B008AITH44 EBOK (6 page)

The Wittelsbach line was not free of hereditary taints. There were several cases of mental illness. Duke Max’s father, Duke Pius (that is, Sisi’s grandfather), was feebleminded and crippled. At times he led a dissolute life, once landing in police custody after a brawl, and he ended his pitiful days as a hermit, living in total solitude.
²⁹
(The fact that the two sons of the Bavarian King, Crown Prince Ludwig and Prince Otto, were also mentally ill was not yet known in 1853, since both were still children. Besides, the hereditary debility was attributed to the maternal line, with which the ducal line was not connected.)

On August 24, the
Wiener
Zeitung
published an official statement:

The report caused a sensation. For a long time, the Viennese, especially in high society, had racked their brains about who would be their empress. Many princesses had been discussed. Elisabeth of Bavaria had never figured in the speculations. Impatiently, the city waited for the first portraits of
the imperial bride. During the long hours little Sisi spent sitting for painters and illustrators, the smitten groom kept her company. He sat endlessly by her side, watching her proudly.

Since Vienna knew so little about the future Empress, gossip flourished. The first thing that always happened with newcomers to the Viennese court was critical scrutiny of the Almanach de Gotha. And here the imperial bride was not proof against criticism, for her ancestral line included a Princess Arenberg (the mother of her father, Duke Max). Though the Arenbergs were a family of the high aristocracy, they were not royal—not, that is, a family fit to furnish marriage partners to the House of Habsburg. Grandmother Arenberg, in her turn, was related to all sorts of other aristocratic but not royal families: the Schwarzenbergs, the
Windisch-
Graetzes, the Lobkovics, Schönburgs, Neippergs, Esterházys. The future Empress, therefore, was not above aristocratic society but merely a part of it—through complex family relations with nonroyal houses. Elisabeth, then, could not meet the one essential condition to unchallenged acceptability at the Viennese court—a flawless pedigree. She would be made to feel this lack only too soon.

Her father also provided ample grounds for talk. His circus riding, his chumminess with the bourgeoisie and with peasants, his disregard for the aristocratic world, his far from refined stag parties in Possenhofen and Munich—all were subjects of gossip. It was said that Duke Max let his children run wild, that though they could ride like little circus artistes, they were barely able to put together a sensible sentence in French, let alone carry on a
conversation.
The parquet floors of the Viennese court were notoriously slippery.

It goes without saying that Duke Max’s castles were also subjected to critical scrutiny. The new palace on the Ludwigstrasse, built by the popular architect Leo Klenze, was unquestionably in keeping with the Duke’s position. But the summer castle of Possenhofen on Lake Starnberg was far less distinguished. It was not long before Vienna heard of the “beggars’ household” that was said to be the future Empress’s family background.

Even twenty years later Elisabeth’s lady-in-waiting Countess Marie Festetics was still disturbed by these defamatory slanders. She liked
Possenhofen:
“The house is simple but well kept, clean, attractive, the cuisine is good, I found no pomp, everything is agreeably old-fashioned, but elegant and without a trace of a beggar’s household, such as my counterparts of then and now made so much of.”

The Countess was especially enthusiastic about the situation of the little castle on Lake Starnberg. She extolled the moonlight on the calm waters
and the birdsong that woke her from sleep in the mornings: “they rejoiced as if it were spring—I rushed to the window—the view is delightful, deep, deep blue the waters—a paradise of trees, and green
all
over
, and across the lake, on the other side, handsome mountains—everything loveliness and sun—the garden filled with flowers—the old house wreathed in wild vines and ivy—so poetic—so beautiful.” And the lady-in-waiting, who loved her Empress, continued: “yes, her home could not be otherwise, to allow her dreaminess, her love of nature—to develop to this extent!”
³⁰

Dreaminess and a love of nature were qualities Elisabeth exhibited even as a child. All the romantic tales of her childhood summers in Possenhofen are true. Love of nature was one of the few shared traits that united Franz Joseph and Elisabeth.

*

The “divine sojourn in Ischl,” to use Franz Joseph’s words, lasted until August 31. The parting—which, Elisabeth noted in her diary, was “very tender”—took place in festively decorated Salzburg. To commemorate the engagement, Archduchess Sophie decided to buy the rented villa where the couple had met and to renovate and expand it into the “imperial villa,” to be used for the imperial family’s yearly summer vacation. The ground plan of the mansion was changed by the addition of two wings into the shape of an
E
—for Elisabeth.

Franz Joseph’s happiness lasted even beyond his return “to the
desk-bound
paper existence here, with its cares and troubles.” He even enjoyed sitting for the painter Schwager: “to the extent that I normally find it boring to be painted, I now look forward to every sitting, since I am reminded of Sisi’s sittings in Ischl, and Schwager always brings me her portrait.” He confessed to Archduchess Sophie that his thoughts clung “with infinite longing to the west.”
³¹
The young Emperor’s happy frame of mind also affected domestic policy: The state of siege, in effect since the Revolution of 1848, was now lifted at least in the three cities of Vienna, Graz, and Prague.

(It may appear like a sign of things to come that, shortly after Elisabeth became a part of Austria’s history, the Crown of St. Stephen was recovered. In 1848 it had been buried by Kossuth. The holiest relic of the Hungarian nation was solemnly returned to Budapest—for some, an emblem of reconciliation between Austria and Hungary, though the bond could not be sealed until the Austrian emperor was crowned with this Hungarian symbol. That aim was accomplished by Elisabeth in 1867—her one
political
feat.)

Sisi was now subjected to an extensive course of study. It was especially
necessary that she learn French and Italian as quickly as possible. All that had been neglected in her schooling and upbringing was now to be remedied in the few months that remained before the wedding. Duchess Ludovika was worried, because the lessons were not progressing very well: “Unfortunately, my children have no facility in learning foreign
languages,
and in social circles here, the speaking of French is noticeably decreasing.”
³²

The most important subject Sisi had to study was Austrian history. Three times a week the historian Count Johann Mailáth visited her in order to read to her personally from his major work,
Geschichte
des
österreichischen
Kaiserstaates
(History of the Austrian Empire). Mailath was a short man, very lively and amusing, approaching seventy. He lived in Munich on the income from his books, in very modest, even shabby circumstances. (Only a year later, his financial straits drove him to drown himself in Lake Starnberg.) As a historian, he was not without his critics, because his presentation of history was highly imaginative and uncritical. Among the liberal Hungarians, he was unpopular because of his extremely
pro-Austrian
stance.

But Sisi liked him. The history lessons tended to last into the evenings, and the circle of listeners kept growing; her sister Helene and her brother Karl Theodor (“Gackel”) joined, as did some of the other tutors and Duchess Ludovika. But Mailath gave his readings only “pour les beaux yeux de Sisi.”
³³
Even decades later, Elisabeth still talked about this teacher. In spite of his deep loyalty to the central government in Vienna, Mailath was nevertheless a proud Hungarian who related the history of Austria to the future Empress of Austria from the Hungarian point of view. He worked to instill an understanding of Hungary’s special historic privileges and explained to Sisi about the old Hungarian constitution, which
Emperor
Franz Joseph had abolished in 1849. He, whom the Forty-Eighters thought of as one of the Old Conservatives, even tried to make the future Empress understand the advantages of the republican form of government. At least, Elisabeth was recalling Mailath some years later, when she shocked the Viennese court with the statement, “I have been told that the most appropriate form of government is that of the republic.”
³⁴
These cozy readings in history within the bosom of the ducal family in Possenhofen established in the fifteen-year-old imperial bride the soil for her subsequent political views. It would be hard to overestimate their significance.

A correspondence set in between Vienna and Munich—concerning the bride’s trousseau, which had to be assembled in practically no time at all and which kept dozens of Bavarian seamstresses, embroiderers, shoemakers,
and milliners busy from morn until night. Archduchess Sophie sent written suggestions, such as the advice that Sisi take better care of her teeth. No effort was to be spared to turn the little Bavarian country girl into a suitable representative of the Habsburg state.

The young woman’s fear of the Hofburg, the imperial palace in Vienna, and of her new, luxurious life grew. She became almost entirely indifferent to the many new gowns, loathed the endless fittings, was unmoved by the jewelry that arrived from Vienna. She was still a child; none of the precious gifts gave her as much pleasure as did a parrot the Emperor sent to Bavaria.

Sisi was not used to being hemmed in by a rigid program all day long. Her family, worried, observed that though the girl was flattered by her success and the excessive attention suddenly paid to her, she also grew more and more silent and melancholy. She wrote elegiac poems about her beloved Possenhofen, still mourned her old love, and was afraid of the new one.

Ludovika’s fears were only too well founded—and no secret. The Belgian envoy reported to Brussels, “In order to spare her daughter the exertions arising from the festivities, the mother is said to want to postpone the wedding until June. If the ceremony were to take place at an advanced season and the major part of the nobility had already departed Vienna, it would be possible to win some dispensation from the events connected with the wedding.”
³⁵
This wish—at odds with the prevailing customs in Vienna—was not granted. After all, an emperor of Austria did not get married by excluding the public simply because the future Empress was afraid of the aristocracy.

Another topic subjected to lengthy discussion was the site of the
wedding
—Munich or Vienna. Ludovika: “No consideration can be given to a proxy marriage, and unfortunately, the Emperor cannot come here. To have the wedding here is, unfortunately, impossible, although it is always the most pleasant! I regret this very much, for if we accompany Sisi to Vienna, that is a great undertaking, such a great court, the large family gathering, Viennese society, the parties, etc…. I am not made for all that … I do not even want to think of it, and until now, I myself don’t know what is going to happen. In general, I do not like to think about Sisi’s moving away, and I would wish to postpone the moment forever.”
³⁶

*

Unmindful of the Emperor’s feelings of love, the political crisis to the east grew increasingly complicated. On November 1, Turkey declared war on Russia. The Balkan question became acute. The significance to Austria of this conflict was not realized in Vienna; as late as October, the Austrian
army was drastically reduced because funds were no longer available. During these months, Austrian policies presented an extremely confused picture.

It would appear that the politically inexperienced but all-powerful young Emperor did not in the least comprehend the consequences of his wavering. His ministers, most especially his foreign minister, Buol, were weak; nor were they given any responsibility beyond advising, the
Emperor.
In any case, since opinion was divided, not only among the ministers, but also at the court, Franz Joseph vacillated helplessly; firmly convinced of his imperial sovereignty, he refused to seek guidance from experienced statesmen.

His thoughts dwelled not so much on statecraft as on his bride-to-be. His mind was focused on ever new and ever more splendid gifts; in Vienna as in Bad Ischl, he tried to speed up the building renovations—though he cautioned his mother, who was supervising the work on the villa in Bad Ischl “that the whole if possible cost no more than is proposed, since I am short of funds.”
³⁷

Franz Joseph’s frequent complaints about lack of money are astonishing, coming from the ruler of such a powerful empire. But, in fact, the imperial family in Vienna commanded relatively scarce resources. For though
Emperor
Ferdinand the Kindly had renounced the throne in 1848 and retired to Prague, he had held on to his fortune. The immensely rich imperial estates, which each year brought in many millions of guldens, belonged not to the ruling emperor, but to the abdicated Emperor Ferdinand. Only after Ferdinand’s death in 1875 did the fortune become part of Franz Joseph’s estate. From 1848 to 1875—quite a considerable length of time—the resources on which the Viennese imperial family could draw were by no means unlimited; caution had to be exercised even when it came to buying and renovating a summer residence.