The Enigmatic Myths Surrounding Empress Elisabeth of Austria: A 19th-Century Royal Whose Beauty and Tragic Demise Created a Lasting Legend

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The reluctant empress known as “Sisi” painstakingly crafted her image through portraits and photographs, ensuring she would be remembered in a specific way

Elizabeth Djinis – History Correspondent

April 28, 2025 6:30 a.m.

Empress Elisabeth of Austria, often referred to as “Sisi,” was a master at shaping her public persona. While her efforts may not have strengthened her position within the Viennese court, they significantly influenced how she is perceived today.

Public domain via Wikimedia Commons

In her lifetime, Sisi was celebrated for her striking beauty, her fashion sense, and her deep connection with the Hungarian populace. However, her legacy has evolved in the modern era, with many seeing her as a feminist icon—a shift that has drawn some criticism from historians.

The Netflix series “The Empress,” which has been renewed for a third season, showcases Elisabeth, portrayed by Devrim Lingnau, as a witty character reminiscent of Elizabeth Bennet. In its second season, she expresses her awareness of societal expectations with the line, “I know girls have less worth in this family,” illustrating her disregard for traditional roles. This portrayal depicts an empress who engages with her subjects and challenges prevailing norms.

“The Empress” is not the first dramatization to diverge from history. The iconic mid-1950s Sissi trilogy showcased actress Romy Schneider as a charming figure navigating life without significant struggle, offering a sanitized perspective of the empress tailored to reshape Austria’s post-war image rather than depicting the complexities of Elisabeth’s reality.

Perhaps the true Sisi would appreciate these narratives, reflecting her own desire for anonymity beyond the age of 30. They depict her youthful beauty cherished by many, aligning with her wish to preserve a specific image. While these adaptations may veer into fantasy, they appropriately illustrate Elisabeth’s talent for creating an identity that captivated public perception despite her tumultuous existence.

In truth, the life of Elisabeth was often marked by melancholy, shaped by the constraints placed upon royal women in the 19th century. Empresses were expected to fulfill their roles by producing heirs and adhering to the superficial requirements of royalty. This notion resonates with the feelings expressed in her poetry, where she mused on her existence as one of entrapment. Biographer Brigitte Hamann captures this sentiment, translating one of her poignant verses:

Once I was so young and rich
In love of life and hope;
I thought nothing could match my strength,
The whole world was open to me.
I loved, I lived,
I wandered through the world;
But never reached what I strove for.—
I deceived and was deceived.

These reflections reveal Elisabeth’s deeper struggles. Biographer Michaela Lindinger, curator at the Vienna Museum, describes her as a deeply unhappy individual, confined by her royal duties and lacking genuine interests in societal issues such as education or public health.

Elisabeth, born in Munich in 1837, was the daughter of Duke Maximilian Joseph in Bavaria and Princess Ludovika of Bavaria. Their marriage was fraught with unhappiness, with Maximilian admitting his lack of love for Ludovika. This environment did not incubate a positive outlook on marriage for the young Elisabeth, who grew up with little expectation of becoming empress. Instead, she spent time outdoors, enjoying activities like horseback riding and swimming, largely free from courtly constraints.

In 1853, a pivotal moment occurred as Elisabeth, then age 15, attended her sister Helene’s engagement to Emperor Franz Joseph I of Austria. Attracted to Elisabeth, Franz Joseph chose her over her sister, a development that surprised Elisabeth. She remarked that she loved “the emperor so much! If only he were not the emperor!” Following their marriage in April 1854, Elisabeth quickly realized the weight of her new responsibilities.

Michael Wohlfart from the Sisi Museum characterizes Elisabeth as a wild spirit forced into the rigid environment of the Austrian court, where tradition held sway and modern ideas were unwelcome. Lindinger stresses that Elisabeth faced a significant loss of autonomy upon becoming empress.

Visitors to Vienna encounter Elisabeth’s legacy in many forms—from souvenirs to the opulent halls of Schönbrunn Palace. Filmmaker Marie Kreutzer reflected in 2022 that Elisabeth was a key figure in Austrian culture, inspiring her to create the film Corsage, which presents a more nuanced view of the aging empress.

The Sisi Museum, which opened in 2004, highlights Elisabeth’s private life, providing an immersive experience of her time. The museum’s design features thematic installations, gradually acquiring a notable collection of her personal artifacts, although originally, it lacked items directly associated with her.

Lindinger first connected with Elisabeth through professional duty, curating an exhibition to commemorate the 100th anniversary of her assassination. This project empowered visitors to appreciate Sisi as more than just a film character, revealing the depth of her poetry and personal struggles.

Scholars also dissect the imagery surrounding Elisabeth, especially her portraits, which diverged from standard royal representations, focusing instead on her personal allure rather than imperial authority. This approach drew admiration and intrigue.

Throughout her time at court, Elisabeth’s failure to adhere to royal conventions made her a point of both fascination and frustration within society. She was even known to disregard the tradition of donating her used clothing to servants, much to their chagrin, fostering resentment among those who felt entitled to her possessions.

People often gathered outside the Hofburg, hoping to catch a glimpse of their elusive empress; however, Elisabeth maintained a deliberate distance from public view, prioritizing her family duties above public appearances. After giving birth to three children, she retreated further into private life, shunning the physical realities of motherhood.

Her relationship with Franz Joseph soon became strained. Differences in political ideology emerged, and the emperor confided his thoughts to his mother instead of his wife. Hamann recounts that Sisi, feeling sidelined, accepted a role akin to that of a subordinate.

Elisabeth’s nurturing side often manifested as a soothing influence on her husband, understanding the power of her affection to ease tensions. Yet, her marriage faced challenges as rumors swirled about her involvement in extramarital affairs, which she vehemently denied.

This fundamental misalignment continued to grow over time. Hamann notes the stark contrast in temperament between Elisabeth—sensitive and imaginative—and Franz Joseph, practical and stoic. Their relationship became limited to formalities, veiling deeper rifts in their emotional connection.

Elisabeth also expressed discomfort with physical intimacy, associating romantic love with burdens that conflicted with her desire for freedom. She articulated these sentiments in her poetry, where she outlined her disdain for love as detrimental to her independence and youth.

Wohlfart observes that Sisi’s demand for autonomy was a significant aspect of her character. While some biographers paint her as impenetrable, they also acknowledge the severity of her critiques, reflecting on familial dynamics and court life through her poetic lens.

These poetic expressions lend insight into Elisabeth’s internal world, showcasing her connections with historical literary figures and her struggles with reality, highlighting her detachment from the expectations placed upon her as a royal.

Her preoccupation with physical appearance became a notable aspect of her life, serving as both a coping mechanism for her malaise and a portrayal of the beauty standards of her time. Lindinger describes the empress as obsessively committed to maintaining her figure, exercising rigorously in pursuit of an ideal self.

Elisabeth’s flowing hair was emblematic of her image, demanding significant attention and care, even as it caused discomfort. Her elaborate hairstyling rituals underscored her connection to her identity as a public figure, with the weight of her hair becoming a metaphor for the pressures of her regal position.

In many of her portraits, her features and extravagant hair became focal points. For instance, an iconic painting by Winterhalter captures her striking beauty and theatrical flair, drawing her public persona into sharp focus.

Ultimately, it is her poetry that provides the most authentic representation of her psyche. Fearful of its potential consequences, Elisabeth ordered her verses sealed, preserving them until 1951, at a time when they could reveal aspects of her life that belied her public façade.

As Elisabeth aged, her political views shifted, moving away from her husband’s ideals. She made surprising declarations that challenged prevailing government structures. Influential events such as the Ausgleich of 1867, which established Austria-Hungary’s dual monarchy, showcased her involvement at a time when her influence was marginal at best.

Her connection to Hungarian culture, bolstered by her friendship with Count Gyula Andrássy, demonstrated Elisabeth’s keen interest beyond her royal duties. However, her advocacy for Hungary ultimately led to tensions with Franz Joseph, who later limited her political engagement.

As time progressed, Elisabeth found herself increasingly reclusive, especially following the tragic death of her son, Crown Prince Rudolf, in a murder-suicide scandal. This event deepened her desire to withdraw from public life and contributed to her obsessive focus on maintaining an enduring image.

To solidify her legacy, Elisabeth engaged in myth-building, aligning herself with prevailing beauty ideals of her era. This need for a preserved image became evident in the contrasting depictions circulated after her assassination, which immortalized her youthful goddess-like figure.

On September 10, 1898, she was fatally attacked by Italian anarchist Luigi Lucheni while in Geneva. The aftermath of her death elicited a mixed response, as many in Vienna expressed little sorrow for her passing, instead mourning the loss of her husband and their family.

Although Elisabeth grappled with the constraints of her role during her life, her legacy became a carefully curated self-portrait, a culmination of the many facets that defined her—both revered and reviled. In her portraits, she often appeared not as an empress but as a star, a testament to her enduring celebrity and the era of modernity she epitomized.

The paradox of Elisabeth’s life remains compelling even today. Her beauty continues to fascinate, but it is the complexities of her character and her conscious efforts to define herself that invite deeper consideration. In exploring her narrative, we may ponder how a woman so reclusive could so effectively forge an immortal public identity.

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