THE TRAGIC EMPRESS SISI (FIRST RIVER CRUISE MISSIVE)

“All the people who have had nothing but evil to say of me ever since I came here, now have the satisfaction of knowing that I shall leave this life without a trace of myself remaining in Austria.

                                  Elizabeth (Sisi), Empress of Austria,

Queen of Hungary[1]

“I am on show like a freak in a circus.”

                                  Sisi letter to her mother shortly after her marriage

“And Sisi was struck by the Heine quote she had circled that morning, on her trip back to Vienna: Before death I shall, moved in my heart, forgive them all the wrong they did me in their lifetime. One must, it is true, forgive one’s enemies—but not before they have been hanged.”

                                  Allison Pataki

                               Sisi: Empress on Her Own

Imogene and I just returned from a Viking river cruise (The Grand European Tour, March 12-26, Amsterdam to Budapest). What a magnificent adventure! From visiting picturesque windmills, to Rhine River castles, to some of Europe’s greatest cathedrals, to mountaintop abbeys, to 16 locks on the Main-Danube Canal, a horse carriage ride in Vienna, and beautiful Danube River vistas. It was an old historian’s dream. So, naturally, I thought I would write a series of missives to provide a taste of what we experienced.

And the encounters and stories that changed us most.

One of my favorite stops on the cruise was the Austrian capital city of Vienna, at one time administrative and cultural center of the polyglot Austro-Hungarian Empire (also known as the Dual Monarchy—a constitutional monarchy after 1867) ruled by the Hapsburg dynasty in the heart of Central Europe. It was like a trip to a long-forgotten world. 

Since very few of our young people learn history these days, the former greatness of the empire now is reduced to a tourist bus drive around the Ringstrasse, a boulevard around the Habsburg Hofburg and historic city center lined with palaces, museums, and spacious parks as well as beautiful mansions of the former imperial elites, now serving—in many cases—as coffee houses, tourist shops and fast-food restaurants.

In its day, however, the Habsburg palace in Vienna was the very heartbeat of one of western civilization’s greatest empires. Like many of the other ill-fated great European monarchies, the unique Habsburg Dual Monarchy was a victim of World War I and split into several countries with only the “rump” countries of Austria and Hungary remaining. Before the war, the empire had consisted of over seventeen major ethno-linguistic groups, including a large and vibrant community of Jews (Yiddish). 

We began our second day in Vienna with a long walk from our docking place on the Danube River (near what the locals call the “Church of Mexico”) to the closest city metro station red line, and after a transfer to the green line and ending at the beautiful Schönbrunn Palace—the main Habsburg summer palace with over 1,400 rooms, gardens and baroque finishings—to get an authentic taste of the Habsburg imperial experience. The palace, located on the outskirts of Vienna, was a former hunting lodge and estate. 

What I found is that the palace is (in large part) the story of the two most famous women of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The first was the famous “enlightened despot” Maria Theresa (1717-1780), the archduchess of Austria (she never claimed the title of Empress—and ruled suo jure “in her own right—the only woman to hold such a position), and queen of Hungary and Bohemia. She ran the empire because her husband wouldn’t and had 16 children (10 of whom survived to adulthood). She extensively remodeled Schönbrunn Palace and statutes of her are sprinkled throughout Vienna.

Maria Theresa—one of the world’s most interesting and powerful women rulers ever—probably deserves a missive on her own. But I’ll let you get a book and read about her yourself.

The second woman associated with Schönbrunn, and the tragic personality who dominates the books, postcards, gifts and trinkets in the gift shop, will be the focus of this missive. Empress Elisabeth (1837-1898), born Duchess Elisabeth Amalie Eugenie (nicknamed “Sisi” by her Bavarian royal family), is—simply put—one of the most tragic stories in history.

In short, Sisi was the Princess Diana of her age.

Long before Ima and I embarked on our river cruise, I had included Sisi’s story in a chapter in my forthcoming historical fiction (The Kaiser’s Brooch).

Sisi was married to Emperor Franz Josef I of Austria (then 23-years-of-age) in late April 1853. In those days marriages between dynastic families were arranged for diplomatic and geostrategic reasons rather than any notion of love. Sisi was born into the Ducal royal branch of the Bavarian House of Wittelsbach. As a girl, Sisi developed a passion for horseback riding (she would be famous for her equestrian skills), loved her father and the stables rather than classroom books. Sisi’s family thought that the young new emperor would marry Sisi’s older sister Helene, who had been trained since birth to be an Empress. Instead, he was attracted to Sisi (and told his mother he would never marry unless he could have her hand). The marriage was arranged. He was much older and her first cousin.

At the time, Sisi was16 years old and a carefree spirit.

She was as unprepared for marriage as the constant scrutiny and criticism of her mother-in-law and the rigid formalities of Habsburg court life. She was not allowed to bring anyone from her Bavarian inner circle with her to Vienna. Her mother-in-law, for example, criticized Sisi because her teeth were slightly discolored—as a result of mercury treatments for venereal disease—and Sisi stopped smiling altogether. 

After the consummation of their marriage on her wedding night she remained secluded in her bedroom for three days, refusing to come out.

She felt suffocated by the marriage.

The birth of daughters brought little relief (one died in infancy) and the mother-in-law took charge of raising the other. (Indeed, Sisi’s mother-in-law named the first girl after herself without consulting Sisi and refused to allow her to breastfeed or take care of the newborn).

Sisi struggled with being an empress, wife, and mother. The death of her youngest daughter sent Sisi into a deep depression. It would become a frequent pattern for her.

At the same time, the only thing Sisi could control was her physical appearance. Her simple beauty and long-flowing auburn hair, and wasp-thin figure made her the envy of the women of Europe. She made a cult of her beauty, especially her long hair. It took three hours a day to care for her thick and extremely long hair. Her hairdresser accompanied her everywhere she went. Every two weeks, Sisi cancelled all activities to have her hair washed with eggs and cognac. She diligently checked to see how many hairs she lost after every brushing. All gray hairs were tweezed out.

She wore no make-up or perfumes. She took a cold shower every morning and olive oil baths at night to preserve her complexion. Her favorite face cream was a mixture of white wax, spermaceti, sweet almond oil, and rosewater. At night, she wore a mask of raw veal and strawberries.

Sisi became obsessed with physical fitness and her shapely appearance. She had a daily regime including horse-riding and fencing, and even had workout equipment in her bedroom. She maintained a strict diet (meat juice, fresh milk and egg whites mixed with salt) to maintain her slim figure. At five foot six inches tall, she rarely went above 105 pounds. Through the practice of “tight-lacing” she reduced her waist to 16 inches in circumference. She slept in cloths soaked in either violet or cider-vinegar above her thighs to preserve her slim waist.

Then finally, in 1858, she gave birth to the requisite heir Crown Prince Rudolf Franz Karl Joseph, which improved her standing at the court but made her ill. Afterwards, her relations with her husband began to sour and she even encouraged him to take a mistress. She began to write poetry and study Greek.

In 1889, Sisi’s life was shattered. 30-year-old Rudolf’s body was found at the royal hunting lodge at Mayerling. Rudolf had killed his mistress and lover (Baroness Mary Vetsera) before turning the gun on himself. The tragic incident sent tongues wagging in all the European courts; but for Sisi it was a blow from which she would never recover.

She became profoundly depressed and melancholic, dressed in black whenever in public, withdrew from court duties and travelled extensively—especially in Hungary to her castle Godollo—without the company of any other family members. In the span of one year, Sisi had lost her mother, her father, her sister, and her only son. Thereafter she would spend very little time in Vienna. Her marriage became the substance of long-distance letters and settled into a warm friendship from afar.

One of Sisi’s favorite places was Lake Geneva and she despised having any security “spying on her.” She did everything possible to discourage them, even failing to inform them of her travel plans. She did not fear death and was a bit of a fatalist.

So, now the stage is set for the final tragic scene. In early September 1898, Sisi traveled incognito to Geneva, Switzerland. She was 60 years old at the time and walked alone with her lady-in-waiting, Countess Irma Sztaray, from the hotel along the shore of Lake Geneva to catch a steamship for Montreux. At her request, there was no security entourage. Suddenly, she was stabbed in the heart by a sharpened, wood-handled, four-inch file—the kind used to file the eyes of industrial needles—wielded by a 25-year-old Italian anarchist named Luigi Lucheni. Lucheni, it turns out, originally planned to kill the Duke of Orleans, but the Duke had left Geneva earlier. When Lucheni read in a local newspaper article that Empress Elisabeth, who was traveling under an assumed name, was staying at the Hotel Beau-Rivage, he hatched a new plan.

After the assassin ran off, Sisi shrugged off the event, “it is nothing” she said. On the boat, however, when they removed her tight-fitting corset, it was full of blood; she was rushed back to the hotel but died on the stretcher.

Her body was carried back to Vienna by a funeral train. The inscription on her coffin read “Elisabeth, Empress of Austria.” At the insistence of the Hungarians, who were outraged, the words “and Queen of Hungary” was added. The entire empire was deep in mourning. A week after the assassination, 82 sovereigns and high-ranking nobles followed her funeral cortege to her tomb in the Church of the Capuchins.

Now we know that Sisi frequently and anonymously gave gifts of charity. She spontaneously visited hospitals and orphanages, had a genuine concern for the poor, the insane, and working women throughout the empire.

In my book, one of my characters summed up the news of Sisi’s death this way: It seems like tragedy and misfortune follow some people like an unwanted shadow; no matter where they stand on the social ladder.

Sisi, who would have been content to marry a low-level princeling was fated to marry one of the most powerful men on earth.

She never found the happiness she so desperately sought.

For our part, for the rest of the tour we saw Sisi’s name and image everywhere: a park in the Peste part of Budapest, as the name of countless coffee houses, stores and on a myriad of cups, magnets and spoons in tourist stalls; books about her dominated the shelves of bookstores from Vienna to Budapest.      

[1] Quote followed tragic suicide death of Sisi’s only son and presumptive heir to the throne Crown Prince Rudolf in 1889.