B008AITH44 EBOK (4 page)

For the rest of his life, Max remained true to the predilections of his student days; he cared nothing at all for conventional decorum,
surrounding
himself instead with a group of middle-class scholars and artists—his famous “Artusrunde,” or Round Table. Max’s companions were given to considerable drinking, versifying, singing, and composing, but they also enjoyed deep intellectual discussions.

Max’s new palace in the Ludwigstrasse, where Elisabeth was born, had as one of its attractions a
café
chantant
on the Parisian model and a ballroom with an oversize “Bacchus frieze” by Ludwig Schwanthaler; the
forty-four-
meters-long painting took a liberal view of its subject. The courtyard boasted a circus, with boxes and orchestra seats from which Munich society could admire Max at his riding feats, which he performed proudly,
surrounded
by pantomimes, crude clown acts, and military spectacles.

Another hobby was playing the zither. Max took the instrument along when he traveled abroad; he insisted on playing his favorite melodies, Bavarian Schnadahüpfel—comic songs in three-four time—even on the pyramid of Cheops, to the openmouthed astonishment of his Egyptian attendants. In 1846, Duke Max published a collection of Bavarian folk tunes.

Duke Max was not a man to turn up his nose at a pretty face, and he did not hold home life in very high regard. He was, however, a stickler for routine: Noontime was invariably sacrosanct; he was available to no one, especially not to his wife or his legitimate children. That was when he dined in his rooms with his two illegitimate daughters, whom he loved dearly.
¹¹

Max openly expressed democratic views, if only to annoy those around
him. “But if he thought that someone was stepping on his toes, there was hell to pay,” one of his relatives noted.

The spirit of the household came to the fore in 1848, during the Revolution. The royal family fled the disturbances and street riots in Munich by taking refuge in Duke Max’s palace, because here, thanks to the popularity of the master of the house, there was the least likelihood of the doors being battered down.

Max also paraded his liberal views in numerous articles on history that appeared anonymously in various periodicals. His book
Wanderungen
nach
dem
Orient
(Travels to the East; Munich, 1839) gave proof of his wit; throughout he inserted sections of several blank lines, declaring them to be censorship gaps. Such antics were not designed to make him popular with his sister-in-law Sophie. The existence of Duke Max was all but ignored during the early phases of the marriage plot. He would too easily have compromised the bride’s family, with his odd brainstorms and with his anticourt attitude, which might have brought the whole project
tumbling
down.

*

The prospective couple—Franz Joseph and Helene—were to meet and get to know each other at the imperial summer resort of Bad Ischl, where the engagement would then take place; such was both their mothers’ wish. The relaxed, somewhat familial atmosphere of Bad Ischl would ease the undertaking. Setting out for the momentous trip to the Salzkammergut, Ludovika took along her second daughter, fifteen-year-old Elisabeth, who was causing her much worry at that time. Elisabeth had fallen in love with a totally unsuitable man, a Count Richard S——, who was in the duke’s service. The idyll was brought to a rapid end; the young man was sent away under some pretext. Though he did return, he was ill and died shortly thereafter.

Sisi was inconsolable. Her broken heart grew heavier to the point of depression. She locked herself in her room for hours to weep and write poetry. (The slim volume with many love poems dating from the winter of 1852–1853 is preserved among the family papers.) Duchess Ludovika hoped that the trip to Bad Ischl would pull the fifteen-year-old out of her doldrums. She also secretly thought that the trip could serve to bring together Sisi and Franz Joseph’s younger brother Archduke Karl Ludwig. Her hope was far from idle. The two young people had been corresponding for years. They exchanged gifts, even simple rings. Karl Ludwig was obviously in love with his cousin. Ludovika reckoned that she had a good chance of succeeding.

The political situation in August 1853, on the other hand, was extremely critical, hardly conducive to romantic engagements. The Crimean War had broken out, muddling international relations. What was at stake were concrete political and economic interests in Turkey, which was facing dissolution. In July 1853, Russian troops occupied the Danube principalities (the nucleus of what was to become Romania). Czar Nicholas was
counting
on support from Austria—reciprocating for Russia’s help against the Hungarian insurgents of 1849. As an added incentive, the Czar offered Austria the Turkish provinces of Bosnia and Hercegovina, in addition to a promise of his protection should revolution break out anew in Austria—that is, military intervention in support of the monarchy, as he had extended in 1849 in Hungary.

The Emperor’s advisers could not agree among themselves. Count
Joseph
Radetzky, the old general, favored fighting on the Russian side, but he was not opposed to strict neutrality on the part of Austria. Count Karl Buol-Schauenstein, the foreign minister, and some of the business leaders wanted to move against Russia, siding with England and France. The young, indecisive Emperor was unable to rise to the difficult occasion. He complained to Sophie “[a]bout the ever more complicated Eastern
complications
.”
¹²
Even during the journey to Bad Ischl he kept himself
informed
on developments; but once arrived, he hardly allowed higher politics to worry him further. The hesitations and months-long vacillations of the inexperienced Emperor—further distracted by his engagement—had calamitous consequences for Austria.

Duchess Ludovika had other matters on her mind when she and her daughters arrived in Bad Ischl on August 16, 1853. A migraine had forced her to interrupt the journey, so that her party arrived in Bad Ischl with some delay, upsetting all of Sophie’s carefully laid plans for the first day. Furthermore, while her daughters were with her on her arrival, Ludovika was accompanied by neither baggage nor ladies-in-waiting. All three women wore mourning for the death of an aunt. Since the carriage with the light-colored dresses had not yet arrived, they could not change before the crucial meeting. Archduchess Sophie sent one of her own ladies-
in-waiting
to their hotel.

Care went to providing the designated bride at least with an exquisite coiffure, even though she would have to appear before the Emperor in her dusty black traveling dress. Sisi looked after her own hair—simple long braids. She never noticed that Archduchess Sophie had a watchful eye, not only for Helene, but for Elisabeth as well. At any rate, Sophie later described this hairdressing scene at great length to her sister Marie of
Saxony, stressing the “charm and grace” of the younger girl’s movements, “all the more so as she was so completely unaware of having produced such a pleasing effect. In spite of the mourning … Sissy [sic] was adorable in her very plain, high-necked black dress.”
¹³
Next to her completely artless, childlike sister, Helene seemed all at once very austere. The black dress was not flattering to her—and perhaps really did determine the course of her life, as some people later claimed.

Sophie invited Duchess Ludovika and the two young women to tea. Here they met the Emperor. Queen Elise of Prussia was also present at this first meeting, as were two of the Emperor’s younger brothers and other family members. None of those present had the gift of easy small talk. The stiff, embarrassed mood was unrelieved; all of them knew what was at stake.

*

It was love at first sight, at least as far as Franz Joseph was concerned. His younger brother, Archduke Karl Ludwig, a sharp and jealous observer, later told their mother “that at the moment when the Emperor caught sight of Sisi, an expression of such great pleasure appeared on his face that there was no longer any doubt whom he would choose.”

Sophie wrote to Marie of Saxony, “He beamed, and you know how his face can beam when he is happy. The dear little one did not suspect the deep impression she had made on Franzi. Until the moment her mother spoke to her about it, she was filled by nothing but the shyness and timidity inspired in her by the many people around her.” She was so excited that she could not eat, and she explained to the lady-in-waiting, “Néné [
Helene
] is lucky, because she has already seen so many people, but I haven’t. I am so scared that I can’t even eat.” In her confusion, Elisabeth did not notice how intently the Emperor concerned himself with her, rather than with Helene.

The following morning, August 17, the Emperor appeared very early at his mother’s; the Archduchess had only just arisen. Sophie to Marie of Saxony: “He told me, his expression beaming, that he found Sisi charming. I begged him not to act rashly, to think the matter over carefully, but he felt that it would not be right to delay.”

In her diary Archduchess Sophie described that morning at greater length. The Emperor raved, “Oh, but how sweet Sisi is, she’s as fresh as a budding almond, and what a magnificent crown of hair frames her face! What lovely, soft eyes she has, and lips like strawberries.” His mother tried to point him in the direction of the bride of her choosing: “Don’t you think that Helene is clever, that she has a beautiful, slender
figure?” “Well, yes, a little grave and quiet, certainly pleasant and nice, yes, but Sisi—Sisi—such loveliness, such exuberance, like a little girl’s, and yet so sweet!”
¹⁴

Everything was settled. That day Franz Joseph even refused to go hunting, a pleasure he did not usually let slip by. Elise of Prussia, when she heard of this, immediately made a sign to her sister Sophie which meant, “He is smitten.”
¹⁵
Queen Elise was thoroughly satisfied with the way things were turning out; little Elisabeth was her goddaughter. There was confusion all around. The two young ladies were distressed. Only the Emperor was radiant.

A ball marked the eve of Franz Joseph’s birthday. Helene appeared in a splendid gown of white silk. Ivy tendrils wreathed her forehead, lending her tall, slightly austere appearance a touch of simple romanticism. Back in Munich, when they had made their preparations for the visit, they had concentrated on this night. Little Sisi was more simply dressed, in a plain pale-pink frock, and seemed very childlike next to the handsome figure of her sister.

The Emperor did not join in the first dance—nor did the two Bavarian princesses. For the second dance, a polka, Archduchess Sophie begged Franz Joseph’s aide-de-camp, Hugo von Weckbecker, to “dance with Princess Elisabeth, who heretofore had only taken lessons from the dancing master and required an experienced guide for her first debut [sic].” Weckbecker: “She presented me to the charming Princess, who was stricken with
extreme
embarrassment and told me shyly that she did not know whether and how she would manage without the dancing master.” Weckbecker reassured the young girl, though he himself was “a little anxious, for I knew that in general—in spite of dancing masters—Bavarian princesses were not good dancers…. Fortunately, Princess Elisabeth was musical and therefore at least kept time well.” It was with some astonishment that Weckbecker observed the young Emperor who, quite contrary to his usual habit, sat out this dance as well, instead merely watching the dancing Sisi, who “floated past, sylphlike, on my arm.” After the dance, Weckbecker whispered to a friend, “I suspect I’ve just been dancing with our future Empress.”
¹⁶

The Emperor danced the cotillion with young Sisi and afterward
presented
her with his nosegay—a traditional sign that she was the chosen one. Every one of the onlookers understood—except Sisi herself. In answer to the question whether this mark of attention had not struck her as significant she said, “No, it only made me feel self-conscious.”

Sophie described Sisi’s appearance at length to her sister Marie.

On August 18, Franz Joseph’s birthday was celebrated in the bosom of the assembled family. Archduchess Sophie wrote to Marie of Saxony, “At the family dinner the Emperor was so proud that Sisi, who was allowed to sit next to him, had eaten with such a hearty appetite! In the afternoon we went on an excursion to Wolfgang. We also walked a little ways on foot. I was in my barouche with the two children and the Emperor. He must like them very much to stand it for so long in the closed barouche! Helene chattered a great deal and very amusingly, the girl has a great deal of charm for me….”

After the stroll, the Emperor requested his mother to make tentative inquiries of Sisi’s mother “if she would have him,” but he also insisted that the two mothers were not to exert any pressure. “My situation is so difficult that, God knows, it is no pleasure to share it with me.” To which Sophie replied, “But my dear child, how can you think that a woman would not be only too happy to lighten your situation with her charm and cheerfulness?”

Sophie then formally informed her sister Ludovika of Franz Joseph’s intentions; Ludovika, “moved, pressed my hand, for in her great humility, she had always doubted whether the Emperor would truly consider one of her daughters.” When Sisi’s mother asked her if she could love the Emperor, she replied (according to Archduchess Sophie), “How could anyone not love
that
man?” Then she burst into tears and vowed that she would do everything in her power to make the Emperor happy and “to be the most loving child” to Aunt Sophie. “But,” she said, “how can he possibly think of me? After all, I’m so unimportant!” And a short time later, “I love the Emperor so much! If only he were not the Emperor!” Sophie’s comment: “That is what intimidates her—her future position. The Emperor was literally enraptured when I told him these moving words by his bride, since they express such deep and unassuming understanding for him.”