like the echoes of the phantoms that already visited her at night.
The trees shivered as a clap of thunder ripped across the sky. Sisi made her way out onto the colonnade, opting for the covered stone walkways rather than the drenched and muddy lawns. She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, grateful for Ida’s insistence that she take it.
How could she find an update on how the day’s discussions had gone? she wondered. Franz’s abrupt retreat to his chamber seemed to indicate that the day had not been successful. But when would she hear from Andrássy?
Pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders and head, Sisi quit the pathway and made for the hill. She climbed the sodden slope, pausing only when she reached the top and stood before the Gloriette, the series of archways that boasted, triumphant, across the summit. Out of breath and soaked, she paused, sitting down on a covered stone ledge. There she peered down the hill, at the rain that splashed the endless grounds below her. That all of this existed for one man, and for her, struck her as somehow ludicrous, even after all of these years in her role. She sat—she didn’t know for how long—as the gardens sank deeper into darkness.
A shadow of mist appeared just a few feet away. At first, Sisi thought it nothing more than the rain. But then, she smelled its scent: cigarette smoke.
“Hello?” She called out, her voice barely rising above the thrum of the rain that slapped the stone archways around her.
“Hello?” Sisi repeated her call.
Just then, a tall figure emerged from the other side of the arch.
“Andrássy?” The delight in Sisi’s voice was apparent, even to her, as she stood up.
“Sisi?” He sounded equally pleased. He walked toward her, reaching her in two long strides. He kissed her cold, ungloved hand.
“Andrássy.” She stared at him. “This is a surprise.”
“Indeed. It’s good to see you.”
“And you.”
“Please.” He helped her back to a seated position on the stone ledge, and he sat beside her. “Or is it too cold out here? Would you prefer to go indoors?”
“I came out here of my own accord,” she said, smiling.
“Well then, please, allow me.” He removed his stiff white coat and draped it over her shoulders.
“Thank you.”
“I had to come see this,” he said, gesturing around at the architecture that enfolded them. “It looked to me like a giant wedding cake atop this hill.”
She laughed, burrowing into his coat as she looked out over the dark gardens, thrilled at how close he was. At the fact that they were alone. She lived for these stolen moments of intimacy. They were wrong, forbidden, and yet, they had somehow become the sustenance that helped her survive their long and painful separations.
“Trouble sleeping?”
She nodded.
“Me, as well. I doubt I shall be able to sleep at all tonight.”
Her glance slid sideways, to where he sat beside her. “How did it go today?”
Andrássy sighed, taking up the half-expired cigarette that he had been smoking prior to her appearance.
“That bad?”
“He seemed to come with his mind already decided against us.”
Sisi thought about this, frowning. “What did he say? Did he grow angry?”
“On the contrary. He was quiet. Almost disinterested at times.”
“Who was there?”
“He came with Beust. I brought Deák.”
“Surely Beust considered your side?”
“Indeed. He did try his best.” Andrássy took a long pull on his cigarette. “Things were not exactly amicable, but they were cordial, for most of the day. Until we came to the matter of separate governments.”
