the fact that you are so dutifully mourning a relative. And he will find you modest and humble. Isn’t that so, Sisi?” Ludovika, frantic, looked to her younger daughter.
“That’s right.” Sisi nodded, picking up the line started by her mother. “Néné, it is my sister’s good and gentle spirit that I want Franz to see—not a head and neck full of jewels.”
“Precisely,” the duchess concurred.
But Helene was unconvinced. Her eyes fixed on the ground, she moaned: “Oh, why did I have to be born first?”
“Helene.” The duchess, exasperated, gripped her daughter’s narrow shoulders. “You cannot change the order in which you were born any more than you can change the configuration of the stars. You must not lament such a thing.”
“But it’s rotten luck, Mamma. I don’t want to be the empress.”
“Helene, do you think I spent my life complaining that my elder sister got to marry a Habsburg and I had to . . .” Ludovika paused, looking to Sisi. “Well, never mind that. All I mean to say is that we must live the lives that are intended for us. And we must live them well.”
“I’m ill suited for the life that was chosen for me,” Helene answered, chin jerking to the side. “I wish you could have just lied and said that Sisi was the elder.”
Sisi exchanged a look with her mother over the top of Helene’s head. It was worse than just Helene’s pinched frowns and unflatteringly drab wardrobe; if her sister continued in this despondent mood, Sisi was certain that Franz’s eyes would look elsewhere.
The church bell tower chimed three times as their carriage lurched and lumbered down the cobbled village streets, sounding the hour as if to welcome the duchess and her daughters to Bad Ischl.
The town itself was a hive of activity, swollen with the influx of Austrians who had descended on it in the hopes of glimpsing the visiting emperor. It was certainly more crowded than the small, sleepy square in Possenhofen. Through the carriage window Sisi spotted rows of clean village shops painted in crisp shades of white and yellow. Hausfraus yelled to small children as they crossed the streets, arms burdened by cargo of crispy bread loaves, links of meat, and fresh fruit still warm from the summer sun. Small boys bearing red cheeks and short-cropped lederhosen britches weaved between passing carriages and horses, more preoccupied with the candy shop windows than the calls of their mothers or the foot and horse traffic that swerved around them.
“We’re close now.” The duchess observed the scene through the window, stitching her hands into a tight knot in her lap. “Helene, when we arrive, you must smile. Especially when you meet Franz, understood?”
Helene nodded, once. An indecisive, noncommittal gesture.
As the carriage turned off the main esplanade, the traffic thinned and the structures changed from commercial to residential. Modest homes lined the cobbled lane, their windows ajar and their light-colored walls trellised with climbing ropes of ivy. The afternoon sun still hung high in the sky, pouring down over the residents who sat perched on their stoops in front of overstuffed flower boxes and drawn curtains. They watched the modest carriage roll by with only moderate interest.
A heavy wrought-iron gate waited at the end of the esplanade. If the townspeople hadn’t taken much note as Sisi’s coach had passed, the dozen armed imperial guards stationed at the gate appeared as if they surely would.
The Kaiservilla, or Imperial Palace, was a sprawling complex set off from the main esplanade, just at the seam of where the village seeped into Alpine wilderness. The complex hugged the base of the stark, craggy mountains that framed the valley fields on one side before gently sloping down to the banks of the Traun River on the other side. The main structure of the Kaiservilla, a building of creamy-yellow limestone, had been a nobleman’s home, constructed in the popular neoclassical
“That’s right.” Sisi nodded, picking up the line started by her mother. “Néné, it is my sister’s good and gentle spirit that I want Franz to see—not a head and neck full of jewels.”
“Precisely,” the duchess concurred.
But Helene was unconvinced. Her eyes fixed on the ground, she moaned: “Oh, why did I have to be born first?”
“Helene.” The duchess, exasperated, gripped her daughter’s narrow shoulders. “You cannot change the order in which you were born any more than you can change the configuration of the stars. You must not lament such a thing.”
“But it’s rotten luck, Mamma. I don’t want to be the empress.”
“Helene, do you think I spent my life complaining that my elder sister got to marry a Habsburg and I had to . . .” Ludovika paused, looking to Sisi. “Well, never mind that. All I mean to say is that we must live the lives that are intended for us. And we must live them well.”
“I’m ill suited for the life that was chosen for me,” Helene answered, chin jerking to the side. “I wish you could have just lied and said that Sisi was the elder.”
Sisi exchanged a look with her mother over the top of Helene’s head. It was worse than just Helene’s pinched frowns and unflatteringly drab wardrobe; if her sister continued in this despondent mood, Sisi was certain that Franz’s eyes would look elsewhere.
The church bell tower chimed three times as their carriage lurched and lumbered down the cobbled village streets, sounding the hour as if to welcome the duchess and her daughters to Bad Ischl.
The town itself was a hive of activity, swollen with the influx of Austrians who had descended on it in the hopes of glimpsing the visiting emperor. It was certainly more crowded than the small, sleepy square in Possenhofen. Through the carriage window Sisi spotted rows of clean village shops painted in crisp shades of white and yellow. Hausfraus yelled to small children as they crossed the streets, arms burdened by cargo of crispy bread loaves, links of meat, and fresh fruit still warm from the summer sun. Small boys bearing red cheeks and short-cropped lederhosen britches weaved between passing carriages and horses, more preoccupied with the candy shop windows than the calls of their mothers or the foot and horse traffic that swerved around them.
“We’re close now.” The duchess observed the scene through the window, stitching her hands into a tight knot in her lap. “Helene, when we arrive, you must smile. Especially when you meet Franz, understood?”
Helene nodded, once. An indecisive, noncommittal gesture.
As the carriage turned off the main esplanade, the traffic thinned and the structures changed from commercial to residential. Modest homes lined the cobbled lane, their windows ajar and their light-colored walls trellised with climbing ropes of ivy. The afternoon sun still hung high in the sky, pouring down over the residents who sat perched on their stoops in front of overstuffed flower boxes and drawn curtains. They watched the modest carriage roll by with only moderate interest.
A heavy wrought-iron gate waited at the end of the esplanade. If the townspeople hadn’t taken much note as Sisi’s coach had passed, the dozen armed imperial guards stationed at the gate appeared as if they surely would.
The Kaiservilla, or Imperial Palace, was a sprawling complex set off from the main esplanade, just at the seam of where the village seeped into Alpine wilderness. The complex hugged the base of the stark, craggy mountains that framed the valley fields on one side before gently sloping down to the banks of the Traun River on the other side. The main structure of the Kaiservilla, a building of creamy-yellow limestone, had been a nobleman’s home, constructed in the popular neoclassical
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