The Accidental Empress (34 page)

“Franz, how will you stand it, going the next four months?” She knew as well as anyone that, when men were dissatisfied with their marital partners, they looked elsewhere. Hadn’t her entire childhood borne testimony to the wandering of men? What if Franz suddenly found the charms of the other women at court too tempting to resist?

Franz seemed to understand her fear, for his brow creased as he looked at her, his entire manner softening. “Don’t you worry about me, my sweet Elisa.” He leaned forward to kiss her. “Yours is the only face I care to look upon.”

“Are you . . . can you be certain?”

“I’m certain.” He kissed her by way of further reply, pausing to look down at her belly. “Besides, it can’t be that much longer now. Look at how big you are!”

“Four more months to go,” she said, sliding closer to him.

They kissed for several moments, and Sisi could feel that her husband longed for her body.

“We shall have to find something else to do in here every night,” he said, sighing as he pulled away, putting several inches between them.

“Like what, Franz?” She stared across the pillow at his restless face.

“I have an idea.” Franz hopped from the bed, crossing the bedroom and walking quickly out the door.

When Franz returned, he was followed by several footmen, their bodies hunched over as they wheeled in a large, burdensome cargo covered in a bedsheet.

“Put it right there.” Franz pointed toward the fireplace.

“Franz?” Sisi chuckled, pulling the bedcovers close even as the footmen kept their discreet gazes off her. “What is that?”

Franz lifted the draped sheet, pulling it aside with a theatrical flourish. “This, my beloved Elisa, is a pianoforte.”

“What are we going to do with a piano in here?”

“What do you think we shall do? Play it, of course!” Franz sat down at the instrument, lifting back the case. “That’ll be all, thank you.” At the wave of his hand, the footmen bowed and left the room.

“Can you play in the dark?” Sisi asked, lighting several candles adjacent to the bed.

“Indeed.” Franz began to press the ivory keys, plucking out a melody with which he hummed along. “My fingers know this song so well, I might as well shut my eyes.”

It took Sisi several verses before she too recognized the melody. “I know this song,” she said, trying to recall from where. “I’ve heard this.”

“I know you have,” Franz continued to play, his head swaying with the slow notes.

“Where have I heard this?”

“With me. In the rose garden in Bad Ischl.”

“Yes, it’s called ‘The Skater’s Waltz,’ ” Sisi recalled. “I love this song.”

“Remember that night? It was our first kiss.” Franz nodded, playing on. “Can you hear this, Little Helene or Little Franz?” Franz called out playfully. “This is your mamma’s favorite song, so you might as well become acquainted with it.”

Sisi melted back into the bed, humming along to the waltz, remembering the first time she’d heard it over a year ago. How much life had changed for that innocent, fifteen-year-old girl. A girl who stood in a fragrant garden, staring up at a wall of moonlit mountains and admitting to herself that she had fallen in love. A girl who, having seen nothing of people or the world, had believed that love was all one needed to be happy.

VIII.

They call me the first lady in the land,

whereas I think of myself as the odd woman out.

—Empress Elisabeth “Sisi” of Austria

Chapter Eight

SALZBURG, AUSTRIA

DECEMBER 1854

Sisi had never
before seen a city come to life with the enchantment of the Christmas Holy Day as the remote Alpine town of Salzburg did during her first winter as Franz’s wife. It seemed as though the entire village population, as well as the throngs of people living in the nearby mountain chalets, poured into Salzburg’s main square on Christmas Eve, like present-day pilgrims visiting the Nativity, all of them hoping to glimpse the emperor and his expectant wife.

The streets flickered as if under a candlelit halo; the doors were festooned with cranberry and pine boughs; and the aroma of the bakeries spilled out into the city, as still-hot gingerbread and
Pfefferkuchen
cakes tempted the red-cheeked pedestrians who passed by the steamy shop windows.

The imperial visit to Salzburg at Christmas was the largest event to occur for the small village in years, perhaps even a generation, and the townspeople spared no effort in welcoming the royal pair. For Sisi, it was to be her last journey before she entered the final months of pregnancy, and with that, confinement. She was thus determined to savor every last taste, sound, and smell from that merry village, as well as her time with her husband. Surely Aunt Sophie would not allow such stimulation once they were installed back at the Hofburg for the winter.

On the evening before Christmas, a very round Sisi—wrapped in a gown of rich plum-colored velvet with rabbit fur trim—was loaded into a sleigh accompanied by Franz, Sophie, and several dozen imperial guards. They set off from their quarters off the Mirabellgarten, the horses treading through fluffy fresh snow on the route to the Platz and St. Nikolaus Church.

The air outside was cold and snow-flecked, filled with the twinkling of sleigh bells and Christmas carols. Giddy children poked their heads out the windows lining the streets, calling out to their mamas that the empress approached.

“They love you.” Franz observed, waving to the crowds swarming the avenue.

“Empress Sisi!”

“God bless Empress Sisi!”

“Long live Sisi!”

Franz listened to these cries from the thick wall of people, his facial expression a mixture of awe and surprise. “My God, Elisa, how they love you.”

“Only because I’m carrying your child, Franz.” Sisi cocked her head, ignoring Sophie’s disapproving scowl as she nuzzled into the warmth of her husband’s neck.

“No. Do you know what they say?”

“What?”

“That you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She lowered her eyes, blinking away the snowflakes that stuck to her lashes. “But I don’t care that they think that.” And it was the truth. “As long as it’s what
you
think, Franz.”

“Well,”—he planted a kiss on her forehead, catching a snowflake in his mustache as he did so—“it is.”

The ancient stone chapel of St. Nikolaus was cozy with the amber glow of candles and the warmth of the hundreds of bodies packed into the wooden pews. Slowly, Sisi made her way up the central aisle, taking a seat in the front with her husband and mother-in-law. Attendants handed them each their own white candles. Behind them sat the
Burgermeister
, the mayor of Salzburg, and his family, along with Sisi’s ladies-in-waiting and Franz’s ministers.

Herr Lobkowitz had told Sisi earlier in the day that this was the church in which Europe’s favorite Christmas carol,
Stillenacht
, had been composed. After the Eucharist had been shared, the candles lining the church and altar were extinguished, so that the only flames that remained were those held in the hands of the congregation members.

A brief moment of anticipatory silence hung in the air, before the priest began, and the congregation erupted into an a cappella rendition of the song.

Silent night, holy night.

All is calm, all is bright.

’Round yon virgin, Mother and Child,

Holy Infant, so tender and mild.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

The power of the communal voices poured over and through Sisi. The poignancy of the scene overhwhelmed her: a young mother and her sleeping infant—so tenderly described and so perfectly accompanied by melody. Her eyes filled with tears as she reached for her husband’s hand. She couldn’t help but feel that, in that moment, she was as happy as the young Mary had felt, all those years ago, while she had cradled her holy little infant in that Bethlehem manger.
A fleeting glimpse of the divine
, Sisi thought, bringing Franz’s palm to rest on her belly. Sophie, staring sideways, frowned, clucking her tongue. Sisi pretended not to notice.

Later that night, tucked into bed beside her, Franz surprised Sisi with a piece of tightly rolled parchment. “For you.”

Sisi stared at his outstretched hands. “What is this?”

“Take it,” Franz insisted, waving the ribbon-tied paper before her. “It’s a birthday present.”

“You remembered.” She smiled, taking the scroll from him.

“Of course I remembered.” Through the haze of the candlelight Sisi saw that Franz wore a satisfied smirk, clearly proud of himself. “What a remarkable Christmas present you must have been when you arrived on Christmas Eve, seventeen years ago.”

“What is this paper?”

“Open it,” he said, prompting her to untie the golden bow that held the parchment in a tight roll. Sisi looked down at the paper, its surface covered in musical notes. The top of the paper bore a title:
Elisabethklänge.

“What . . . what is it, Franz?”

“You know how I’ve just hired a new court composer?”

“Master Strauss?”

“Yes, Master Johann Strauss.” Franz nodded. “I’ve commissioned a new waltz from him, in your honor.”

Sisi lowered the paper, looking at Franz as a surprised smile lit up her features. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Franz said, sitting up tall. “You see this part?” He pointed to a bar of musical notes, humming as he did so. “The Bavarian anthem. And this part”—he hummed a different tune, more languid than the bouncy Bavarian polka—“the Austrian imperial anthem.”

Sisi nodded, singing along with him. “It’s like a perfect combination of the two of us,” Sisi remarked, looking over the paper once more.

“Exactly.” As Franz said it, he put his palm over her belly. “Like our little one shall be.”

“I love it,” Sisi said, holding the paper in both hands, scanning its entire length. Her own waltz. “
Elisabethklänge
. I can’t wait to hear it.”

“Unfortunately our bedchamber here is not equipped with a pianoforte, as it is back in Vienna. Can you wait until tomorrow?”

“Something to look forward to.” She nodded, carefully rolling the paper up and sliding it back into its golden ribbon.

“Do you really like it?”

“Franz, I love it.” She slid close to him in bed, putting the paper down on the end table. “Now if you would only allow me to show you my appreciation.” She began to kiss him. He succumbed to her attentions, but only for a moment.

“Elisa! No.” He pulled himself away from her.

She sighed. “I don’t know how you stand it, Franz. You have far more self-control than I do.”

“Not much longer now,” he said, patting her belly. “Besides, there are more presents to be opened.” Franz sprung out of bed, tiptoeing across the creaking wooden floor of their room in the rented villa. “Goodness, it’s cold!” He opened a dresser drawer and retrieved a small package wrapped in red ribbon.