The Accidental Empress (57 page)

“Majesty, please understand. You were ill. You were so ill that I feared for your life. And then you were with child. And then you delivered the child and you were so happy. When in that time could I have told you? I could not bear to break your heart after everything you’d been through.”

“Don’t give the emperor that much credit, Marie. Broken my heart?” Sisi laughed, a wild outburst of angry laughter. “Too late. That has happened a thousand times already. Gradually, you see? A piece of my heart here, a bruise in my heart there, a gash through it there; so that now it is wasted, useless. No, you cannot break something that is already beyond repair.”

The way Marie looked at her—a mixture of fear and pity—was enough to make Sisi go mad. She forced herself to continue talking so that a scream did not issue from her mouth.

“I’d known Franz was gone from me, emotionally. In fact, he never really was mine, fully. I always shared him—with his mother, with the empire, with
Grünne
,” Sisi said, the disgust heavy in her voice. “Always. From the day we married.”

Sisi laughed, a bitter, mirthless laugh, and she knew that she sounded mad. “What difference does it make if he gives his body away, also?”

They sat in silence, Sisi’s mind running over all the days during which Franz had turned down her invitations to visit their bedchamber. He had always pleaded something: Italians, Hungarians, ministers. He had told her about everyone but his mistresses. And now, here she sat, her body disfigured and her heart a cold, shriveled lump.

Eventually, Marie spoke. “What will you do, Your Majesty?”

Sisi sat up tall, her hands resting firmly on her legs as she massaged her sore knees. “I shall do what the doctors have advised me to do. I shall go abroad. Franz is gone. He has abandoned me. Why may I not do the same?”

Part Three

XIII.

She leaves her room at a brisk pace, quickly growing short of breath. But she is far from tired. She feels awake and alive, as she hasn’t in years.

She knows which door is his; the maid was, mercifully, discreet enough not to ask why the empress needed that information. Slipping out a back doorway, she glides, undetected, through the dark hallways. “It is not right for an empress to scurry about in the halls unaccompanied.” If only she knew, Sisi thinks.

She knocks on the door now, quietly. She throws a look over her shoulder, just in case a guard patrols a nearby hall. But she stands entirely alone.

And then he appears at the door, a sliver of candlelight spilling out into the hallway as his face emerges. He stares at her, his shirt unbuttoned, hair disheveled. His features betray surprise; hers was not the face he had expected to see on the other side of his door.
“Sisi?”

“May I come in?” Though it’s a question, she doesn’t await a reply. She presses the door open, stepping in past him.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” His breath smells of wine and his room is in chaos. He has clearly been writing, or working, or pacing. Something that her restless mind can understand. “It is well past midnight, is it not?”

She shrugs her shoulders, allowing his question to go unanswered.

“Is this wise?” He looks from her to the door, shutting it. Closing the two of them in.

She walks toward him, her heart knocking against her breast. He appears wild, more handsome than she has ever seen him. Is this wise, he asks? No, it certainly was not wise.

Chapter Thirteen

SCHÖNBRUNN SUMMER PALACE, VIENNA

AUGUST 1862

“Aren’t they just
adorable? Look at them, so
tiny
!” Sisi clapped, beckoning Marie closer to her where she sat, awash in the golden afternoon light that spilled in through the tall windows of her palace bedchamber. “Marie, bring them to me; let me touch them.”

“Please, Your Majesty, be still.”

“Sorry, Franziska.” Sisi leaned back, allowing her hairdresser, Franziska Feifilak, to get a better hold of her thick hair. As the woman’s skilled fingers laced the curls with strands of pearls, Sisi caught hints of the aroma of her hair, freshly washed in rosewater and almond oil.

“Marie, bring them here at once.”

The countess obeyed, halting her unpacking to walk from the bed to the seated empress, carrying with her the two new corsets.

“Just arrived from Paris, Empress.” Marie placed one of the corsets in Sisi’s outstretched hands.

“It’s the new fashion,” Sisi said, stroking the smooth bone. She glanced up at her attendant, eyebrows lifting. “What do you think? Can I cinch myself smaller than eighteen inches?”

Marie didn’t attempt to mask her creased brow, her downturned lips.

“I know, I know, you disapprove, Marie. But you mustn’t frown like that, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.” Sisi sighed. Then, cocking her head so that she addressed the hairdresser: “Franziska, do you disapprove of my tight lacing as Marie does?”

“I simply wish for Your Majesty to be happy, Empress Elisabeth,” Franziska answered, her words tripping over a Polish accent. Franziska, like Marie and the empress herself, was foreign to Austria. An advantage, almost a necessity, for Sisi these days.

But Marie did not like the hairdresser’s answer. “I remember how you used to despise even the loosest of corsets, Madame. And I’m not sure that tight lacing to eighteen inches or below is healthy for a mother of three.”

“Two,” Sisi snapped.

“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.