The Accidental Empress (25 page)

Also for her birthday, Sisi was given a tiara inset with diamonds and opals—the same tiara Aunt Sophie had worn on her own wedding day. It came with matching earrings and a choker, as well as a note beseeching Sisi to take extreme care when transporting the collection to Vienna. The objects were some of the Habsburg family’s most treasured jewels, and the consequences of their loss or damage would be unfathomable. Sisi wept on receiving this gift, along with its officious warning; now, on top of everything else she had weighing on her, she had to ensure the safe passage of these priceless Habsburg crown jewels?

Sisi felt a great many things as the wedding day approached. Excitement. Fear. Gratitude. Exhaustion. But the emotion that remained with her at all times, never wavering even as the others ebbed and flowed, was incredulity. Had Franz really picked
her
? Were all of these people really working to help and prepare
her
for this role? Were all of these dresses of silk and brocade and tulle and satin for
her
? Were these mobs of villagers—lining the streets of Possenhofen on the day of her departure, waving the blue and white provincial flag and showering her in flowers—really there to bid
her
farewell?

It was a departure entirely unlike the previous one, when she had ridden in a humble carriage to Bad Ischl as the younger sister joining in on some fanciful adventure. Now she was the imperial bride, traveling in state to a capital city ravenous for a glimpse of its new empress.

Sisi was loaded, speechless and pale—along with her twenty-five trunks—onto the steamship
Franz Joseph.
The journey down the Danube took three days. They had the water to themselves, as all other river traffic had been expressly forbidden. The steamer glided deliberately forward, covered in garlands of fresh roses while the banks of the river swarmed with tens of thousands of onlookers. Everything they passed was now
her
land: the orchards blossoming with early spring fruit; the ancient ruins crumbling in the medieval towns; even the people who lined the river the entire way, the peasants picnicking and the impromptu bands serenading her in her national anthems, new and old. Bells clanged in every town, and the crowds waved the Austrian and Bavarian flags while Sisi waved back to them, fluttering her lace handkerchief the way her dance master had instructed her. She heard her name extolled from dawn until sunset, and she stood on the deck, performing her duties until her arms ached and her smiling cheeks quivered.

Always, she was performing. It grew so exhausting that at night, alone in her cabin, as Sisi peeled off the painful corset and slid her feet into her familiar red slippers, she wept. She wept from exhaustion. She wept for Possenhofen. She wept for her childhood bed and Néné’s comforting presence and the servants she had known since birth—servants she had been forbidden to bring with her. She wept for the carefree frivolity of a ride on her horse in a simple gown and dirty leather boots. She wept for the lenient, easy manner of her parents, a style entirely opposite of that expected by Aunt Sophie. She knew it was foolish to weep—she, the luckiest girl in all of Europe, had no right to weep. She, who had won the heart of the kindest, most handsome emperor, ought to feel only joy.

And so, each morning, she would dress once more, dutifully sliding into a too-tight corset and wobbly heels, reminding herself that all would be well. She was in love with Franz. Once she saw him, once she was reunited with her groom, all would be well.

The wedding day dawned clear and chilly, a perfect April morning, confirming to everyone in the capital—from the lowliest bar sweep to the emperor himself—that God smiled down on the imperial pair.

All of Austria, it seemed, had descended on Vienna, ready to welcome the bride with a crushing embrace. Sisi’s picture appeared everywhere throughout the capital: hanging in the windows of the coffeehouses in Stephansplatz and painted on the porcelain plates in the bistros on Kärntner Strasse. Blue and white, the colors of Sisi’s native Bavaria, blanketed the city, from the awnings of the posh hotels, to the hats on display in the milliners’ windows, to the flower markets’ choicest bouquets.

Sisi awoke early to the sound of the church bells, feeling weary before the day had even begun. Her mother and Néné, who had arrived in the capital shortly after her, came to her room to help her dress.

“Happy wedding day, Sisi.” Néné said it quietly as she entered. Again, there was that indecipherable look on her sister’s face, like a grimace that Helene did her best to mask with a smile.

“Good morning,” Sisi said, feeling too tired to smile at either her mother or sister. They ate a small breakfast, nibbling on the corners of toast and exchanging only a few words. Afterward, it was time to dress. As Sisi stepped out of her nightgown, her new lady-in-waiting, the stern Countess Esterházy, arrived in the bedroom.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness.” The old woman bowed low before sweeping into the room without invitation. This was yet another new daily occurrence, and one to which Sisi had definitely not grown accustomed.

“Good morning, Countess Esterházy.” Sisi now pulled the nightgown back up, covering her figure as she exchanged a look with Néné.

“Carry on, continue dressing,” the old woman said, her voice like the pecking of an old hen as she made herself comfortable in one of Sisi’s chairs. “I won’t be in your way. I shall read to you as you dress.” And with that, the countess began reading aloud from one of the voluminous tomes that had been prepared for the new empress. These materials included the
Ceremonial Procedure for the Official Progress of Her Royal Highness, the Most Gracious Princess Elisabeth,
along with a pamphlet on wedding procedure, titled
Most Humble Reminders
. And finally, the material with which Sisi felt the least comfortable was the massive
Book of Royals
. It was a seemingly endless registry listing the name, rank, and exact greeting for the thousands of guests who would congratulate her on her wedding day.

As tedious as Sisi found these texts, Countess Esterházy seemed to relish them, pausing her reading every few sentences to quiz Sisi on some fact.

“You
have
reviewed these materials, have you not, Your Majesty?” Countess Esterházy sighed, as Sisi fumbled through a family of Prussian counts.

“Yes, I have. I promise. It’s just that . . .”

“Never mind. Let’s just continue on with the Austrian history,” Countess Esterházy said, her lips pressed tight in a disapproving scowl as she fingered the pages. “Please, Duchess Elisabeth, be so kind as to tell me your future husband’s full title?”

Sisi inhaled, thinking, as Néné and her mother buzzed about her, preparing her combs and jewelry and toilette. She had studied this. She knew the answer. “It is . . .” her palms were sweaty, made worse by the Countess Esterházy’s impatient tapping of her heeled boot.

“I know this,” Sisi said, ignoring the noblewoman’s censorious stare. “It is: Franz Joseph the First, by the Grace of God, Emperor of Austria; King of Hungary and Bohemia; King of Lombardy and Venice; Grand Duke of Tuscany and Kraków; Duke of Lorraine; Grand Duke of Transylvania; Margrave of Moravia; Duke of Upper and Lower Silesia, of Modena, and Parma, and Piacenza—” Sisi faltered. That was as far as she remembered. She looked to her mother.

“I think that’s quite enough.” Ludovika stepped forward, having pried open the row of pearl buttons lining the back of her daughter’s wedding gown. “Quite impressive that she made it that far. Now, my darling, let’s get you dressed.”

“She can
not
be too prepared.” Countess Esterházy stood up, clearing her throat. “This is her kingdom now. And Her Royal Highness Elisabeth will be expected to know this,” the woman said, her tone imperious. “Now, Duchess Elisabeth, please. If you would be so kind, we must continue. Please tell me, how many souls inhabit the realms of our blessed emperor?”

“Approximately forty million souls,” Sisi answered, noting Helene’s approving nod. Her elder sister had been her most devoted tutor these past few months.

“And, from where does the name
Habsburg
come?” Countess Esterházy asked.

“From Habichtsburg Castle, the imperial family’s first seat.”

“And tell me about Habichtsburg Castle?”

“It mean’s Hawk’s Castle. It was in Switzerland.”

“Where in Switzerland?” the countess asked, the only movement on her face being a lone eyebrow that lifted beneath an impossibly long forehead.

Sisi’s spirits faltered. She didn’t remember that part. Countess Esterházy made a disapproving noise, like a purr in the back of her throat. “It was in Aargau, Switzerland, Duchess Elisabeth.” And with that, the old woman riffled her way through the book, scouring for her next morsel of trivia.

The countess cleared her throat. “Oh! This is important. Tell me, who was the first Habsburg ruler?”

“Charlemagne!” Sisi exclaimed, exchanging a triumphant look with Helene where she stood. “Crowned in the year 800.” With that, Sisi crossed her arms. She did not feel that she was performing
that
poorly on this first test of her preparedness.

“Wrong!” The countess snapped, as if thrilled to say so.

“Wrong?” Sisi asked, the smile sliding from her face. “But I’m certain that Charlemagne was a Habs—”

“He
was
a Habsburg, yes. But the
Austrian
Habsburgs trace their reign back to Count Werner, who ruled around the year 1000.”

“But that is tricky,” Sisi began to protest, but her mother cut her off.

“I think we’ve had enough.” Duchess Ludovika put her hands up, stepping in between her daughter and the countess. “We must dress you, Sisi, or you shall never be ready.”

“The most essential part,” Countess Esterházy interjected, throwing a barbed look toward the bride’s mother as she clutched her procedural book like a precious relic, “will be the names and greetings for each of the court ladies. Your Majesty will have a special time to visit with them during the Kissing of the Royal Hand Ceremony. It would be highly . . . indecorous . . . to err on any of their names, as they are all most eager to meet you. Their good opinion is of the utmost importance.”

Sisi nodded, cowed by the severe look on the countess’s face, as well as the thought of the day’s duties. Plus her body felt entirely too fragile to bear the weight of the wedding gown now held before her by her mother.

“Enough of this. She will be fresh and lovely and charming, as she always is.” Ludovika stepped in front of Countess Esterházy, lifting the ivory gown like a shield. “And let’s not forget, Franz chose
her,
and not any of those other
court ladies.”

The countess answered with a raised eyebrow, as if to challenge Ludovika. But whatever barbed remark she had thought of, she refrained from uttering it, instead pinching her lips and burrowing back into her tome of Habsburg trivia, though Sisi was certain that the old woman already knew every word of that book.

Sisi’s wedding gown was the heaviest, most ornate gown she had ever beheld, even after the hundreds of gowns that she had received in recent months. It was trimmed with gold thread, embellished with lace and crystal and stitched roses. She was sewn into it, the neckline and sleeves draping below her shoulders, allowing the ivory skin of her neck and shoulders to peek out, rivaling the pure, creamy color of the gown itself.

Her waist was squeezed to an impossibly narrow dimension, and her hoopskirt was so wide that, when the time came, she struggled to fit into the carriage that was to carry her to the cathedral. She was loaded in by several footmen, clutching the hand of her mother, who would ride along with her. A stiff-postured footman gave the signal and eight prancing Lippizaners pulled them forward, the horses’ manes braided and trimmed in gold thread and scarlet tassels.

Sisi rolled through the Hofburg gate reserved only for members of the royal family, plunging into a crowd so vast that she could not see its end. The Augustine Cathedral was less than a mile from the palace, but it took Sisi’s coach several hours to make it there, so packed were the boulevards with thousands of revelers crying out for a view of the empress. Her passage was heralded by trumpeters, footmen coifed in impeccable white wigs, and banner men bearing the Habsburg flag. Imperial guards lined every step of the way, and even the horses pulling the coach appeared haughty, seemingly sensing the importance of the procession in which they took part.