The Accidental Empress (13 page)

“I understand you come from Bavaria, Duchess Elisabeth?” The Russian ambassador’s dinner clothes appeared to Sisi more suited for a Siberian winter than a summertime dinner in Austria. He wore a heavy, high-collared black suit, with gold leaves embroidered around the neck. Dangling from his left shoulder were three heavy medals. “Your father’s castle is called Possenhofen?”

“Indeed, Your Excellency,” Sisi answered.

“Would you call that a castle?” Sophie smirked, tipping her glass for it to be filled with champagne.

“I’ve heard it described as a place of great beauty,” Grünne said.

“I certainly think so.” Sisi smiled, ignoring her aunt’s slight against her home.

“Max’s castle? A place of great beauty?” Sophie put a ringed hand to her lips as if to conceal giggling lips, exchanging a meaningful look with the Countess Esterházy. “Oh, but I see what you mean. You must mean the
surroundings
are beautiful. Yes, I suppose Bavaria does have its appeal. I find the manners there a bit too . . . countrified . . . myself. At least when compared to Austria.”

“Was it a long journey?” Count Grünne had the good taste to interject, his eyes fixed politely on Sisi.

“Poor Ludie.” Sophie broke off into a splintered conversation with the Countess Esterházy, one which Sisi couldn’t help but overhear. “How happy she must be, to be away from
him.”

Sisi blinked, taking a moment to regain her focus. Her stomach seized to hear the mockery with which her aunt discussed her father. But the Count Grünne had asked her a question. What had he asked?

“It must have been a tiring journey,” Grünne prodded her, his gaze kind and leading.

“Oh, yes. Indeed,” Sisi stammered. “We only just arrived, this afternoon.”

“They lost their trunks along the way,” Sophie said, an eyebrow lifting as she looked still at Countess Esterházy.

“A long way.” Meyendorff’s gaze held Sisi. “But not as far as St. Petersburg.”

“Speaking of St. Petersburg, Pyotr, here, you must taste the herring first.” Sophie leaned forward to pick up the plate of fish, garnished with onion, pickles, beans, and a sauce of egg yolk and vinegar. “A Russian specialty—we made it in your honor, of course.”

“Ah, herring! You are most gracious, Archduchess.” Ambassador Meyendorff accepted the plate and served himself a modest portion.

“You know, Niece Elisabeth, that Russia is our most important ally?” Sophie spoke loudly and slowly, as if to ensure that the ambassador would hear.

“I see,” Sisi answered.

“Do you speak Russian, Duchess Elisabeth?” Countess Esterházy asked, her light eyes expressionless.

“Well, no.” Was she expected to speak Russian?

“Wine, Duchess Elisabeth?” A footman hovered over Sisi’s shoulder; yet another question coming from another direction.

“Oh, no, thank you. I have the champagne.”

“But you must have wine as well,” Sophie interjected. “After all, we are celebrating. How long has it been since I’ve had my sister and her two girls with me?” Sophie peered down the long table at Ludovika.

Once all the glasses at the table had been filled, Sophie raised her champagne flute and the conversations that had sprouted up around the table, along with the violin music, ceased. “To the emperor’s health.” Sophie looked down the long table at her son. “Long live Emperor Franz Joseph.”

“Long live Emperor Franz Joseph!” The ministers and courtiers at the table echoed in unison.

At that, Sophie raised her glass to her lips. “I’ve asked them to serve the vintage from the year of his birth. I’ve been saving it for twenty-three years. Almost exactly, since your birthday approaches, Franzi. I thought we should drink it, finally. After all, we have so much to celebrate this evening.” Sophie beamed at her son before touching the crystal to her lips and sipping.

Sisi was prepared to do the same when she noticed that the ministers, and even Franz, appeared to be waiting to drink. The men at the table watched Sophie in silence, as if mining her features for some reaction.

As Sophie drained the last remnants of champagne from her glass, she lowered the empty vessel, smacking her lips with a satisfied sigh. “A vintage fit for an emperor,” she remarked, handing her empty glass to the footman for a refill. The diners around Sisi laughed good-naturedly, as if some barrier had been cleared, and with it, the tension lifted. The violins resumed their waltz and the diners raised their own champagne flutes, sipping their drinks and resuming conversation.

Sisi took a sip from her glass and savored the chilly sweetness of the drink, a welcome sensation in the warm room. Footmen now descended upon the table, bearing the first course, a Viennese beef soup. The broth seemed too heavy for the evening, but Sisi accepted her bowl.

Sophie, sipping her second glass of champagne, was speaking loudly to the Russian ambassador. “But the Turks are threatening war, Pyotr. Is that a war for which the tsar is prepared?”

The ambassador, chewing on a bite of herring, considered the question. “The Blessed Tsar has never run from war, especially when it is God’s own work at stake, Archduchess Sophie.”

Grünne leaned in toward Sisi, speaking softly so that only she might hear. “What the archduchess is speaking about is the Turkish response to the Russians. You see, Tsar Nicholas has just marched his Russians into the Turkish territories of Wallachia and Moldavia.”

“Of course.” Sisi nodded, but she was certain from his grin that she had not fooled Grünne. She had never discussed politics at a table such as this. In fact, she had never sat down to dinner at a table such as this. She took a generous sip of champagne.

“We are ready for war, Archduchess,” Ambassador Meyendorff spoke louder now, perhaps irritated at Grünne’s side conversation. “We have become convinced that war with the Turks is the only way to resolve the Eastern Question.”

Sisi watched with surprise as more food was now deposited onto the already-full table. Footmen reappeared and delivered a plate of
Tafelspitz
, boiled beef with apples and horseradish. Next came a dish of potato noodles soaked in butter and poppy seeds. There was
Rindfleisch
, Franz’s favorite cuts of beef, and
Salzburger Nockerln
, dumplings which Franz greeted with delighted clapping. And finally came several plates of fresh produce from the villa’s kitchen gardens—sliced tomatoes in oil and vinegar, cucumbers with carrots shredded thin like paper, and potatoes garnished with peppers and onions.

Before she could make any progress in her champagne, Sisi’s flute was refilled, as if the servants had been instructed to replenish her glass after every sip. The drink cooled her from the inside like a fizzy balm, a feeling that she welcomed after the long journey and tense arrival. After several more sips, she felt confident enough to initiate further conversation.

“Pardon me, Count Grünne, but what is the Eastern Question?” Sisi whispered to her dinner companion as she accepted a plate from him, heavy with stewed pears and walnuts.

“The Turks ruling the Ottoman Empire are weak, and getting weaker each day.” Count Grünne wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Russia wants to ensure that, if and when the sultan loses power, he recognizes Russia as the rightful ruler of the Christians within the Turkish Empire.”

“But Russia is right there. Who else would expect to rule those subjects?” Sisi asked.

“France has gotten a little too bold lately, under that new Napoleon. The nephew of the first one, and he fancies himself like his uncle. Russia simply wants to remind Turkey that the tsar will deal with the Ottomans going forward. Not the Western European powers that have no place in Turkish lands.”

Sophie’s voice overpowered Grünne’s and Sisi listened in. “You are absolutely right, Pyotr. That little Napoleon imitator has no right meddling in the Eastern lands. That is Russia’s sphere of influence.”

“If you allow them to take over the subjects that are rightfully Russia’s, then what is next?” Count von Bach interposed. “This nephew of Napoleon, this upstart, will fancy himself commander of the waterways and the trade routes next. It’s the Turks today, the Black Sea tomorrow.”

“It’s like what we . . . what my
son
 . . . did in Hungary. They were getting too bold. What did we do? We went in there and reminded them that
we
were the power.” Sophie took a self-satisfied sip of wine. “And no problems from those Hungarians since.”

“The Blessed Tsar feels similarly.” The Russian Ambassador nodded. “He would not run from his duty as Blessed Father of His Peoples.”

“That is perhaps why the two of us are such good friends.” Sophie also nodded, leaning toward the Russian ambassador. Her eyes, beginning to droop, blinked at him as she took another sip of champagne.

Sisi extricated herself momentarily from this foreign policy discussion, peering through rows of vases and candles to catch a glimpse of Helene at the far end of the long table. Her sister seemed to be listening politely to some of Franz’s good-natured chatter. Listening, even if not contributing much, Sisi noted.

“But enough of this foreign policy. Let’s talk of something light now.” Sophie pulled Sisi back into her orbit. “Let’s talk of my visitors. Isn’t this one pretty?” Sophie, flushed from the generous servings of food and wine, peered at Sisi with an amused smirk. “Be careful, Niece Elisabeth. You are so young. So fresh and innocent. The men at court shall like what they see.”

Sisi didn’t know who felt more mortified at that remark—these staunch ministers or herself. She took a gulp of champagne. Sophie, however, appeared to feel no discomfort.

“You know why I like you, Niece Elisabeth?” Sophie stuffed another bite of sausage into her mouth.

“You are too kind, Your Majesty.”

“I like you because you remind me of myself,” Sophie continued, a morsel of half-nibbled sausage slipping undetected out of her mouth. “When I was younger. Why, look at your beautiful hair—does it not resemble mine, Bach?” Sophie looked to the minister beside her.

“Indeed, your niece is lovely, and very similar in appearance to you,” Bach answered dutifully, seeming to know that the sooner he replied, the sooner the topic might change.

“Your hair looks especially fine tonight, Archduchess Sophie,” Countess Esterházy interjected, somehow making even a compliment sound stern.

“And you’re a quick wit, too, Elisabeth.” Sophie served herself a second portion of herring, showing no sign that her appetite was yet sated.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Sisi said. Now she knew how Helene felt, when the words suddenly dried up and could not be forced out.

“You may call me Aunt Sophie. Or even Auntie, if you prefer.” Sophie dabbed the corners of her mouth with the white tablecloth.

“Thank you, Aunt Sophie.”

“Do you like the champagne, Elisabeth?” Sophie asked.

“Indeed, Aunt Sophie.”

“Twenty-two years old, about to be twenty-three. Just like my Franzi.” Sophie sighed. Silence hovered around their end of the table, with Sophie breaking it: “The French got one thing right, though it pains me to say so. I’ll take our beer, and the Italian wine, but nobody can make champagne like a Frenchman. Drink with me.” Her aunt raised her glass of champagne. “To Austria!”

“To Austria, and to you, my aunt,” Sisi replied. They tipped their glasses in unison. Sisi realized she must slow down, and cringed as she saw that a footman had appeared and already refilled her drink.

“She has what I would call a ‘regal bearing,’ does she not?” Sophie turned to Bach now, her lips tripping over the edges of her words. Though she lowered her voice to a whisper, her next words were still easily heard by those seated near her, including Sisi. “It’s a
shame
she’s the younger. Between you and me. But Franz is a good boy; he knows there’s more to picking an empress than just a pretty face.” And with that, Sophie switched from her champagne to her wine, taking a slow sip and staring wistfully toward the musicians in the corner.

At the opposite end of the table, Helene did not appear to be enjoying her dinner companion any more than Sisi did. Mercifully Helene was far enough away not to have heard this latest exchange. And now, even though she strained her ears, Sisi could not determine what it was that Helene and Franz discussed. Her mother, beside them, was laughing gaily at everything her nephew said, and though Ludovika appeared to be enjoying the dinner immensely, Sisi noticed that her mother had hardly eaten a bite from her plate.

“Elisabeth, you will travel with us to Vienna when we leave Bad Ischl, isn’t that so?” Sophie sat back from the table, handing her little dog to a servant so that she might fold her hands across her full belly.

“Indeed, Aunt Sophie.”

“That will be within the month. The workers need to get started on the renovations of this home. It’s dreadfully small; we’ve been so cramped this summer. But next summer it shall be a proper palace fit for an emperor.”

“I am certain that it will be the finest summer retreat in all of Europe.”

“Do you know why I bought it?” Sophie asked.

“Why is that, Aunt Sophie?”

“As an early wedding present for Franzi. Now we just need to have the wedding.” With that, Sophie threw a probing glance at the opposite end of the table. “Now now, what are the two lovebirds talking about at the end of the table?” Sophie spoke so loudly that all conversations around the table ceased.

“Hmm?” Sophie rapped her knuckles on the table, impatient for an answer. “Don’t keep her all to yourself, Franzi. What are you and your bride talking about?”

“I had asked my cousin—” Franz paused. Sisi saw his language as a troubling sign; if Franz felt affectionately for Helene, wouldn’t he also have referred to her as his bride?

“I had asked my cousin Helene what she likes to do in her leisure time,” Franz answered.

“Ah, and what is the answer? How do you amuse yourself, Helene?” Sophie arched her eyebrows, burping through closed lips as she awaited Helene’s reply.

Helene kept her eyes on her plate, where a pile of noodles had been pushed around but barely eaten. “I like to read, Your Majesty.”