The Accidental Empress (41 page)

Franz cocked his head. “It was . . . impressive, I suppose. Though I have to admit, I find opera a bit . . .”

“What?”

“What is the right word? Tedious? It’s all so very dramatic.”

Sisi smiled, turning a sidelong glance at her husband. “Come now, Franz. I know that you can be romantic.”

Franz turned to look at her. “Only you bring that out of me. But given the choice, I’d rather spend the evening reading a military report than sitting through hours of singing. Opera does not appeal to me.”

“Please, Your Majesty, wait a moment?” As they approached the ground level, Sisi turned to see a tall, dark-haired man in a long-coat tuxedo hurrying down the stairs behind them. From just these few words Sisi presumed his accent to be foreign, but she could not have guessed its origin.

Beside her, Franz’s frame stiffened. “It’s all right, let him approach.” Franz nodded to his imperial guards, two of whom had stepped in front of the approaching man. “Hello, Count Andrássy.” Franz dropped Sisi’s arm, his voice suddenly unnaturally quiet as this man bowed before him.
Andrássy.
Sisi knew the name, but from where?

“Your Majesty.” The man stayed one step above Franz, so that he looked down upon the emperor as he rose from his bow. “I was delighted to hear you would be attending the opera tonight. I knew I had to come.”

“Pleasure to see you, Count.” Though Franz’s tone said otherwise.

“And you, Your Majesty, Empress Elisabeth.” The man turned inquisitive eyes on Sisi now, holding her gaze for just a moment too long, before bowing his head. His coloring—dark eyes, thick black hair—was entirely the opposite of Franz’s.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Franz asked.

“Very much, Your Majesty.” The dark-haired man nodded, his expression affable, bearing none of the sniveling servility Sisi saw so often in the smiles of the Viennese courtiers. “I am a great admirer of Mozart’s.”

“Mozart is one of the many reasons why we Austrians feel such national pride,” Franz said.

“Indeed. I especially enjoy his Italian librettos,” this man, Andrássy, replied.

Franz did not respond to this, but Sisi guessed that he noticed the barb.

“Your Majesty, I have a message from Budapest.”

At this, Sisi felt her husband brace beside her.
Andrássy
. Sisi knew the name now. This was the Hungarian count she’d heard Franz and his advisors criticize. Sophie, especially, had always spoken his name with such contempt. Sisi looked at him now with greater interest, studying him; she’d never before met a political opponent of her husband’s, and one so recently returned from exile.

Suddenly, Andrássy’s affable confidence, his brazenness in directly approaching them—she saw that it was all an affront to her husband. A lack of respect and submission from a conquered subject. And did he purposely garble his German with such a thick Hungarian accent?

“The Hungarian people wish both of Your Royal Highnesses many congratulations on the birth of your daughter, the Princess Sophie. And we extend our warmest invitation to the whole royal family, hoping that Your Graces can travel to Budapest.” Andrássy paused now, swallowing before looking directly into Franz’s eyes. Another challenge. “We hope to welcome you to our city of Budapest, and begin discussions whenever you are open to conducting them.”

Andrássy did not await a reply, but rather bowed once more and sped back up the stairs, the tails of his tuxedo coat flapping in time with his long steps.

“Insolent. Intolerable.” Franz seethed as they exited the opera house and stepped into their carriage for the short ride back to the palace. “The nerve of that man. Coming into
my
opera house, watching
my
artists perform. And then approaching me like that.”

“We ought to invite him for a concert of waltzes given by Master Strauss and lose a violin bow down his—”

“Elisabeth, please!” Franz crossed his arms, in no mood for humor. Instead, he stared out the carriage window, his jaw set in a tight line as the horses pulled them down the rain-slicked boulevard. “He invites
me
to Budapest? Why, it’s my damned city, I’ll go there anytime I want. I’ll go there with a conquering army, like I did back in ’49, if he needs reminding.” Franz, uncharacteristically ruffled, spit out the name now when he said it: “
Andrássy
. Insubordinate traitor. Mother was right—I shouldn’t have let him go. I should have hanged him years ago when I had the chance.”

Franz was still in a sour mood when they got into bed that night.

“I’m sorry that our night at the opera was ruined.” Sisi sat beside him, pulling a comb through her hair, its teeth getting caught on the last few remaining crystals.

“It was fine until I had to be subjected to that filth by Andrássy.” Franz looked cross as he sipped from a mug of wine.

“Do you really think that war with the Hungarians is inevitable, Franz?”

“I don’t know.” Franz creased his brow in a manner that aged him ten years.

“Please, my darling, talk to me,” Sisi pleaded, taking her husband’s hand in her own. She knew he detested bringing politics and military conversation into his time with his wife, but Sisi longed to know more of the matters that weighed so heavily on her husband’s mind.

Franz took a long, slow sip of wine before replacing the mug on the bedside table. Sighing, he looked at Sisi. “We have all this pressure from outside our borders. Prussia is jockeying to usurp our position as the most powerful Germanic state. Friedrich, the Prussian king, is babbling about
unification.
” Franz said the word with disgust. “Talking about uniting the Germanic peoples—in Bohemia, Saxony, even Bavaria—and forming a great power to rival ours.”

Sisi lowered her eyes but kept Franz’s hand in her own. Her husband, uncharacteristically, continued, and Sisi guessed that he must be very troubled indeed, if he was willing to discuss such matters.

“And then, bolstered by German insubordination, the Italians are now challenging our authority—asserting that they no longer wish to remain under our rule. And France, well, Louis-Napoleon is so unstable that the French are likely to pull us into a war any day now.”

Franz paused, reaching once more for his wine. “And Russia . . .” Franz sighed. “Well, Russia was once our closest ally, but the tsar is furious with me. I didn’t come to his aid in the Crimea against England and France. And now he despises me. You know what he is saying about me?”

Sisi shook her head. “What?”

Franz’s voice was bitter as he answered. “He says that I’m
a man who can’t be trusted
.”

Sisi saw now in stark clarity the pressures from which her husband had been shielding her. No wonder he had been so much shorter in his replies, so absent, so quick to become irritable. She took his empty wine mug from his hands and moved toward him, wrapping her arms around him.

“Oh, my poor Franz, my dear husband. The pressures of the world rest on these shoulders.” She held on to him.

“Mother tells me not to worry.
We need no one
, that’s what she always tells me. But . . .” He sighed again, rubbing his eyebrows slowly with his fingers. “But, you see, I cannot allow those within my borders to challenge me. Not when I face so many threats abroad. We must remain strong internally. A sick man cannot fight another if he himself is not in good health.”

“I understand.” Sisi nodded, still holding on to him. She thought about Andrássy, about his invitation to visit Budapest. And then she thought back to Possi. Remembered how much the people in the duchy had adored her family. Not because Duke Max was a particularly interested, or even competent, ruler. He was quite the opposite, in fact. Why did they love him? Because he mingled with them. He was approachable. They felt as if he knew them and their troubles.

“Perhaps you should go to Hungary, Franz.”

He looked at her now, his lips lilting downward in a frown.

“Think of what Andrássy said.” She slid closer to him in bed. “Perhaps you should accept their offer to engage in discussions. Perhaps there is a peaceful resolution possible?”

“Believe me, the last thing I want is to wage war on my own people. War will be avoided if at all possible. But peace might be just a foolish dream.”

“
Dream no small dreams, for they have no power to move the hearts of men
,” Sisi answered, quoting Goethe.

“I have no time for poetry, not when I must think of such things.”

Sisi sighed, remembering the time when Franz had hurried to find Goethe’s book because she had merely mentioned his name. She changed tactics. “Then think of your daughter, our little Sophie. We don’t want her growing up in a country at war.” Sisi leaned forward and nuzzled into his neck, and she felt his tense shoulders slacken ever so slightly.

Franz turned to her, sliding his head back so that it rested on his pillow. “Yes, let’s think of little Sophie. And happy things. Like Bad Ischl.” He began to run his fingers through her hair.

“It will be good to get away to Bad Ischl for the summer, won’t it, Franz?” Sisi reclined, leaning on her husband’s body.

“It will be.”

“Imagine riding up into the mountains, like we did two summers ago, when we first met.”

“You were such a shy, timid girl, Elisa.”

“I was not.” She cocked her head, smiling at him playfully.

“Yes, you were. Why, when I asked you to dance at the cotillion, you ran from me in tears.”

Sisi couldn’t help but smile, remembering that. How overwhelmed she had been by the trappings of the imperial court.

“And now, now look at you.”

“What does that mean, Franz?” Sisi propped herself up on her elbows, staring at him.

“Now you argue with me as if I weren’t the emperor.”

She smirked.

“It’s true. You no longer hesitate to speak up.”

“Well, I
am
your wife. And the mother to your little girl. I suppose I have earned the right to speak up a bit more, haven’t I?”

He reached for a loose curl from where it fell across her brow, wrapping it around his forefinger. “And your hair is darker than it used to be.”

“Is it?”

“Indeed,” he nodded. “It was golden, back then. Dark blond. Now it’s a rich brown. I love it.”

“I think little Sophie shall have your hair color, Franz.”

“I hope, for her sake, that she inherits everything of yours.”

“Speaking of little Sophie, Franz. Do you think there’s any chance your mother might be amenable to remaining in Vienna this summer so we can have a few months alone as a family?”

“Elisa!” Franz looked at her, unsure whether she was serious. She met his gaze directly.

“Elisabeth”—Franz sighed—“the suggestion alone would break her heart. You know how attached she is to Sophie.”

“So attached that she isn’t willing to spare any time away from the girl so that her own mother might hold her?”

“Elisa, I’ve just laid out the many countries that wish to fight with me. Must I fight with you, too? I beg you, whatever the conflict is with my mother, resolve it. You are both good, reasonable women. I pray, please, stop burdening me with this.”

Sisi choked down the words with which she longed to protest. Instead, she forced a tight smile and said, “Good night, Franz.”

“Good night, Elisa.”

But after several minutes, Franz sat up in bed. “I can’t sleep. Andrássy has me in a foul mood.”

Sisi squinted in the darkness, watching him fumble his way out of the covers. “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know,” Franz said, sliding into his dressing robe, kicking his slippers onto his feet.

“Would you like me to come with you? We could take a walk?”

“No,” Franz said, turning back toward the bed, leaning forward to land a quick kiss on her brow. “You sleep.”

“Must I? I’ll come with you.”

He smiled. “No, no. Sleep. Please. That’s an order.”

But as he left the room, speaking quickly to the footman who waited, always, outside their door, Sisi heard his words. Unmistakable. Franz issuing his most customary, most natural of orders: “Rouse the ministers. Tell them I’m calling a meeting of the council. Oh, and tell my mother I’d like her there as well.”