The Accidental Empress, page 49
“What happened?”
“He thinks we are playing a stealthy trick to slowly strip him of his power.”
“He said that?”
“Indirectly.”
Sisi thought back to the conversations she’d had with Franz on the topic. “He has already lost so much land.”
“Through war. Something we are trying to avoid,” Andrássy said.
“I agree.” Sisi nodded. “War must be avoided at all costs. But he is hesitant to cede his control over the government in Budapest. He fears that it would give the appearance of weakness.”
“Yes, but we can’t truly be equal members of the empire if we can’t at least govern ourselves.”
Sisi shivered, pulling Andrássy’s coat closer around her neck. She breathed him in, his scent. Damp wool and cigarette smoke and a hint of something sweet—shaving cream?
Andrássy sighed, finishing off his cigarette and stomping it out beneath his boot.
“Is this an impassible difference?” she asked.
“I hope not.”
Sisi exhaled. “Difficulties increase the nearer we get to the goal.”
Andrássy looked at her, his smile apparent in the murky, waterlogged moonlight. He had recognized the quote from Goethe.
“Who else would know what to say at such a time?”
He nodded appreciatively, taking her bare, cold hand in his; his skin felt impossibly warm against hers. This was indiscreet, she knew, but she could not resist his touch. They sat beside one another in silence, staring out at the rain for a long while, her hand unmoving in his.
For how long they sat like that, she didn’t know. Not long enough. Eventually, Andrássy turned to her. “I didn’t expect to find the empress of Austria sitting out here, after dark, in the rain.”
“My maid proposed that I take a bath, but I couldn’t imagine sitting still.” She blushed as soon as she said it, as soon as she realized how indecent a topic it was.
He lit another cigarette and stared at her, holding her with a thoughtful gaze. Exhaling, his eyes still on her, he asked: “Who do you think is the more restless soul of the two of us?”
She smiled, taking the cigarette from his fingers and inhaling a puff for herself. “Hard to tell.”
“You seem pretty restless.” He smiled at her, watching her smoke.
“I am.” She nodded, exhaling.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t,” she said, her mind still processing his question. “There was a while, right after I first married Franz, when I was content. Or at least, I thought I was. Other than that, I can’t really recall not ever being restless. I’ve never found a horse that could run fast enough.”
Andrássy turned, looking through the veil of falling rain out over their dark surroundings. “I wonder if, after we settle the Hungarian question of independence—if we settle it—if I will find some peace. In Hungary. Perhaps I might be able to calm down then.”
“I was happy in Hungary,” Sisi said.
Andrássy turned to her. “Then you should come back.”
Her breath caught, suspended in her throat. “I would like that,” she said, after several moments. “Would you?”
He slid his body closer to her on the cold stone ledge. He did not speak, but the look on his face answered her.
“Sisi.” He was close to her now, taking her face in his hands. His fingers felt warm, almost as warm as the burn she now felt in her cheeks. He hovered before her, his face just inches from hers, their eyes locked. Sisi was hesitant to break the thread between them by speaking.
“Perhaps I don’t wish you to come, Sisi. Perhaps I would not be able to survive, if you did.” As he spoke, she smelled the cigarette on his breath. “Is this how it would be, I wonder? You, right in front of me. And yet, forever out of my reach?”
“Kiss me, Andrássy.” Her voice was pleading. It surprised even her.
The shake of his head was minuscule, barely perceptible. But enough to break her heart.
“No,” he said at last, his voice resolute. He dropped his fingers, letting go of her face.
She lowered her eyes, forcing herself to breathe as she fought back tears. He loved her, she felt almost sure of it. And she loved him, it was useless to go on denying it. Her insides clamored, her heart teemed with equal parts love and anger. How cruel a joke the fates had played on them!
“I must go.” Sisi rose, sliding herself out of his jacket and handing it back to him. Without it, the night felt unbearably cold, and she brought her arms around herself.
Andrássy stood, resting a hand on her bare, goose-pimpled arm. “May I walk you back?” He seemed hesitant to let her go.
“No, stay here.” Her voice had a frantic edge as she slid her arm from his grip.
“At least allow me to explain . . .” He reached for her once more.
“Please, stop. I beg you,” Sisi said, willing herself to remain strong. “I must go. Good night.” She excused herself, turning back toward the palace. But when she was back indoors, she did not turn toward her own bedroom.
XVII.
“And so begin the days of revelry,” she says, as she steps aboard the steamer. This barge will carry her across the river, to the flat plains of Pest, for the first official celebration. She has been, mercifully, allowed to change, and she’s exchanged the heavy ceremonial robe of brocade for a featherlight gown of white tulle.
They’ve decorated the steamer for her, so that blue and white flowers festoon the deck—a nod to her Bavarian roots. They never fail to point out that she, like them, does not come from Vienna.
Meanwhile, the reports already seep out of Austria’s capital, reaching her ears. She hears that one of Franz’s ministers has railed against today’s events, saying that “Andrássy deserves to hang more today than he did in ’49.”
She smiles. Let them stew in Vienna. Finally, they notice her. They realize the error of their ways, ridiculing and disregarding her for all of these years.
Now the eastern bank of Pest comes into crystalline view. She longs to squint, the sun is so fierce overhead. As the barge taps the berth, sending the river to lap up against the shore, she spots him. Her heart lurches, a quick intake of breath. Andrássy deserves to hang more today than he did in ’49.
He stands there, a hand extended. Without looking to see who watches, she takes it.
“Empress.” He stares at her, his lips forming a smile under his dark mustache. “It is done.”
“Not done,” she says, her head tilting to the side. “Only just begun.”
Chapter Seventeen
SCHÖNBRUNN SUMMER PALACE, VIENNA
SPRING 1867
“Elisabeth?”
“Hello, Franz.”
“I wasn’t expecting . . . this late . . . is everything all right? Are the children all right?”
“The children are fine, Franz. I am here to see you.”
“You . . . you are?” It was the first evening she had knocked on her husband’s bedroom door in years, and the shock on his face was apparent.
“Are you alone?” She raised her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
“I am. Wait one moment.” Franz spoke into a footman’s ear and the man scurried off—perhaps on his way to intercept whichever young courtier was on her way to the emperor’s bed. But Sisi pushed that thought aside.
“I was hoping I might come in.” She blinked, her lashes fluttering.
“Of course.” Franz stepped aside, opening the door wider. He still appeared surprised, but perfectly willing to welcome her.
“You’re not too tired?” she asked.
“Not tired at all.” With Sisi in the bedchamber, he closed the heavy door once more, shutting them in. “Furious, but not tired.”
Sisi went to the table in the corner and, without invitation, poured them two glasses of brandy. Outside, the rain still continued to pelt the palace windows and walls like liquid gunfire.
“The day did not go well?” Sisi crossed the room, bringing him his drink and sipping hers.
Franz took a long sip, more like a gulp, before answering. “They would have their own parliament in Budapest. A separate prime minister and a separate parliament. What use would they have for me?” With that, Franz drained his cup.
“But you’d still be emperor.”
“They would castrate me!” His breath was hot with the liquor and the insult as he spat, and Sisi guessed that it was not his first glass of brandy this evening.
“Hardly, Franz.” Sisi rose to refill his drink and hers as well, which she too had gulped in several sips.
“You say that because you’d sign off on it tomorrow. I know perfectly well what you think.”
“I think that Hungary is invaluable to this empire,” she answered, staying calm. “I want my son’s kingdom to include Hungary, as valuable and rich and beautiful a land as it is. But I hope that there will be no blood spilled in forcing them to stay. They are a separate people and deserve recognition.”
“They would cut my kingdom in half.”
“On the contrary. It would keep your kingdom whole. They do not wish to leave the kingdom unless you would force them to stay . . . as subjects.”
“So they want the option of leaving, and then they will choose to stay. It seems nonsensical.”
“It is a question of recognition. They would like to be a partner in the empire, rather than the conquered subjects of the empire.”
Franz thought about this as he finished his second glass. After several moments he said: “Andrássy did say there would be a separate coronation in Budapest, where they would formally recognize you and me as King and Queen of Hungary. No longer foreign monarchs, but monarchs of Hungary in our own right.”
“That must sound compelling.” Sisi cocked her head sideways, sipping her brandy.
“I would be the weak Habsburg, though. Letting them dictate terms to me like that.”
“On the contrary.” Sisi placed her glass down and faced Franz. “There is nothing weak in a leader who is wise and just to his people.”
“You don’t think me weak?” Franz looked tired, shriveled somehow.
“I know you are not weak.” She stood near to him now and lifted her hand, tracing the line of his cheek with her fingers. She allowed her hand to stay there, sliding down to his neck, so that they stood as close as they had in years.
“Whom do you most admire, Franz? Your grandfather? He was Franz the Good. Maria Theresa? She was the pragmatist. Nobody thinks fondly back to the leaders who burn them and shoot them and conquer them.” She leaned forward now, pressing her palm to his chest. “You would be the wise emperor, Franz Joseph. The emperor who saved the kingdom. They would love you in Hungary for ages to come.”
She leaned her head to the side, looking at him in a manner that she hoped reminded him of her in years past, in their happier times. When she spoke, she did so quietly, whispering. “Emperor Franz Joseph and The Great Compromise.”
He sighed. “Well, one thing was clear today. One point upon which everyone in the room agreed.”
“Oh? What’s that?” she asked.
“After centuries of detesting their foreign Habsburg rulers, the Hungarians finally have a leader whom they adore. A leader whom they want to keep.” Franz paused, his features sagging. Defeated. “You, Elisabeth.”
“Oh, come now, Franz.” She kept her tone soft, even as her heart raced within her breast. “Don’t be distraught. I see great hope for us.” She paused, her fingers intertwining with his as she took his hand. Something she had not done in years. “Is there anything I can do . . . to lift your spirits?”
Franz’s eyes darted to hers, as if startled by the question. After a moment’s hesitation, he put his arm on her waist, pulling her body closer. His eyes held hers, as if questioning her. But she didn’t reject him. She allowed him, even encouraged him, by inching another small step toward him. Now their bodies touched.
Franz leaned forward and kissed her, and she closed her eyes, tasting the brandy on his lips. Those lips that she had once kissed so often. The hand he had rested on her waist slid up her midsection, pausing tenuously below her breast. She sidled closer to him, not initiating any new caresses, but not discouraging him either.
Franz responded by kissing her with a new boldness. She kept her eyes shut. And then he was inching their bodies toward the bed. She yielded, moving with him as he lowered her down onto the downy pillows. Had she known, when she came to his bedroom, that they would do more than talk? That he would want to make love, and she would allow it? Yes, she supposed, she had known.
They had been apart for seven years and their bodies, changed in the separation, had all but forgotten one another. It was a brief, wordless encounter. For Sisi, the challenge was not so much in participating—Franz did not seem to need much encouragement once she had allowed him to kiss her—but in forcing Andrássy’s face from her mind. When she shut her eyes, all she could see was him as he had appeared out in the rainy courtyard, moments earlier. His dark, expectant eyes. His lips, so close to hers. So she opened her eyes, staring blankly at the room before her. And yet, she could not quiet her mind. What would Andrássy think? But she could not ask that. It wasn’t Andrássy’s right to think anything. Franz was her husband. Franz had every right to yearn for his wife’s touch.
Then why did she feel so guilty?
The day dawned warm and bright, and Sisi slipped from Franz’s room before he awoke. Back in her bedchamber, she looked out over the grounds and saw that the rain had stopped. A bold, determined sun shone down, drying the puddles as if eager to reassert itself after days of absence. Sisi pressed her forehead to the window, hoping that the day’s talks would mimic the clarity of the blue sky, finally purged of dark clouds and thick, obstructive fog.
Ida swept into the room. “Empress, you’re back.”
“I am,” Sisi said, sitting down at the small breakfast table. She looked disinterestedly at the plate that her maid now placed before her and reached instead for the coffee. She felt the beginning of a headache.
“We were so worried. You never came back last night from your walk.”
“I stayed in the emperor’s room.”
Ida’s look was precisely what Sisi had expected: disbelief, mingled with shock.
“It’s true.” Sisi could not help but laugh at her stunned maid. “Fetch water. I need a bath.”
Sisi left the palace in the late morning, riding Vándor along the Danube, toward Hungary.
In the late afternoon she paused to rest at her favorite point on the river, the wildflower-dotted meadow about an hour’s ride from the palace. She had slipped her guard and was relieved to be alone, to be free to scowl and fret without worrying about the gossip her sour mood might kindle. The thought of returning to Schönbrunn filled her with dread. She was feeling wretched this afternoon, remembering Franz and the way she had deceived him into thinking she desired him last night. How he had fumbled beside her before falling asleep, his arm on top of her as he snored all night. How she had lain awake, wishing she could flee his room but worrying that in doing so she might wake him.
Her thoughts, however, were interrupted when she spotted a familiar figure approaching on horseback. She fought the urge to jump up, to run to meet him. She stayed where she was, seated by the river, as the rider neared. He stopped just feet from her resting spot.
“I thought I might find you here.” Andrássy, panting, hopped off the horse. She could tell, instinctively, that he was happy today, even triumphant. Entirely different from how she had found him the night before.
“Hello.” She shielded her eyes as he sat down beside her. “I did not expect to see you out. Has my husband dismissed you again?”
“We did it.” Andrássy leaned toward her, smiling as he lifted her hand in his. “Franz . . . the emperor . . . agreed to our dualistic approach. He was entirely changed this morning, Sisi. Assertive, confident. Sisi, we did it. Hungary shall be free!” Andrássy kissed the top of her hand. Not once, but three times.
She smiled, and she meant it, but she pulled her hand away from his grip. “I am so happy for you, Andrássy.”
“Not just for me. For us,” Andrássy crowed. “For all of us. The empire shall continue. You shall be crowned Queen of Hungary.” He looked around; at the meadow, at the river. Then back at her. “I should have brought champagne. I just had to tell you first.”
“How did you know to find me here?”
“I ran to your apartments. I was so deliriously happy that I didn’t care who saw me, or what they thought. Ida told me you had gone out riding, and on a day such as this, I guessed you would have come here.”
She smiled, though she felt dizzy. When she had been with Franz, she had felt as though she were betraying Andrássy. Now, with Andrássy, she felt as though she were being unfair to Franz. It was too overwhelming, the disquiet she felt. A restlessness that couldn’t be quelled, not if she raced on horseback until the far end of the earth.
Andrássy, still elated, didn’t appear to notice. “You know, Sisi, that the people . . . the Austrian and the Hungarian people owe you the credit. It is because of you that this has happened.”
If only you knew, she thought, lowering her eyes.
Andrássy looked now over the river. He leaned back to recline on the ground, propped up on his elbows, smiling. The cause for which he had spent his life fighting would now be realized. It was one of the best moments of his life, Sisi sensed, and she watched him bask in it, his figure awash in the afternoon sunlight. She had to pull her eyes away.
After a while, he spoke. “We sat here once, years ago.”
“I remember,” she said, looking out over the river. It was the day he had left for Hungary, and she had realized how terribly she would miss him. Though she did not meet his eyes, she sensed that he now stared at her. What did he want from it all? she wondered. Did he enjoy torturing himself? Torturing her? She did not know how he managed, but she knew that she could not survive it much longer. Perhaps it was best that he left. But she would never ask him to leave, she would never in fact want him to go.
“He thinks we are playing a stealthy trick to slowly strip him of his power.”
“He said that?”
“Indirectly.”
Sisi thought back to the conversations she’d had with Franz on the topic. “He has already lost so much land.”
“Through war. Something we are trying to avoid,” Andrássy said.
“I agree.” Sisi nodded. “War must be avoided at all costs. But he is hesitant to cede his control over the government in Budapest. He fears that it would give the appearance of weakness.”
“Yes, but we can’t truly be equal members of the empire if we can’t at least govern ourselves.”
Sisi shivered, pulling Andrássy’s coat closer around her neck. She breathed him in, his scent. Damp wool and cigarette smoke and a hint of something sweet—shaving cream?
Andrássy sighed, finishing off his cigarette and stomping it out beneath his boot.
“Is this an impassible difference?” she asked.
“I hope not.”
Sisi exhaled. “Difficulties increase the nearer we get to the goal.”
Andrássy looked at her, his smile apparent in the murky, waterlogged moonlight. He had recognized the quote from Goethe.
“Who else would know what to say at such a time?”
He nodded appreciatively, taking her bare, cold hand in his; his skin felt impossibly warm against hers. This was indiscreet, she knew, but she could not resist his touch. They sat beside one another in silence, staring out at the rain for a long while, her hand unmoving in his.
For how long they sat like that, she didn’t know. Not long enough. Eventually, Andrássy turned to her. “I didn’t expect to find the empress of Austria sitting out here, after dark, in the rain.”
“My maid proposed that I take a bath, but I couldn’t imagine sitting still.” She blushed as soon as she said it, as soon as she realized how indecent a topic it was.
He lit another cigarette and stared at her, holding her with a thoughtful gaze. Exhaling, his eyes still on her, he asked: “Who do you think is the more restless soul of the two of us?”
She smiled, taking the cigarette from his fingers and inhaling a puff for herself. “Hard to tell.”
“You seem pretty restless.” He smiled at her, watching her smoke.
“I am.” She nodded, exhaling.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t,” she said, her mind still processing his question. “There was a while, right after I first married Franz, when I was content. Or at least, I thought I was. Other than that, I can’t really recall not ever being restless. I’ve never found a horse that could run fast enough.”
Andrássy turned, looking through the veil of falling rain out over their dark surroundings. “I wonder if, after we settle the Hungarian question of independence—if we settle it—if I will find some peace. In Hungary. Perhaps I might be able to calm down then.”
“I was happy in Hungary,” Sisi said.
Andrássy turned to her. “Then you should come back.”
Her breath caught, suspended in her throat. “I would like that,” she said, after several moments. “Would you?”
He slid his body closer to her on the cold stone ledge. He did not speak, but the look on his face answered her.
“Sisi.” He was close to her now, taking her face in his hands. His fingers felt warm, almost as warm as the burn she now felt in her cheeks. He hovered before her, his face just inches from hers, their eyes locked. Sisi was hesitant to break the thread between them by speaking.
“Perhaps I don’t wish you to come, Sisi. Perhaps I would not be able to survive, if you did.” As he spoke, she smelled the cigarette on his breath. “Is this how it would be, I wonder? You, right in front of me. And yet, forever out of my reach?”
“Kiss me, Andrássy.” Her voice was pleading. It surprised even her.
The shake of his head was minuscule, barely perceptible. But enough to break her heart.
“No,” he said at last, his voice resolute. He dropped his fingers, letting go of her face.
She lowered her eyes, forcing herself to breathe as she fought back tears. He loved her, she felt almost sure of it. And she loved him, it was useless to go on denying it. Her insides clamored, her heart teemed with equal parts love and anger. How cruel a joke the fates had played on them!
“I must go.” Sisi rose, sliding herself out of his jacket and handing it back to him. Without it, the night felt unbearably cold, and she brought her arms around herself.
Andrássy stood, resting a hand on her bare, goose-pimpled arm. “May I walk you back?” He seemed hesitant to let her go.
“No, stay here.” Her voice had a frantic edge as she slid her arm from his grip.
“At least allow me to explain . . .” He reached for her once more.
“Please, stop. I beg you,” Sisi said, willing herself to remain strong. “I must go. Good night.” She excused herself, turning back toward the palace. But when she was back indoors, she did not turn toward her own bedroom.
XVII.
“And so begin the days of revelry,” she says, as she steps aboard the steamer. This barge will carry her across the river, to the flat plains of Pest, for the first official celebration. She has been, mercifully, allowed to change, and she’s exchanged the heavy ceremonial robe of brocade for a featherlight gown of white tulle.
They’ve decorated the steamer for her, so that blue and white flowers festoon the deck—a nod to her Bavarian roots. They never fail to point out that she, like them, does not come from Vienna.
Meanwhile, the reports already seep out of Austria’s capital, reaching her ears. She hears that one of Franz’s ministers has railed against today’s events, saying that “Andrássy deserves to hang more today than he did in ’49.”
She smiles. Let them stew in Vienna. Finally, they notice her. They realize the error of their ways, ridiculing and disregarding her for all of these years.
Now the eastern bank of Pest comes into crystalline view. She longs to squint, the sun is so fierce overhead. As the barge taps the berth, sending the river to lap up against the shore, she spots him. Her heart lurches, a quick intake of breath. Andrássy deserves to hang more today than he did in ’49.
He stands there, a hand extended. Without looking to see who watches, she takes it.
“Empress.” He stares at her, his lips forming a smile under his dark mustache. “It is done.”
“Not done,” she says, her head tilting to the side. “Only just begun.”
Chapter Seventeen
SCHÖNBRUNN SUMMER PALACE, VIENNA
SPRING 1867
“Elisabeth?”
“Hello, Franz.”
“I wasn’t expecting . . . this late . . . is everything all right? Are the children all right?”
“The children are fine, Franz. I am here to see you.”
“You . . . you are?” It was the first evening she had knocked on her husband’s bedroom door in years, and the shock on his face was apparent.
“Are you alone?” She raised her eyebrows in a suggestive manner.
“I am. Wait one moment.” Franz spoke into a footman’s ear and the man scurried off—perhaps on his way to intercept whichever young courtier was on her way to the emperor’s bed. But Sisi pushed that thought aside.
“I was hoping I might come in.” She blinked, her lashes fluttering.
“Of course.” Franz stepped aside, opening the door wider. He still appeared surprised, but perfectly willing to welcome her.
“You’re not too tired?” she asked.
“Not tired at all.” With Sisi in the bedchamber, he closed the heavy door once more, shutting them in. “Furious, but not tired.”
Sisi went to the table in the corner and, without invitation, poured them two glasses of brandy. Outside, the rain still continued to pelt the palace windows and walls like liquid gunfire.
“The day did not go well?” Sisi crossed the room, bringing him his drink and sipping hers.
Franz took a long sip, more like a gulp, before answering. “They would have their own parliament in Budapest. A separate prime minister and a separate parliament. What use would they have for me?” With that, Franz drained his cup.
“But you’d still be emperor.”
“They would castrate me!” His breath was hot with the liquor and the insult as he spat, and Sisi guessed that it was not his first glass of brandy this evening.
“Hardly, Franz.” Sisi rose to refill his drink and hers as well, which she too had gulped in several sips.
“You say that because you’d sign off on it tomorrow. I know perfectly well what you think.”
“I think that Hungary is invaluable to this empire,” she answered, staying calm. “I want my son’s kingdom to include Hungary, as valuable and rich and beautiful a land as it is. But I hope that there will be no blood spilled in forcing them to stay. They are a separate people and deserve recognition.”
“They would cut my kingdom in half.”
“On the contrary. It would keep your kingdom whole. They do not wish to leave the kingdom unless you would force them to stay . . . as subjects.”
“So they want the option of leaving, and then they will choose to stay. It seems nonsensical.”
“It is a question of recognition. They would like to be a partner in the empire, rather than the conquered subjects of the empire.”
Franz thought about this as he finished his second glass. After several moments he said: “Andrássy did say there would be a separate coronation in Budapest, where they would formally recognize you and me as King and Queen of Hungary. No longer foreign monarchs, but monarchs of Hungary in our own right.”
“That must sound compelling.” Sisi cocked her head sideways, sipping her brandy.
“I would be the weak Habsburg, though. Letting them dictate terms to me like that.”
“On the contrary.” Sisi placed her glass down and faced Franz. “There is nothing weak in a leader who is wise and just to his people.”
“You don’t think me weak?” Franz looked tired, shriveled somehow.
“I know you are not weak.” She stood near to him now and lifted her hand, tracing the line of his cheek with her fingers. She allowed her hand to stay there, sliding down to his neck, so that they stood as close as they had in years.
“Whom do you most admire, Franz? Your grandfather? He was Franz the Good. Maria Theresa? She was the pragmatist. Nobody thinks fondly back to the leaders who burn them and shoot them and conquer them.” She leaned forward now, pressing her palm to his chest. “You would be the wise emperor, Franz Joseph. The emperor who saved the kingdom. They would love you in Hungary for ages to come.”
She leaned her head to the side, looking at him in a manner that she hoped reminded him of her in years past, in their happier times. When she spoke, she did so quietly, whispering. “Emperor Franz Joseph and The Great Compromise.”
He sighed. “Well, one thing was clear today. One point upon which everyone in the room agreed.”
“Oh? What’s that?” she asked.
“After centuries of detesting their foreign Habsburg rulers, the Hungarians finally have a leader whom they adore. A leader whom they want to keep.” Franz paused, his features sagging. Defeated. “You, Elisabeth.”
“Oh, come now, Franz.” She kept her tone soft, even as her heart raced within her breast. “Don’t be distraught. I see great hope for us.” She paused, her fingers intertwining with his as she took his hand. Something she had not done in years. “Is there anything I can do . . . to lift your spirits?”
Franz’s eyes darted to hers, as if startled by the question. After a moment’s hesitation, he put his arm on her waist, pulling her body closer. His eyes held hers, as if questioning her. But she didn’t reject him. She allowed him, even encouraged him, by inching another small step toward him. Now their bodies touched.
Franz leaned forward and kissed her, and she closed her eyes, tasting the brandy on his lips. Those lips that she had once kissed so often. The hand he had rested on her waist slid up her midsection, pausing tenuously below her breast. She sidled closer to him, not initiating any new caresses, but not discouraging him either.
Franz responded by kissing her with a new boldness. She kept her eyes shut. And then he was inching their bodies toward the bed. She yielded, moving with him as he lowered her down onto the downy pillows. Had she known, when she came to his bedroom, that they would do more than talk? That he would want to make love, and she would allow it? Yes, she supposed, she had known.
They had been apart for seven years and their bodies, changed in the separation, had all but forgotten one another. It was a brief, wordless encounter. For Sisi, the challenge was not so much in participating—Franz did not seem to need much encouragement once she had allowed him to kiss her—but in forcing Andrássy’s face from her mind. When she shut her eyes, all she could see was him as he had appeared out in the rainy courtyard, moments earlier. His dark, expectant eyes. His lips, so close to hers. So she opened her eyes, staring blankly at the room before her. And yet, she could not quiet her mind. What would Andrássy think? But she could not ask that. It wasn’t Andrássy’s right to think anything. Franz was her husband. Franz had every right to yearn for his wife’s touch.
Then why did she feel so guilty?
The day dawned warm and bright, and Sisi slipped from Franz’s room before he awoke. Back in her bedchamber, she looked out over the grounds and saw that the rain had stopped. A bold, determined sun shone down, drying the puddles as if eager to reassert itself after days of absence. Sisi pressed her forehead to the window, hoping that the day’s talks would mimic the clarity of the blue sky, finally purged of dark clouds and thick, obstructive fog.
Ida swept into the room. “Empress, you’re back.”
“I am,” Sisi said, sitting down at the small breakfast table. She looked disinterestedly at the plate that her maid now placed before her and reached instead for the coffee. She felt the beginning of a headache.
“We were so worried. You never came back last night from your walk.”
“I stayed in the emperor’s room.”
Ida’s look was precisely what Sisi had expected: disbelief, mingled with shock.
“It’s true.” Sisi could not help but laugh at her stunned maid. “Fetch water. I need a bath.”
Sisi left the palace in the late morning, riding Vándor along the Danube, toward Hungary.
In the late afternoon she paused to rest at her favorite point on the river, the wildflower-dotted meadow about an hour’s ride from the palace. She had slipped her guard and was relieved to be alone, to be free to scowl and fret without worrying about the gossip her sour mood might kindle. The thought of returning to Schönbrunn filled her with dread. She was feeling wretched this afternoon, remembering Franz and the way she had deceived him into thinking she desired him last night. How he had fumbled beside her before falling asleep, his arm on top of her as he snored all night. How she had lain awake, wishing she could flee his room but worrying that in doing so she might wake him.
Her thoughts, however, were interrupted when she spotted a familiar figure approaching on horseback. She fought the urge to jump up, to run to meet him. She stayed where she was, seated by the river, as the rider neared. He stopped just feet from her resting spot.
“I thought I might find you here.” Andrássy, panting, hopped off the horse. She could tell, instinctively, that he was happy today, even triumphant. Entirely different from how she had found him the night before.
“Hello.” She shielded her eyes as he sat down beside her. “I did not expect to see you out. Has my husband dismissed you again?”
“We did it.” Andrássy leaned toward her, smiling as he lifted her hand in his. “Franz . . . the emperor . . . agreed to our dualistic approach. He was entirely changed this morning, Sisi. Assertive, confident. Sisi, we did it. Hungary shall be free!” Andrássy kissed the top of her hand. Not once, but three times.
She smiled, and she meant it, but she pulled her hand away from his grip. “I am so happy for you, Andrássy.”
“Not just for me. For us,” Andrássy crowed. “For all of us. The empire shall continue. You shall be crowned Queen of Hungary.” He looked around; at the meadow, at the river. Then back at her. “I should have brought champagne. I just had to tell you first.”
“How did you know to find me here?”
“I ran to your apartments. I was so deliriously happy that I didn’t care who saw me, or what they thought. Ida told me you had gone out riding, and on a day such as this, I guessed you would have come here.”
She smiled, though she felt dizzy. When she had been with Franz, she had felt as though she were betraying Andrássy. Now, with Andrássy, she felt as though she were being unfair to Franz. It was too overwhelming, the disquiet she felt. A restlessness that couldn’t be quelled, not if she raced on horseback until the far end of the earth.
Andrássy, still elated, didn’t appear to notice. “You know, Sisi, that the people . . . the Austrian and the Hungarian people owe you the credit. It is because of you that this has happened.”
If only you knew, she thought, lowering her eyes.
Andrássy looked now over the river. He leaned back to recline on the ground, propped up on his elbows, smiling. The cause for which he had spent his life fighting would now be realized. It was one of the best moments of his life, Sisi sensed, and she watched him bask in it, his figure awash in the afternoon sunlight. She had to pull her eyes away.
After a while, he spoke. “We sat here once, years ago.”
“I remember,” she said, looking out over the river. It was the day he had left for Hungary, and she had realized how terribly she would miss him. Though she did not meet his eyes, she sensed that he now stared at her. What did he want from it all? she wondered. Did he enjoy torturing himself? Torturing her? She did not know how he managed, but she knew that she could not survive it much longer. Perhaps it was best that he left. But she would never ask him to leave, she would never in fact want him to go.
