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  The prospective couple—Franz Joseph and Helene—were to meet and get to know each other at the imperial summer resort of Bad Ischl, where the engagement would then take place; such was both their mothers’ wish. The relaxed, somewhat familial atmosphere of Bad Ischl would ease the undertaking. Setting out for the momentous trip to the Salzkammergut, Ludovika took along her second daughter, fifteen-year-old Elisabeth, who was causing her much worry at that time. Elisabeth had fallen in love with a totally unsuitable man, a Count Richard S——, who was in the duke’s service. The idyll was brought to a rapid end; the young man was sent away under some pretext. Though he did return, he was ill and died shortly thereafter.

  Sisi was inconsolable. Her broken heart grew heavier to the point of depression. She locked herself in her room for hours to weep and write poetry. (The slim volume with many love poems dating from the winter of 1852–1853 is preserved among the family papers.) Duchess Ludovika hoped that the trip to Bad Ischl would pull the fifteen-year-old out of her doldrums. She also secretly thought that the trip could serve to bring together Sisi and Franz Joseph’s younger brother Archduke Karl Ludwig. Her hope was far from idle. The two young people had been corresponding for years. They exchanged gifts, even simple rings. Karl Ludwig was obviously in love with his cousin. Ludovika reckoned that she had a good chance of succeeding.

  The political situation in August 1853, on the other hand, was extremely critical, hardly conducive to romantic engagements. The Crimean War had broken out, muddling international relations. What was at stake were concrete political and economic interests in Turkey, which was facing dissolution. In July 1853, Russian troops occupied the Danube principalities (the nucleus of what was to become Romania). Czar Nicholas was counting on support from Austria—reciprocating for Russia’s help against the Hungarian insurgents of 1849. As an added incentive, the Czar offered Austria the Turkish provinces of Bosnia and Hercegovina, in addition to a promise of his protection should revolution break out anew in Austria—that is, military intervention in support of the monarchy, as he had extended in 1849 in Hungary.

  The Emperor’s advisers could not agree among themselves. Count Joseph Radetzky, the old general, favored fighting on the Russian side, but he was not opposed to strict neutrality on the part of Austria. Count Karl Buol-Schauenstein, the foreign minister, and some of the business leaders wanted to move against Russia, siding with England and France. The young, indecisive Emperor was unable to rise to the difficult occasion. He complained to Sophie “[a]bout the ever more complicated Eastern complications.”12 Even during the journey to Bad Ischl he kept himself informed on developments; but once arrived, he hardly allowed higher politics to worry him further. The hesitations and months-long vacillations of the inexperienced Emperor—further distracted by his engagement—had calamitous consequences for Austria.

  Duchess Ludovika had other matters on her mind when she and her daughters arrived in Bad Ischl on August 16, 1853. A migraine had forced her to interrupt the journey, so that her party arrived in Bad Ischl with some delay, upsetting all of Sophie’s carefully laid plans for the first day. Furthermore, while her daughters were with her on her arrival, Ludovika was accompanied by neither baggage nor ladies-in-waiting. All three women wore mourning for the death of an aunt. Since the carriage with the light-colored dresses had not yet arrived, they could not change before the crucial meeting. Archduchess Sophie sent one of her own ladies-in-waiting to their hotel.

  Care went to providing the designated bride at least with an exquisite coiffure, even though she would have to appear before the Emperor in her dusty black traveling dress. Sisi looked after her own hair—simple long braids. She never noticed that Archduchess Sophie had a watchful eye, not only for Helene, but for Elisabeth as well. At any rate, Sophie later described this hairdressing scene at great length to her sister Marie of Saxony, stressing the “charm and grace” of the younger girl’s movements, “all the more so as she was so completely unaware of having produced such a pleasing effect. In spite of the mourning … Sissy [sic] was adorable in her very plain, high-necked black dress.”13 Next to her completely artless, childlike sister, Helene seemed all at once very austere. The black dress was not flattering to her—and perhaps really did determine the course of her life, as some people later claimed.

  Sophie invited Duchess Ludovika and the two young women to tea. Here they met the Emperor. Queen Elise of Prussia was also present at this first meeting, as were two of the Emperor’s younger brothers and other family members. None of those present had the gift of easy small talk. The stiff, embarrassed mood was unrelieved; all of them knew what was at stake.

  *

  It was love at first sight, at least as far as Franz Joseph was concerned. His younger brother, Archduke Karl Ludwig, a sharp and jealous observer, later told their mother “that at the moment when the Emperor caught sight of Sisi, an expression of such great pleasure appeared on his face that there was no longer any doubt whom he would choose.”

  Sophie wrote to Marie of Saxony, “He beamed, and you know how his face can beam when he is happy. The dear little one did not suspect the deep impression she had made on Franzi. Until the moment her mother spoke to her about it, she was filled by nothing but the shyness and timidity inspired in her by the many people around her.” She was so excited that she could not eat, and she explained to the lady-in-waiting, “Néné [Helene] is lucky, because she has already seen so many people, but I haven’t. I am so scared that I can’t even eat.” In her confusion, Elisabeth did not notice how intently the Emperor concerned himself with her, rather than with Helene.

  The following morning, August 17, the Emperor appeared very early at his mother’s; the Archduchess had only just arisen. Sophie to Marie of Saxony: “He told me, his expression beaming, that he found Sisi charming. I begged him not to act rashly, to think the matter over carefully, but he felt that it would not be right to delay.”

  In her diary Archduchess Sophie described that morning at greater length. The Emperor raved, “Oh, but how sweet Sisi is, she’s as fresh as a budding almond, and what a magnificent crown of hair frames her face! What lovely, soft eyes she has, and lips like strawberries.” His mother tried to point him in the direction of the bride of her choosing: “Don’t you think that Helene is clever, that she has a beautiful, slender figure?” “Well, yes, a little grave and quiet, certainly pleasant and nice, yes, but Sisi—Sisi—such loveliness, such exuberance, like a little girl’s, and yet so sweet!”14

  Everything was settled. That day Franz Joseph even refused to go hunting, a pleasure he did not usually let slip by. Elise of Prussia, when she heard of this, immediately made a sign to her sister Sophie which meant, “He is smitten.”15 Queen Elise was thoroughly satisfied with the way things were turning out; little Elisabeth was her goddaughter. There was confusion all around. The two young ladies were distressed. Only the Emperor was radiant.

  A ball marked the eve of Franz Joseph’s birthday. Helene appeared in a splendid gown of white silk. Ivy tendrils wreathed her forehead, lending her tall, slightly austere appearance a touch of simple romanticism. Back in Munich, when they had made their preparations for the visit, they had concentrated on this night. Little Sisi was more simply dressed, in a plain pale-pink frock, and seemed very childlike next to the handsome figure of her sister.

  The Emperor did not join in the first dance—nor did the two Bavarian princesses. For the second dance, a polka, Archduchess Sophie begged Franz Joseph’s aide-de-camp, Hugo von Weckbecker, to “dance with Princess Elisabeth, who heretofore had only taken lessons from the dancing master and required an experienced guide for her first debut [sic].” Weckbecker: “She presented me to the charming Princess, who was stricken with extreme embarrassment and told me shyly that she did not know whether and how she would manage without the dancing master.” Weckbecker reassured the young girl, though he himself was “a little anxious, for I knew that in general—in spite of dancing masters—Bavarian princess
es were not good dancers…. Fortunately, Princess Elisabeth was musical and therefore at least kept time well.” It was with some astonishment that Weckbecker observed the young Emperor who, quite contrary to his usual habit, sat out this dance as well, instead merely watching the dancing Sisi, who “floated past, sylphlike, on my arm.” After the dance, Weckbecker whispered to a friend, “I suspect I’ve just been dancing with our future Empress.”16

  The Emperor danced the cotillion with young Sisi and afterward presented her with his nosegay—a traditional sign that she was the chosen one. Every one of the onlookers understood—except Sisi herself. In answer to the question whether this mark of attention had not struck her as significant she said, “No, it only made me feel self-conscious.”

  Sophie described Sisi’s appearance at length to her sister Marie.

  In her beautiful hair she wore a large comb that held back her braids, she wears her hair fashionably combed away from her face. The little one’s bearing is so charming, so modest, so impeccable, so graceful yes almost humble, when she dances with the Emperor. She was like a rosebud, unfolding under the rays of the sun, sitting beside the Emperor during the cotillion. She seemed to me so attractive, so childishly unpretentious and yet quite unaffected with him. It was only the crowd of people that intimidated her.

  On August 18, Franz Joseph’s birthday was celebrated in the bosom of the assembled family. Archduchess Sophie wrote to Marie of Saxony, “At the family dinner the Emperor was so proud that Sisi, who was allowed to sit next to him, had eaten with such a hearty appetite! In the afternoon we went on an excursion to Wolfgang. We also walked a little ways on foot. I was in my barouche with the two children and the Emperor. He must like them very much to stand it for so long in the closed barouche! Helene chattered a great deal and very amusingly, the girl has a great deal of charm for me….”

  After the stroll, the Emperor requested his mother to make tentative inquiries of Sisi’s mother “if she would have him,” but he also insisted that the two mothers were not to exert any pressure. “My situation is so difficult that, God knows, it is no pleasure to share it with me.” To which Sophie replied, “But my dear child, how can you think that a woman would not be only too happy to lighten your situation with her charm and cheerfulness?”

  Sophie then formally informed her sister Ludovika of Franz Joseph’s intentions; Ludovika, “moved, pressed my hand, for in her great humility, she had always doubted whether the Emperor would truly consider one of her daughters.” When Sisi’s mother asked her if she could love the Emperor, she replied (according to Archduchess Sophie), “How could anyone not love that man?” Then she burst into tears and vowed that she would do everything in her power to make the Emperor happy and “to be the most loving child” to Aunt Sophie. “But,” she said, “how can he possibly think of me? After all, I’m so unimportant!” And a short time later, “I love the Emperor so much! If only he were not the Emperor!” Sophie’s comment: “That is what intimidates her—her future position. The Emperor was literally enraptured when I told him these moving words by his bride, since they express such deep and unassuming understanding for him.”

  How the talk between mother and daughter really went and whether Ludovika’s and Sophie’s recollections are to be believed must remain an open question. When Ludovika was later asked whether the girl’s feelings had actually been considered in this decision, she always gave the same answer: “One does not send the Emperor of Austria packing.”17

  *

  Each of the nine Bavarian sisters had at one time or another suffered from a broken heart. Each of them knew that, as an eligible princess, she was a political pawn and had no choice but to accept the man selected for her. In order not to confuse the young girls, not to plunge them into conflicts, the reading of love stories was strictly forbidden at the Bavarian court. Even the German classics were banned for the same reason.

  Ludovika herself had been an outstanding beauty in her youth. Some even went so far as to claim that she had been far more beautiful than any of her daughters, including Elisabeth. She had suffered from a love affair with Prince Miguel of Braganza, later King of Portugal, whom she was not allowed to marry for political reasons. It was the family that chose the marriage with her cousin Max. He told her frankly that he did not love her and was marrying her merely because he was afraid of his forceful grandfather. He had been hopelessly in love with a nonaristocratic woman, whom he was forbidden to marry for reasons of rank.

  The marriage between Max and Ludovika was unhappy from the very first day. Ludovika later told her children that she had spent her first wedding anniversary weeping from morning to night. Only gradually did she learn to tolerate her husband’s restlessness and his many affairs and to remain alone with the growing brood of children. Much later, after she was widowed, she told her grandchildren that, starting with their golden wedding anniversary, Max had been good to her. Fifty bitter years had preceded that day. Elisabeth had grown up hearing her mother’s complaints about the unhappy marriage, and she had often heard Ludovika’s bitter statement, “When one is married, one feels so abandoned.”

  Archduchess Sophie was hardly more fortunate. She was forced to marry Archduke Franz Karl, “weak in body and mind,” brother of the ailing Emperor Ferdinand. In Bavaria, it was said that Sophie had spent many nights in tears in despair and fear of this marriage. When her governess reported this state of affairs to Sophie’s mother, she was unmoved and replied, “What do you want? The matter was decided at the Congress of Vienna!”

  When Sophie saw that her fate had been irrevocably sealed, she courageously declared that from now on she would be happy with the Archduke. Emperor Franz told her that “given his son’s condition, she would herself have to handle everything.” And so she did, becoming an independent, energetic woman. She loved her good-natured husband “like a child that has to be taken care of,” and she raised her four sons well. As a young woman, she enjoyed a close friendship with Napoleon’s son, the Duke of Reichstadt, whom she nursed touchingly during his fatal illness. Viennese gossip turned the young man into the father of her second son, Archduke Ferdinand Max. In all probability, this gossip had no basis in fact; but it does show that the pretty Archduchess was considered quite capable of a romantic interlude.

  Thus, like most princesses of their time, the mothers of the young couple had been forced to renounce love. Of course, they did their duty—even in tears. They could not help but regard the engagement in Bad Ischl as a rare instance of great good fortune: Franz Joseph loved his future bride, as was plain to see. He was young and good-looking, not feebleminded like his father and uncle. He was the Emperor of Austria. The young girl would have no difficulty adjusting to her situation, which, compared to the lots of both mothers, was enviable. No, really, “one does not send the Emperor of Austria packing.”

  Archduchess Sophie was still entirely caught up in eighteenth-century thinking. She had no high opinion of individualism, let alone emotion, as an element in court politics—in contrast to her daughter-in-law-to-be. On one occasion, Sophie wrote to Princess Metternich that one should not believe “that individual personalities have any significance.” She had always noticed that one person was replaced by another, without making the slightest difference in the world.18 Now, whether the future Empress was named Helene or Elisabeth made little difference, according to this view. Both came from the same family, were equal in rank, were both Catholic and Sophie’s nieces—and that last was all that mattered in the end.

  * Ludovika communicated Sisi’s acceptance to her sister Sophie in writing. On August 19, at eight o’clock in the morning, the Emperor beaming with happiness, appeared at his bride’s rooms at the hotel. Ludovika wrote about the meeting to a relative: “I left him alone with Sisi, since he wanted to speak to her himself, and when he came back to my room, he looked quite pleased, quite cheerful, and she did too—as is proper for a happy bride.”19

  Ludovika’s excitement was every bit as great as her gra
titude to Sophie: “It is such prodigious joy, and yet such a weighty and important situation, that I am very moved in every respect. She is so young, so inexperienced, but I hope that forbearance will be shown to such extreme youth! … Aunt Sophie is so very good and kind to her, and what a consolation for me to be able to hand her over to such a dear sister as a second mother.”

  Nevertheless, Elisabeth later always referred to this situation with great bitterness, saying, “Marriage is an absurd arrangement. One is sold as a fifteen-year-old child and makes a vow one does not understand and then regrets for thirty years or more, and which one can never undo again.”20

  In August 1853, however, those who were present looked on this imperial engagement, in Count Hübner’s words, as “a simple, lovely, and noble idyll.”21

  The young couple left the hotel arm in arm to breakfast with the Archduchess and of course the rest of the family, all of whom observed the pair with interest and approval—with the exception of Archduke Karl Ludwig, who had lost the love of his youth. Franz Joseph took this occasion to introduce his adjutants to the fifteen-year-old girl, especially Karl Count Grünne, whose judgment he valued very highly, including his views in matters concerning women.

  At eleven o’clock, the party repaired in a body to the parish church. The congregation watched reverently as Archduchess Sophie held back at the door, granting precedence to her young niece: Sisi was pledged to an emperor, and from this time on, she stood higher in rank than the emperor’s mother. With this noble gesture, Sophie expressed her respect for the imperial hierarchy. Sisi, to be sure, hardly understood. Self-conscious and bashful, she entered the church, unpleasantly affected by the attention she aroused. Sophie: “The priest welcomed us with holy water, his eyes filled with tears! On the moment we entered the church, the national anthem was struck up.” After the benediction, Emperor Franz Joseph gently took the girl by the hand, led her to the priest, and requested of him, “I beseech you, Reverend, bless us, this is my bride.”