The Accidental Empress (26 page)

“There now, Sisi, how about a smile?” Ludovika, who huddled beside her daughter in the coach, looked tired. Sisi turned and stared into her mother’s eyes—her throat dry as she considered her response. But this was her mamma; surely she could be honest.

“Am I the only one who finds this frightening?” Sisi trembled, a lone tear sliding from the corner of her eye. Ludovika sat up tall, wiping the tear from her daughter’s cheek before its existence could be detected by the hordes surrounding them.

“Nearly there, Sisi. Just remember—Franz is waiting for you at the end of all of this. Think of him.”

Sisi nodded. “Yes.” Once she saw Franz, all would be well.

When Sisi arrived at the church, a legion of attendants descended on her to fluff her gown, inspect her jewels, and approve of every strand of her hair. They adjusted the buttery satin that draped over her with layers of crystal-encrusted lace. They adjusted Aunt Sophie’s opal tiara, perfecting her dark blond curls that had been trimmed with diamonds and pearls. Sisi marveled, remarking how much more beautiful a woman became when she had the full backing of the imperial court, with all its seamstresses, tailors, and artists stitching, sewing, and conspiring to make her a figure worthy of the empire into which she married.

Augustinerkirche, the medieval cathedral built by the royal family in Vienna’s Josefsplatz Square, was swollen with more than a thousand guests and lit up by more than ten thousand candles. Seventy bishops stood before the altar dressed in gowns of gold thread, solemn and eager to assist in blessing the divine union.

Sisi was ushered to her father. Together they stood at the back of the cathedral, staring up at the staggeringly high gothic ceilings, propped up by white pillars that seemed as fragile as wishbones. Gilt chandeliers created an ethereal, glittering canopy over the length of the aisle. Delicately carved and lacquered pews were filled with courtiers, nobles who temporarily forgot their highborn manners as they elbowed and craned, vying to catch the first glimpse of Franz Joseph’s beloved. Thunderous organs mingled with the fanfare of trumpets and horns to stun all in the audience, to overwhelm them with the august power of the Habsburg dynasty.

“Ready, Sisi?” Her father took her hand in his, waiting to commence the long march toward the altar. She nodded. Yes. Even though she was certain that one was never
ready
to make this walk.

“Then let’s go, my girl.” Duke Maximilian looked dignified in his old military uniform, presenting a stoic face even though his hands trembled as he kissed his daughter one last time.

Through the haze of the tiring, chaotic afternoon, Sisi felt cowed by the sense of awe that was stirred inside of her: the same awe that she now saw reflected back to her on the faces of her wedding guests. This was not about a sixteen-year-old German girl marrying the young man she loved. This day was about empire and the continuation of the Habsburg-Lorraine line.

The one memory that Sisi was certain she would savor from that day was the way her groom had looked at her.
Franz is waiting for you at the end of all of this—remember him.
How Franz had waited for her before the gold-leaf altar of the church, his eyes fixed on her with such earnest love and longing that she had almost felt bashful in front of the congregation. How he’d kept that gaze locked on her, immutable, as she processed down the aisle, her narrow satin shoes and heavy gown forcing her to walk more slowly than she would have liked. How he had smiled in the moment after they had exchanged their marital vows. And how, in that moment, a battalion of grenadiers outside the church fired off a salvo of cannonfire. All of Vienna knew, in that moment, that God’s anointed vessel on earth had joined his hand to a Bavarian beauty named Elisabeth.

“Goodness,” Sisi jumped at the sound, the cannons mingling with the roars of the crowd assembled outside the cathedral. “I think they’ve just heard the news of our marriage all the way to Russia.”

Franz smiled down at her, taking her hands in his. “If they haven’t yet, they very soon shall.”

Back at the Hofburg Palace, a dozen aides and attendants were on hand to ensure that the newlyweds stepped gracefully through the procedure and protocol that was expected of them. The imperial couple made their first appearance as man and wife on the main balcony above the palace’s grand staircase. Below, a crowd of hundreds of courtiers—dressed in their most formal regalia—stared and waved, elbowing one another aside in an effort to get a better look.

“
Repräsentazions-pflicht
,” Franz whispered to his bride, through close-knit lips. He, like her, was waving down at the courtiers.

“Pardon me?” Sisi asked, breaking protocol, turning her glance from the crowds to look at her husband.

“Keeping up the front. That’s what this is. We play our roles today. And then, tonight, I may finally be with you.”

Sisi turned back to the crowds below, hoping that they assumed her sudden smile and blush to be for them, and not in response to her groom’s whispers.

Next, in the state receiving room, the couple was to grant their first private audience as man and wife. This honor was given first to the generals who had led Austria victoriously against the Hungarians in the uprisings of 1848 and 1849. Next came the court envoys and ambassadors, as well as Franz’s ministers. Sisi had a special smile for Count Grünne, the only man whose face she remembered. The count leaned forward and bowed, whispering: “You are ravishing, Empress.”

Last, in the position of least honor, marched in the Hungarian noblemen. Sisi marveled at these tall, dark-mustached men, proud and disinterested, bedecked in leopard skin cloaks and spurred boots. Sisi noted, with interest, that Sophie excused herself from the hall upon the entrance of the Hungarian lords, as Franz greeted them with cordial hospitality.

With these meetings over, the pair entered the Hall of Mirrors to begin the portion of the afternoon Sisi most dreaded. This was to be the sacred Kissing of the Hand ceremony, the first moment in which the noble ladies of the court, hundreds of them, would have the opportunity to step forward, one at a time, to meet their new empress. At this time, the aristocratic ladies would be granted permission to do something that no one else in the kingdom, save the members of her immediate family, would ever again be able to do: touch Sisi. More precisely, on this wedding day, the highborn ladies were permitted to place a kiss on Sisi’s now-imperial hand.

“Is this the Kissing of the Hand?” Sisi whispered to Franz as the noblewomen swished in, their heads plumed in feathers and fruit, their faces fixed with probing looks of appraisal and scrutiny. “Or the Parade of Broken Hearts?”

Franz laughed at the joke, but Sisi caught her mother-in-law scowling. Nowhere in the protocol guide did it say that the newlyweds were permitted to whisper to one another. And certainly, there was to be no giggling on their wedding day.

The first few women stepped forward without incident. Countess Esterházy stood at Sisi’s side, whispering the names so that Sisi could maintain the illusion of preparedness, her hand resting and ready on a plush, velvet cushion. She sat still, her spine stiff against the high-backed chair, as the ladies filed past: some nearly as young as she, some as old as grandmothers. All of them bowed obsequiously as they stole furtive glances at their empress. Sisi noticed, too, the sideways looks some of them angled toward her husband. The young ones, the pretty ones, flashed quick smiles to Franz. When he returned their smiles, that’s when Sisi realized: he knew them. He’d come of age mingling with them. She sat up taller in the uncomfortable, high-backed throne, suddenly keenly aware of how many other women had wished to sit in this same chair.

After more than a dozen ladies had been met, Sisi spotted a familiar face in the line. “Helene!” Sisi did not wait for her sister to approach, but instead rose from her chair and ran to her sister for a hug, dropping the cushion to the ground as she did so. “Oh, Néné, I am deliriously happy to see you!” Sisi nearly tripped as she folded into her older sister’s arms.

“Sisi! Oh, Sisi!”

Immediately, the sisters heard gasps popping up from around the hall, like small puffs of gunfire. Sophie appeared by their side.

“Empress. You forget yourself.” Sophie’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Oh, Aunt Sophie.” Sisi pulled away from the hug, wiping a tear from her eye. “But it’s my sister. Surely I am allowed to hug my sister on my wedding day?”

“Empress . . .”—Sophie stared, her lips pinched and her face as stone-like as her posture—“this is
not
how things are done.”

Sisi dropped Helene’s hand, swallowing hard. And there it was, Sisi saw it again; that same look on Helene’s face. That was when Sisi realized. It was not a look of envy or bitterness that had flickered behind Néné’s familiar features all of these months. No, it was a look of
pity.
Her sister did not covet this role, or these jewels, or this groom, or this life. Her sister pitied Sisi for the fate she had willingly stepped into.

Realizing this, Sisi stepped back from the line, avoiding Franz’s gaze, avoiding the gaze of her sister, the gaze of her new mother-in-law.

Helene was ushered out, her turn having come and gone, and the next woman approached, bowing before Sisi’s hard, high-backed chair. But Sisi’s vision was suddenly blurry as she watched her sister’s receding figure, like a lifeboat drifting away from the flailing limbs of a drowning swimmer.
Néné!
Her heartbeat quickened, and Sisi found herself longing to leave the room with her sister.
Come back, Néné! Please, don’t leave me!

It struck Sisi, then, that she had not had a bite of food since the early morning, and she felt suddenly overcome by hunger. She tried to inhale a deep, fortifying breath, but her stomach met the resistance of her too-tight corset, and instead, she felt suffocated. Before her, the noblewoman still waited, bowing and expectant. Waiting to be addressed by name and to be invited to kiss the royal hand. But Sisi’s ears were pounding. If Countess Esterházy had whispered the lady’s name, Sisi had not heard it. And now, her vision was so blurry that she could not even see the face before her, and there was no chance of her knowing whom to address.

Sisi, hands clammy with perspiration, heart hammering against her corset, turned to Franz. He sat expectant, waiting for her to perform this simple task that was required of her. But she didn’t know the woman’s name.

And then, breaking protocol for perhaps the tenth time that hour, she muttered: “Excuse me.” And with that, her vision still patchy and her steps unsteady, she rose from her chair and wobbled across the room. She had just cleared the door, entering a small anteroom, when the tears burst forward.

Sisi doubled over, clutching her waist, her gasps of breath breaking against the boning of her corset and her too-tight wedding gown. She gripped the wall to steady herself, feeling her vision recede in dizziness as a film of sweat rose to her face.

“Elisabeth! My darling, are you ill?” Franz burst into the room after her, a look of concern fixed tightly on his features. “My word, you look as white as a ghost. We must fetch a doctor, immediately.” Several aides scurried off to dispatch the imperial will.

Sophie entered in the next moment, her face drained of color, her lower lip quivering. “What is the meaning of this? Do you not hear all of them whispering in there?” Sophie put a hand on her son’s uniformed shoulder. “This was the
one
moment that was most essential. You know how word spreads on the lips of those ladies. Their opinions become fact. Elisabeth, did the Countess Esterházy not tell you that countless times?”

Sisi lowered her head once more, sliding down the wall until she collapsed in a crumpled heap of silk, diamonds, and goose-pimpled flesh. “I’m . . . I’m . . . terribly sorry,” was all she managed to reply.

“Elisabeth is ill, Mother.”

Sophie sighed. “I don’t care if she
is
ill. I don’t care if she has caught the plague! She has a role to play. She
must
come out and finish the ceremony.”