The Empress Beautifies Herself
“You said you hated having children, didn't you?”
That was just because it happened out of the blue without any planning. And I threw a little tantrum because it hurt.
“The people love the children, and the more heirs we have, the more stable the succession. It's all good.”
Just look at the reaction when I gave birth to Ferdinand in Bohemia—nothing delights the subjects more.
“Sissi. Wait a moment.”
Why?
“You don't mean you'll give birth in every province, do you?”
“Of course? Didn't you see how the people of Prague adored it?”
No way this man ever cared about the subjects.
I climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers over me.
“We'll see tomorrow. Actions speak louder than a hundred words.”
As soon as I finished speaking, my eyelids grew heavy as lead.
I'm so tired.
Whether it was the beer I'd just drunk or the aftereffects of childbirth, I didn't even have the energy to open my mouth again. “Goodnight, Joshy.”
I buried my face in the pillow and fell into a deep sleep.
*
It's gone….
I stretched and got out of bed, slipping on my slippers.
It's nice not having to act like a doll in a cage anymore, just like before.
Elisabeth wasn't exaggerating with that line.
"I hate this life, like a bird in a cage."
"I hate this life, this doll-like version of me—"
Clap!
I slapped both my cheeks to shake off the creeping sentimentality.
“First pregnancy last time, now postpartum this time.”
Elisabeth has great numbers, but the content is so depressing.
I rang the bell to summon the maids.
They came in right away, familiarly carrying tools for my beauty routine.
I need to take care of my skin, which I neglected during pregnancy. So much to do.
“Begin.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Sigh. I'd rather eat it grilled.
I held back.
Thinking about it, there's no need to make a fuss. Haven't I grilled tough pork rind for collagen, gnawed on chicken feet, and even slathered snail slime on my face? When we're injecting purified botox into our faces, fresh veal from a just-slaughtered calf? This is luxury, pure luxury.
It's just the highest-grade organic protein pack.
I hypnotized myself and closed my eyes.
“Apply it thoroughly.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Organic, huh….
Ah!
As I stood up, the maids immediately stepped back.
“Your Majesty?”
Being eco-friendly doesn't mean it's people-friendly.
“Something moist like cucumber or strawberry instead.”
“What about the beef…?”
“Have the cook serve it to the servants' table.”
It'd be a waste to throw away good meat, especially imperial-grade.
“Do the same with any leftover meat from making gravy in the future.”
The maids come from great noble families, so they're used to plenty, but it'll be a treat for the servants.
While preparing for my bath, I started skin care with a cucumber pack.
No official duties for the next forty days anyway.
The downside is no sunlight, but Joseph doesn't visit much during this time either. Perfect for skincare.
“Your Majesty, the bath is ready.”
In the bathroom, the tub was filled with a white liquid sloshing around.
“Goat's milk mixed with olive oil, Your Majesty.”
Perfect.
I slipped off my robe, keeping on a thin chemise, and sank into the tub.
Aaah, so cool—
I'm so languid, sleepiness is washing over me again.
“Your Majesty, strawberry mousse.”
Hunyadi brought a pack of mashed strawberries and honey.
The maids began spreading the chilled strawberry mousse on my face and neck.
The next maids applied the coffee I'd used on Joseph last time to my hair.
The feel of warm milk, the tickle of strawberry at my nose, and the faint coffee aroma.
This is healing.
“Your Majesty, the scent is divine.”
“Isn't it?”
I whispered lazily, making sure the mousse didn't drip down my cheeks.
Whew.
This is the one time I can truly enjoy for myself.
Usually, it's empress duties, playing with the kids, official events… my body's not infinite.
Speaking of, I wrote back to Eugénie after she asked last time. Hope she's doing well.
***
“…And how exactly do you do this?”
“She does it almost every day.”
Eugénie was having tea with the Duchess of Metternich.
In her hand was the letter from Sissi containing beauty secrets.
She nodded at the strawberry pack and milk bath—methods the French court could manage.
But what came next was the problem.
“A pull-up bar in the bedroom?”
Eugénie's eyebrow shot up.
“It must be a mistake. A circus performer, maybe, but in the empress's bedroom?”
“It's true, Your Majesty. I heard it myself while in Vienna.”
Pauline set down her teacup and clicked her tongue.
“She wakes up, takes a quick cold bath, and before the maids arrive, hangs from the bar.”
“Good heavens….”
“That's not all. After meals, she goes for a walk in the nearby woods… but it's not a walk.”
“If not a walk, then what?”
Pauline smacked her lips.
“Marching. No breaks, almost running, for three or four hours.” She recalled lagging behind with the other maids and taking a carriage back.
Eugénie, conscious of her corseted waist, asked, “She does this for three or four hours in the woods, in this tight thing?”
Pauline had only stated facts, but Eugénie couldn't believe it.
“Does her chief lady-in-waiting keep up?”
“Countess Esterházy is favored by Her Majesty, so she gets that time off.”
“And that's how she gets… that tiny waist.”
“Rumors say the Emperor can wrap his hands around it completely.”
Could it really just be for beauty?
She'd sent the letter because postpartum weight gain was bothering her, and Sissi was famed for her enduring beauty after birth.
“But doesn't Empress Elisabeth love riding? Why walks instead of horseback?”
Pauline couldn't answer that.
I can't say she chose walks after fighting Archduchess Sophie over etiquette.
And besides.
How do I say she got into the habit of fleeing at a speed old maids can't match?
Pauline hid her mouth with her fan, looking troubled.
Eugénie noticed and changed the subject.
“Any special secrets?”
***
After the bath, Hunyadi held out a tray as if waiting.
At first she questioned why use a dinner spoon, but now she prepares it without asking.
“It's cold—perfect.”
I sat in the chair, ready for my massage.
The beauty maid pressed a round jade tool from my jaw, sweeping up to below my ears over the oiled skin.
Ooh, that hurts.
After the collarbone and trapezius, only the final step remained.
“The drink?”
“Here, Your Majesty.”
Opening the lid revealed a green liquid.
Cabbage, apple, honey, and lemon blended….
“The imperial chef calls it 'Vienna Woods Essence.'”
Yeah, they had to give it some fancy name. Poor chef….
And beside it, an egg yolk.
Fuu.
Here we go.
I held my breath and downed the egg yolk and beef gravy first.
Ugh… fishy, so fishy.
“You said it was too fishy last time, so we added more salt.”
Esterházy said this as she handed me the Vienna Woods Essence.
Maybe skip the beef and yolk next time. Elisabeth died by assassination, so it's fine, but it tastes awful.
No need for makeup either.
“Call the hairdresser now.”
The chief hairdresser from the Vienna Court Theater.
And behind her, an unfamiliar face.
“Madam.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Who's the girl with you?”
“My assistant, Franziska Fanny Angerer.”
Oh, really?
I nodded absently.
Her usual assistant must be ill.
Doesn't matter who, as long as they're palace-approved, their skill is vetted.
“Begin.”
I leaned deep into the chair and closed my eyes.
My abundant hair down to my ankles—Joseph likes it, and I'm satisfied, but… as she unbound and tugged lightly, my neck stiffened.
Ooh, my neck.
It's so heavy.
Last time it weighed nearly a kilo.
During hair care, I study foreign news or local languages.
Today's Ida teaching Hungarian.
“Ah!”
“S-sorry! Your Majesty!”
What's with her today?
“It's fine. Continue.”
The madam kept making uncharacteristic slips.
…Ah, the coffee. No shampoo.
“Teacher. How about wiping with a warm damp cloth first?”
“Her Majesty's safety comes first.”
The madam warned her assistant and took my hair again.
“I'll untangle the knots.”
Crack.
An ominous sound and pain shot through.
“Stop!”
It hurts.
I clutched my throbbing scalp.
“You.”
I swallowed my irritation and pointed at the assistant.
“Y-yes, me, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, you do it.”
“Your Majesty, she's just an apprentice.”
Esterházy stepped between us firmly.
“Her Majesty's safety. Madam, that's enough for today.”
At Esterházy's warning, the madam retreated, and Fanny nervously began tending my hair with trembling hands.
“Ida, continue.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Hungarian is notoriously tough.
Nothing like the empire's other languages.
I have to work hard at it.
While deep in Hungarian study, Fanny's hands paused.
“Your Majesty, it's done.”
In the mirror, my hair flowed smoothly.
Best stylist I've had yet?
“Well done.”
I'll ask Joseph to request her personally later.
Now, with just palace insiders left, time for work.
“Your Majesty, a letter from Prince Albert of the United Kingdom.”
When did he become a state letter?
Ida naturally cut in and read it.
— I eagerly await the Austrian artworks, selected by Your Majesty's discerning eye, to grace London. Your cousin and friend, Albert.
The 1862 London Expo.
Wonder if Joseph will go if I ask him to come along?