The Accidental Empress (69 page)

Sisi longed to avoid another war, and to keep Hungary, her favorite region, as part of the empire her son would inherit. But she noted how Franz remained influenced by the conservative bloc at court. The archduchess encouraged the emperor to allow Andrássy’s overtures to go unanswered. And so, as the winter dragged on, Sisi realized she would need a strategy if she were to somehow oppose the voices—the
voice
—that had so long held Franz’s ear.

As overpowering and persuasive as Sophie could be, Sisi possessed one weapon that her mother-in-law did not, and she knew it: Franz still cared for his wife, even after all these years of coolness and separation. He enjoyed having her beside him, he enjoyed entering a room with her on his arm and seeing the heads turn to behold the beautiful empress. Sisi decided to seize every opportunity that this advantage afforded.

Invitations to join Franz at the Opera House, the Burgtheater, at formal state dinners—invitations that Sisi had often turned down with polite apologies and half-conjured excuses—were now accepted. Franz, delighted by the sudden rapprochement, reacted by inviting his wife to ever more outings. Sisi passed the second half of winter in a busy blur of balls, soirees, and nights at the theater, taking all the time she could with Franz. Whenever politics came up, she advocated in a soft yet firm tone for maintaining the historical and strategic allegiance with Hungary. “Think of Rudy. What empire shall he have left to inherit, if we allow it to disband because of our own willfulness?”

The weather was warming, Sisi would note as they returned to the palace from their outings together. If fighting were to occur, it would be soon. Hadn’t Franz better reach out to Andrássy and invite him to compromise?

The court decamped to Schönbrunn for the warm season. Still, Franz extended no overtures to Andrássy. Sisi, growing increasingly agitated by her husband’s inaction, made a move.

It was an afternoon in late spring. Around the palace, tulips pressed their way through the green lawn and the sun poured down over a landscape of heavily budded trees.

“It’s a lovely day for a picnic. I thought it would be nice to get outdoors for a bit.” Sisi’s tone was merry as she looked out over the grounds, the nearby Obelisk fountain jutting up out of the gardens. At the base of the fountain the famous Schönbrunn grotto gurgled and hummed with the voice of a dozen fountains. The mountain gods, their muscular forms carved from stone, writhed and wrestled as their opened mouths splashed water into the pool. Swans skimmed its glassy surface, their regal presence a welcome sight after a long, fierce winter.

“Brilliant idea,” Franz said, nodding. “I’m glad you proposed it.”

A dozen uniformed footmen buzzed around them, sorting silver, draping white linens over a table, and unpacking baskets of meats, cheese, wine, and bread. Not as rustic a picnic as Sisi had envisioned, but that did not matter.

“I confess, I had a purpose in asking you to this lunch, Franz.”

Franz looked at her now, his eyebrow tilting upward. “Oh? And what’s that?”

Sisi allowed a coy grin to tug on the corners of her lips. She lowered her eyes, blinking. And then, smiling broadly, she lifted her eyes, holding fast to his. “I have something for you.”

She waved one of the footmen forward. The liveried man carried a large rectangular bundle, draped in a sheet.

“What’s this?” Franz leaned back in his chair, his interest piqued.

Sisi rose from her place and walked toward the package. With a flick of her wrist, a dramatic gesture like a performer, she tugged on the sheet and its contents were revealed.

Franz gasped when he saw it, a gloved hand coming to his face to conceal his open mouth.

It was a portrait. A portrait of her, Sisi. She had commissioned it specifically for Franz from one of Europe’s most-sought-after portraitists.

Herr Winterhalter had captured her alone, in a scene of considerable intimacy. In it, her hair was loose, her long dark tresses tumbling around her shoulders as only her husband had the right to see them. She wore nothing but a thin, white shift, almost like a nightgown. The loose material slid off her, revealing a naked shoulder and a soft, ivory neck.

Herr Winterhalter had captured her in such a way that one got the sense, as they looked at the canvas, that in the next moment, the gown might slip off entirely, tumbling to the ground and revealing the full splendor of the empress’s famous figure. Sisi’s gaze was quizzical and evasive; she didn’t look directly at the observer, but off to the side, as if tempting you to catch her attention, begging you to turn her head.

Sisi had blushed the entire time she had posed for Herr Winterhalter, and she blushed now, as she beheld the finished product. Especially as she saw the speechless awe with which Franz admired her likeness.

She inhaled quickly, standing up tall. “I thought it was about time that I have some new portraits done. And Herr Winterhalter is the master.” Sisi slid back into her seat opposite her husband. “It’s for you, Franz. And only you.”

“Elisabeth . . .” Franz’s voice faltered, even as he sat, transfixed, eyes fastened to the large canvas.

“Do you like it?”

He took several moments to answer. “It’s . . . it’s exquisite.”

Sisi smiled, lowering her eyes. “Good. Then it shall be yours. Though I beg you to put it somewhere private.”

“Of course.” Franz looked at her now. She hoped the real subject wasn’t a disappointment after his eyes had held the portrait for so long. “I would share this with absolutely no one, believe me. I want it entirely to myself.”

“Good.”

Just then the footmen deposited the entree course, a peppery beef stew. Franz looked once more at the canvas, as if reluctant to keep his eyes away from it. Eventually, he gestured for the footman to cover it back up. Turning back to the table, his face composed once more, he took up his napkin and lifted his fork. Sisi forced herself to tuck into her own bowl.

They ate in silence a few moments before she asked: “How do you like this dish?”

“Quite tasty.”

“I’ve ordered us a Hungarian menu.”

“Indeed.” Franz looked down at his plate.

“I remember enjoying the food immensely while we were in Hungary.”

Franz nodded, eating.

“Didn’t you, Franz?”

“I prefer our food here in Austria.” Franz was dipping his bread in the sauce. “But every once in the while, Hungarian food makes for a nice change.”

“Agreed,” Sisi said, already full of the beef after only a few bites. She took a small sip of wine. “How are things going on that front, with the Hungarians?” She knew the latest. Andrássy kept her abreast of every exchange he had with Vienna. But she hoped to hear Franz’s perspective.

“We’ve reached an impasse,” Franz said, pausing to wipe his mouth with a linen napkin.

“On what point?” She knew the answer, but she asked anyway.

“Deák and Andrássy . . .” Franz paused, clearing his throat with a sip of wine. Sisi noticed the small lurch in her gut, the flutter that happened when Franz spoke Andrássy’s name.

Franz continued: “They insist that Hungary would have its own prime minister. They would like to break from Beust.”

“But not a separate monarch, I hope. They would still recognize you as their king?”

Franz nodded.

“And how does Beust feel about that?” Sisi posed the question as if she did not already know the answer.

“He supports it,” Franz said, an incredulous frown pulling on his features. “He says: ‘Let them squabble over their own affairs; what’s important is that we preserve the empire.’ ”

“That’s the critical point.” Sisi felt full from the rich meal and lowered her spoon. “Franz, why do you need to be involved in their petty domestic disputes anyway? Let a Hungarian deal with that. Even Beust is happy to allow that. As long as they acknowledge you as their king and they remain loyal members of the empire.”

“But Mother suggests that I will willingly cede my power if I allow them a prime minister.”

“Your mother really underestimates you so?”

Franz paused, thinking about this.

“Would they be under your military still?”

Franz nodded yes.

“So we would remain one empire. Under one king. You. And one military.” Sisi forced herself to pause, to keep her tone measured. To not too wholeheartedly betray her passion on the subject. And yet, it was thrilling, having a voice, and Franz not abruptly dismissing her, as he so often had in the past. She inhaled, continuing: “But we let them take over the tedious and tiresome tasks of their own internal affairs. And no more blood need be shed. It sounds as if we retain the best parts of power and cede to them those of the least importance.”

Franz thought about this for several moments before propping his elbows on the table. “It’s a compelling argument.”

Sisi pressed her case: “Beust seems to feel that it’s very important we act, and quickly. He thinks it would be the end of the empire if we lost the Hungarians.”

Franz ran his fingers through the auburn beard, traced with gray, that covered his cheeks. “I know what Beust thinks.”

“Please, Franz, write to Budapest. Invite Deák and Andrássy to make this compromise.”

He looked at her directly now, his light-blue eyes holding hers with a tinge of wariness. “Why are you so eager?”

Sisi was taken aback by the directness of the question. She couldn’t answer the full truth. She wasn’t even sure if she could have told herself the full truth. Instead, she lightened her tone and glanced out over the view, over the grotto and the Obelisk. “You know I’ve always loved Hungary.”

“I remember.” Franz nodded after several moments. “You loved the Hungarians, and the Hungarians loved you.”

But she thought of one Hungarian, in particular. She rested her cheeks on her hands, hoping to hide the flush that rose to her skin.

“Do you still study Hungarian?” he asked after several minutes.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He looked down at his bowl, his appetite gone.

“Franz.” Sisi leaned across the table, putting her gloved hand on top of his. Her silly dining gloves, another Habsburg custom. She swallowed that thought. “Franz.”

He looked up at her.

“These are tumultuous times over which you preside.” She paused. “But, I hope to tell Rudy someday . . . that we did all we could to preserve his empire.”

Franz sighed.

“You’ve ruled during such difficult and changing days.” Sisi’s tone was beseeching now, her entire body leaning toward his in a way it had not in years. Like a flower angling toward the sun. “None of those other calamities could have been stopped. But this one . . . this one developing right before our eyes . . .”

Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes. And then, perhaps even less expected, Sisi bowed forward and placed a slow kiss on his hand. “Please, Franz. Please do not let this last piece crumble.”

Franz, moved to wordlessness by her uncharacteristic and unsolicited display of affection, took several moments to speak. When he did, his voice was meek. Even melancholy. “All right, then, Elisa.”

Sisi’s heart quickened as she looked at him, awaiting his next words. It was a positive sign that he used her nickname, the nickname from the years when he had adored her, and she had adored him.

“I will invite them here.” Franz propped his elbows onto the table with a heavy slouch. “But I make no guarantees—it will be up to Andrássy and his side to win me over to this compromise.”

Sisi lifted her gloved fingers to her lips to conceal the wide grin that burst across her face. When she had regained her composure, she said, “You are wise, Franz.”

“I just hope I don’t regret . . . well . . .”

“Regret what?”

Franz sighed. “Inviting Andrássy here might be the most foolish thing I do as emperor.”

Andrássy arrived in Vienna weeks later, delayed for several days due to heavy thunderstorms. Sisi saw him for the first time at the formal state dinner the night they arrived, given by the emperor and empress for the Hungarian delegation. Sisi had spent the entire afternoon preparing for the dinner: she appeared now with her hair in a glorious coronet of braids and jewels, her figure tucked into a snug dress of a rich, raspberry satin.