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Unmindful of the Emperor’s feelings of love, the political crisis to the east grew increasingly complicated. On November 1, Turkey declared war on Russia. The Balkan question became acute. The significance to Austria of this conflict was not realized in Vienna; as late as October, the Austrian army was drastically reduced because funds were no longer available. During these months, Austrian policies presented an extremely confused picture.
It would appear that the politically inexperienced but all-powerful young Emperor did not in the least comprehend the consequences of his wavering. His ministers, most especially his foreign minister, Buol, were weak; nor were they given any responsibility beyond advising, the Emperor. In any case, since opinion was divided, not only among the ministers, but also at the court, Franz Joseph vacillated helplessly; firmly convinced of his imperial sovereignty, he refused to seek guidance from experienced statesmen.
His thoughts dwelled not so much on statecraft as on his bride-to-be. His mind was focused on ever new and ever more splendid gifts; in Vienna as in Bad Ischl, he tried to speed up the building renovations—though he cautioned his mother, who was supervising the work on the villa in Bad Ischl “that the whole if possible cost no more than is proposed, since I am short of funds.”37
Franz Joseph’s frequent complaints about lack of money are astonishing, coming from the ruler of such a powerful empire. But, in fact, the imperial family in Vienna commanded relatively scarce resources. For though Emperor Ferdinand the Kindly had renounced the throne in 1848 and retired to Prague, he had held on to his fortune. The immensely rich imperial estates, which each year brought in many millions of guldens, belonged not to the ruling emperor, but to the abdicated Emperor Ferdinand. Only after Ferdinand’s death in 1875 did the fortune become part of Franz Joseph’s estate. From 1848 to 1875—quite a considerable length of time—the resources on which the Viennese imperial family could draw were by no means unlimited; caution had to be exercised even when it came to buying and renovating a summer residence.
Furthermore, during this time the Austrian economy slid from one financial crisis into the next, all of them caused by the extremely high cost of keeping the military during years of a state of siege. All these worries were pushed aside by the Emperor, who was head over heels in love. He wrote his mother, “I can no longer wait for the moment when I am free to travel to Possenhofen to see Sisi again, I cannot stop thinking of her.”38
Since there was no direct rail connection between Vienna and Munich as yet, the trip was arduous. Proceeding by way of Prague, Dresden, Leipzig, and Hof to Munich, it took far longer than a day. During the engagement period, the Emperor made the journey three times.
Duchess Ludovika was concerned that the Emperor might be bored in her family circle.39 But Franz Joseph had eyes only for little Sisi; in a transport of gratitude, he wrote from Munich to his mother in Vienna, “Never, my dear Mama, will I be able to thank you enough for having brought about such deep happiness for me. Every day I love Sisi more, and I am ever more convinced that no one else could suit me better than she.”
Mindful of Sophie’s advice, the Emperor wrote about his future bride, “Besides many more important good qualities, she is a charming horseback rider—of which, however, following your wish, I first convinced myself. As you advised me, I begged my Mama-in-law not to let Sisi ride too much; but I believe that will be hard to enforce, since Sisi is unwilling to give it up. And by the way, it has a very good effect on her; for since Ischl, she has gained quite a bit of weight and never looks ill now. Thanks to her care, too, her teeth have become quite white, so that she is truly lovely.”40
No improvement, however, was yet evident in the area of public appearances. The Emperor wrote his mother that the tumultuous reception at the Munich theater “embarrassed Sisi very much.” But he reassured Archduchess Sophie by telling her that at the court ball (which he found “truly brilliant” and “very animated”), matters worked out more agreeably: “the entire diplomatic corps was introduced to poor Sisi, and she made conversation charmingly, speaking with everyone.”41
Sisi’s engagement had raised the standing of the ducal family. Even the King of Bavaria was proud of the fact that once again a woman of the Wittelsbachs would stand beside a Habsburg emperor. After decades of discord between the royal and the ducal lines of the Wittelsbachs, the royal house now made overt efforts to court the favor of its ducal relatives. Little Elisabeth was the center of these attentions. But she was not dazzled. On the contrary: She expressed her fear of the future more and more clearly. “If only he were a tailor,” she lamented, speaking of her bridegroom to her equally fearful mother.42
Sisi’s attachment to Franz Joseph grew. But she did not understand his cares of state. Even when he was in Munich, a courier arrived daily from Vienna with the latest news bulletins. The Belgian envoy: “The seriousness of the situation forces the Emperor to hasten his return…. The political situation causes him much anxiety.”43 At his premature departure, Sisi wept so much that “her face was all swollen.”
For Christmas, which coincided with Sisi’s birthday (she turned sixteen), the Emperor brought to Munich the by now obligatory jewelry, which he had selected himself, along with a portrait of himself and a small silver breakfast service for traveling, engraved with an E and the imperial crown.44 He also brought a gift from Archduchess Sophie—a wreath and, in the dead of winter, a bouquet of fresh roses, “which here, where such flowers are not to be found, will have quite an effect.” The Emperor wrote his mother that he had “found [Sisi] very well and blooming. She is always equally dear and attractive, and is now also learning many new and different things.”45
During this visit, too, the Emperor’s eastern policy forced him to return home precipitately. He deeply lamented the fact “that, between love and the vexing affairs, which plague me endlessly even here, all my time is taken up.”46
Only a few days after Franz Joseph’s return, the news arrived that the French and English fleets had set sail for the Black Sea. The Viennese stock market reacted with a panic. Austria’s position in this conflict was still not clear. The Emperor continued to leave his “dear precious friend,” the Czar, in the dark, thus offending him most deeply.
The extent to which court society remained untouched by the complications of war is astonishing. Anyone who did not happen to be a politician or had personal interests in the Balkans continued to ignore events. The preparations for the imperial wedding claimed a large share of the public interest.
The Viennese countesses, for whom the special pleasure of Carnival lay in the fact that they could win a smart young emperor as a dancing partner, suffered a deep disappointment that winter: Franz Joseph would not dance, “which is in keeping with his chivalrous sentiments,” they commented, but soon they began to complain about “Carnival, which so far is very dull. Since the Emperor will not dance, the major interest falls away. So far, there have been only three balls, of secondary brilliance. Everyone seems to be waiting for the wedding festivities.” And: “The countesses sorely miss the best, most splendid dancer.”47
There was, however, a more concrete reason than love for Franz Joseph’s refusal to dance: He was suffering a recurrence of the “affliction of brain disease and half-sight that appeared as a consequence of the attempt on his life”—that is, impaired vision—which compelled him to take it easier.48
Early in March, the marriage contract was signed. In it, Duke Max of Bavaria promised “Her Serene Highness, his daughter,” a marriage portion of 50,000 guldens, “which shall be delivered even before the wedding, in Munich, to the agent especially designated for this purpose by His Imperial Majesty, in return for the appropriate receipt.” Elisabeth was also to be provided “with all requirements of jewelry, gowns, gems, gold and silver utensils, in accordance with her elevated rank.” The Emperor pledged himself to supplement the marriage portion with an additional 100,000 guldens. This meant that the Empress’s private capital was measurably
increased. He further promised to make a gift to his bride of 12,000 ducats “after the marriage has been consummated, as a morning gift.” Such a gift was a long-standing custom in the imperial family. As a grant of appanage—lasting even into a possible period of widowhood—the Empress was to receive 100,000 guldens a year, intended solely for “finery, dresses, alms, and minor expenditures.” The cost of everything else—that is, “the table, linens and horses, maintenance and remuneration of servants, and all household effects”—was, of course, borne by the Emperor.49
This stipulated appanage was five times that of Archduchess Sophie, who received a mere 20,000 guldens a year. However, three days before the wedding, the Emperor raised his mother’s yearly income to 50,000.50 (At that time, a workman—provided he could find work at all during this period of pervasive unemployment—working twelve to fourteen hours a day, earned at most 200 to 300 guldens a year, women about half that, and children only a fraction. A lieutenant’s salary was 24 guldens a month, noncommissioned soldiers earned correspondingly less.)
On his last visit to Munich, four weeks before the wedding, the Emperor brought a magnificent diamond tiara inset with large opals, and a matching choker and earrings. The set was a gift from Archduchess Sophie, who had worn the tiara at her own wedding. It was worth more than 60,000 guldens—an enormous value even for the Emperor. Still in Munich, Franz Joseph wrote to his mother in Vienna that she need have no fears, the jewelry would “certainly be very carefully kept and immediately put in safekeeping.”51 Evidently Sophie had no great faith in the orderliness of her sister’s household.
Sisi’s letter of thanks had an extremely awkward ring: “but be assured, my dear aunt, that I am keenly aware of your great goodness to me, and that it is comforting to me to know that always and in all situations of my life I will be allowed to entrust myself to your maternal affection.”52
Aside from the many instances of patronizing and much tactless advice, for the present Elisabeth had little cause to complain of her mother-in-law. Sophie supervised the renovations of the imperial villa in Bad Ischl, and she showered the young girl with jewelry and precious objects of every sort. Her letters to her sister in Saxony never criticized the girl; the Archduchess praised every little thing she noticed—especially Sisi’s simplicity and shyness.
Sophie spent months furnishing the young couple’s apartment in the greatest good taste. These living quarters in the Hofburg consisted of an anteroom, an entrance hall, a dining room, a mirrored room, a drawing room, a dressing room, and a bedroom. If one leaves aside the magnificent furnishings and the size of the drawing room, the whole was rather more like the living quarters of the haute bourgeoisie, though without bathroom, lavatory (chaises percées were still in vogue in the Hofburg), and without its own kitchen. All meals were taken in the bosom of the family; it never occurred to the Archduchess that a young wife might prefer having a household of her own. Sophie personally picked out the tapestries and curtains, the rugs and furniture. She placed great importance on purchasing only domestic products, to promote local trade.
Sisi was to have only the best and most expensive. Her toiletry set, for example, was made of massive gold.53 Sophie placed in the apartment precious objects, pictures, silver, Chinese porcelain, statues, and clocks from the various collections of the Imperial House as well as from the treasure-house and the Ambrase Collection. The inventories have been preserved,54 even down to the Emperor’s personal linens, which were ample indeed. And Sophie knew very well that the bride would not be bringing a trousseau that could match the Viennese provisions.
Sophie was not one to hide her light under a bushel. Her sisters admired the Archduchess’s energy. For example, Queen Marie of Saxony wrote, “My good Sophie is … as always, self-denial incarnate, eager to give everything away and to do without for her future daughter-in-law, and she thinks of every little thing that might contribute to the happiness and comfort of the young couple. Recently Luise [Ludovika] also wrote to me correctly that it is unlikely that a bride was ever looked after so lovingly as is her daughter.”55
A month before the wedding, the solemn “act of renunciation” occurred in Munich. This was Sisi’s waiver of any claim to the succession in the kingdom of Bavaria. The members of the royal and ducal houses, the court dignitaries and the ministers of state, all watched the sixteen-year-old girl, who sat beside the King under a canopy on the dais of the throne room, for the first time in her life. Many eyes saw little Sisi, “having bowed to Their Majesties and Their Most Serene Highnesses her parents, move to the table where the Gospel lay, which is held out to Her Royal Highness by His Excellency the Archbishop.”56 The declaration of renunciation was read out, Sisi was put under oath. Then she signed the document. The somber ceremony was a small foretaste of the formal life awaiting her in Vienna.
The bridal trousseau, twenty-five trunks of it, arrived in Vienna well ahead of the bride. The precise inventory of everything Sisi brought to Vienna has been preserved; it shows clearly that the Emperor’s bride really was not a “good match.” Though the inventory lists jewelry worth at least 100,000 guldens, closer scrutiny indicates that more than 90 percent of the listed pieces had been gifts from the groom and Archduchess Sophie, presented during the engagement period.
The silver effects, at that time the pride of every bride from “a good family,” were more than modest, adding up only to a value of roughly 700 guldens. That amount included every washing pitcher, every silver dish no matter how small, every coffeepot.
Indeed, it could not be considered a trousseau appropriate to her rank, as stipulated in the marriage contract. If we consider the pride even brides from the haute bourgeoisie took in spreading their dowry before inquisitive eyes during this period (Sisi’s daughter-in-law, Stephanie of Belgium, would take great satisfaction in doing so in her time), we will understand the many scornful looks from the Viennese court ladies, the many disparaging comments among the wealthy Austrian aristocracy. Money and property—of course, along with an impeccable pedigree, an essential precondition for acceptance at court—played an excessively large role in Vienna.
At 50,000 guldens, Sisi’s wardrobe represented a considerable asset, though even here the most valuable item, a blue velvet cloak with sable trimmings and a sable muff, was a gift from the Emperor. The future Empress owned four ballgowns (two white, one pink, and one sky blue with white roses); seventeen Putzkleider, “fancy gowns”—that is, formal gowns with trains (starting with the wedding dress, with its overdress of silver moiré, followed by taffeta and tulle dresses in the favored colors of white and pink, but of course also a black gown for the eventuality of court mourning); fourteen silk dresses; and nineteen summer frocks, which were, following the fashion of the day, adorned with embroidered flowers or trimmed with roses, violets, straw, and ears of wheat.
It was still the time of crinolines, and Sisi had three. The hooped skirts went with a narrow waist, which even in such a slender young woman as little Sisi had to be emphasized by tight lacing and corsets; Sisi owned four of these, along with three special ones for riding, since a lady had to allow herself to be laced even for outdoor exercise.
Along with the gowns went appropriate “fancy trimmings,” such as twelve “headdresses” of feathers, rose petals, apple blossoms, lace, ribbon, and pearls, as well as floral adornments and wreaths of flowers, which the ladies carried to ornament and supplement their gowns. There were sixteen hats: white and pink feathered hats, several lace and straw hats, even a garden hat with a garland of wild flowers. That last was the hat Sisi had worn in Bad Ischl, to the Emperor’s great delight.
Even the underwear is listed precisely: twelve dozen (that is, a hundred forty-four) camisoles, most of them of batiste with lace, and three dozen nightgowns. The fourteen dozen stockings were of silk, though a few were made of cotton. There were ten bed jackets of muslin and silk; twelve embroidered nightcaps; three negligee caps of embroidered muslin; twenty-four night neckerchiefs; six dozen petticoats of
piqué, silk, and flannel; five dozen pantalettes; twenty-four combing coats; and three bathing shirts.
The number of shoes was considerable. Only six pairs, however, were leather ankle boots; all other shoes (a hundred thirteen pairs altogether) were of velvet, taffeta, silk, or “stuff—hardly suitable, therefore, to be worn for any length of time. It seems that it was particularly in the area of shoes that Sisi had been inadequately provided for. Hardly had she arrived in Vienna than new shoes had to be bought—for the unusually large sum of 700 guldens. The Empress of Austria was not allowed to wear a pair of shoes for more than a day. Then the shoes were given away—a custom to which young Elisabeth could not resign herself and which she later abolished.
The final grouping in the inventory was made up of “other objects.” These included two fans, two umbrellas, three large and three small parasols, three pairs of rubber galoshes. Even tortoise-shell combs, clothes brushes, hairbrushes, nailbrushes, toothbrushes, and shoehorns are enumerated, along with a box of straight pins and hairpins, ribbons, and buttons.
It is not difficult to see in this list the speed, even the excitement, with which this trousseau was assembled. Ludovika had long been preparing and planning for Helene’s expected great match. Improvisation would have to do for Sisi. There was no chance of falling back on previously acquired goods, one had to concentrate on the essential—and what was essential were the “fancy gowns” for gala occasions. Everything else was incidental.
To the sixteen-year-old girl, this provisioning represented luxury such as she had never known. In view of the modest style of life to which she was accustomed, her many new gowns must have made her feel immensely rich, and she never suspected that all her new worldly goods were as nothing by Viennese standards and that only too soon she would be ridiculed for her simple wardrobe. Even the enamored Emperor had written his mother from Munich in October, “With the trousseau, it seems to me, things are not moving ahead well, and I have difficulty believing that it will be pretty.”57