Happy Ending - Reprise
“Sis, why’d you suddenly cut your hair?”
She’s just eyeing me annoyingly without buying the bonds.
Wants the world but won’t lift a finger.
“Well, I can’t put it exactly into words, but… now I think I get why you cut your hair, Sis.”
Hair grows back, but opportunities to flip off Prussia don’t come around often.
They say women cut their hair when they want a change of pace.
Now I kinda get that too.
And somehow, my head feels clearer.
“What did His Majesty say?”
…Better if she doesn’t know.
According to Grüne, there were too many un-emperor-like words.
I fiddled with the ends of my newly shortened hair.
Awkward.
“Should I have donated my hair like you, Sis? Nah. It probably sold for that much because it’s you.”
“Our goals are just different.”
I can play the benevolent empress because Joseph’s there, but…
“Right?”
“You have to be tough like Grand Duchess Maria Carolina.”
Marie changed the subject, clearly not wanting to dwell.
“So, how much did it go for?”
I pointed to the newspaper on the table.
“This is just an estimate.”
I’d leaked the story on purpose.
“Secrets are better when fewer people know.”
“Sis! Can’t you just tell me?”
“Hmm, about as much as the inner allowance I got when Rudolf was born.”
100,000 gulden.
To me, it was just a lock of hair.
“…That much?”
I gave a slight nod.
Marie, being part of the royal family, had a rough idea of my allowances.
The moment I named the figure, she’d say, “Is that enough?”
The moment I announced I’d donate my hair, Italy reacted first.
“Your Majesty, here’s today’s donation list.”
Nobles who had to save face first.
Joseph’s reports probably showed them competing to buy bonds.
No Rossi on the list.
The fact that Rossi—one of Venice’s richest capitalists—hadn’t donated didn’t mean he was pro-Sardinia.
“Schedule the audience with Rossi for the most convenient afternoon slot.”
He was the one who’d shelled out the 100,000 gulden.
“Aren’t you worried, Sis?”
“About what?”
“The war.”
“Of course I’m worried.”
But they can’t make me lose a winnable war.
Even if it drags on, Bismarck can’t demand territory from us.
This war’s goal was German leadership.
Demand land, and the Anglo-French big brothers would come for him.
“Sardinia’s a bit concerning, but…”
With Prussia failing to get what it wants, do they even have bandwidth for Sardinia?
I didn’t think so.
“Elisabeth donated her hair?”
Eugénie asked again, as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
To Sisi, hair wasn’t just hair like for other empresses—it was a shock.
Knee-length locks, hours of daily care, a dedicated stylist?
“I need to see the Emperor.”
This is my chance to shine as mediator.
“And keep me posted on the Rothschilds’ moves.”
Vienna’s nobles rode emotional rollercoasters like fickle autumn weather, flipping several times a day.
Café and salon vibes swung between heaven and hell with every telegram.
When victory reports came from the south:
“Hahaha! What’d I tell ya? Pasta-boilers beating the Imperial Army? No way!”
“Benedek drowned ‘em!”
“Knew it since our vassals got too big for their britches!”
“Italians? Predictable. War? Nah, they sing and chase skirts.”
“Heroic opera tonight?”
“Heroic? Perfect!”
Conversations often drifted to opera, far from war’s tide.
They hummed Radetzky March, twirled mustaches, chewed on Italian cowardice like appetizers.
But the laughter didn’t last.
Dark clouds from Bohemia’s north shrouded Vienna’s skies.
“Knew it…”
Champagne glasses vanished; potent brandy took their place.
“Kramgallas—what’d you expect from that guy?”
“Knows booze, not maps.”
“All talk of bravery, climbed by flattery.”
“Sycophant blinded His Majesty.”
“Tonight’s opera’s tragedy, not heroism.”
It repeated the next day.
“Genoa’s nothing against Venice anyway!”
“One sea win changes zilch?”
“Ships rebuild; land’s forever.”
“Plus Tegetthoff?”
“Luck.”
“Genoans panicked.”
Sea battles weren’t mainstream yet, apparently.
“We won, though…?”
“So?”
“Time for a sea opera.”
“Oberon tonight. Join me?”
“Bonds shopping…”
The word “bonds” hushed the café.
Buy now?
But… losing Lombardy-Venetia’s inevitable…
Defeat turns bonds to trash.
Nobles, sensing loss, sought safer loyalty plays over rash bets.
Post-war relief bonds better?
“Johann, didn’t you say no bonds?”
“Well…”
Johann whispered precious intel to his friend.
“Just between us. Her Majesty auctioned her hair.”
Anton jumped, voice rising.
“For real?”
“Shh!”
“…Seriously?”
“Papers in Lombardy-Venetia already.”
Why’s the court silent on this?
Anton pondered, then concluded.
“Don Quixote tonight.”
Relief-bond-only buyers get no soup.
“Reichenberg—no touching.”
Karl Georg von der Haydt drew a line on the financials.
“It’s already occupied.”
Albrecht von Roon needed cash for supplies now.
“Army or not, not all funds are military.”
Haydt explained with reviewed docs.
“Three Reichenberg textile factories. One-third owned by London.”
“London?”
“Britain lost cotton investments to their recent famine.”
Von Roon eyed the sheets, tapping paper.
Numbers irked more than front reports today.
“No way around it?”
“Possible. But it escalates to diplomacy.”
“Diplomacy? They know we’re at war—no joining, either.”
“No intervention. But seize, and Parliament gets a letter demanding capital protection.”
Next: regret over neutrality, hiked sea insurance, credit review.
Sissi’s pre-US Civil War cotton bets now blocked Prussia’s war.
“His Majesty didn’t seat us to twiddle thumbs.”
“Long war, maybe. Short-term? Tough. Raid Hanover’s vaults instead.”
Haydt’s final warning, lest military dissolve whimsically.
“Know the ‘Don Pacifico Affair’?”
Athens: Portuguese-Jewish British citizen David Pacifico’s house torched in riots.
Palmerton: “British citizen = Roman citizen,” dispatched navy, blockaded Greek ports.
Imagine Prussian troops looting London-financed factories—not if, but when.
“This loss, but Bohemia’s ours.”
“Austria’s not the end.”
Prussian brass knew: true German unity lay beyond Austria.
Junkers thought differently, though.
“Sir Haydt, whether our King agrees…”
Watching Austria retreat faster than expected, Wilhelm banked on victory.
Even as Archduke Albrecht kept ordering retreats, commanders grumbled but obeyed.
“Retreat again.”
“Watch your mouth.”
Albrecht eyed Brünn for the showdown.
Unlike Königgrätz, Prussia’s supply lines stretched; Brünn, near Vienna, favored Austria.
But lose here, and Vienna falls.
Plip, plip… pitter-patter.
Rain sounds brightened staff faces; they rushed outside.
Whoosh—
Drops swelled to downpour, soaking Bohemia’s plains.
First hope since repeated defeats for Austria.
“First clash at Brünn—like today.”
“Not bayonets?”
“Gablenz’s Schleswig report: wax issued per soldier.”
Bayonets had yielded to firepower before.
But wax depletes. Albrecht targeted that moment.
“I see you, Your Majesty.”
“Come in, Rossi.”
First direct meet for Sisi and Rossi.
“Didn’t know your tastes, so I picked mine.”
Dining with the Empress? Rare, especially for reclusive Sisi.
Rossi sat sparingly.
Hard to say—only saw her dancing in Venice, introducing Archduchess Adriana.
Table center: vongole pasta.
Sisi took grilled sea bass via server, asked:
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. Repaying Venice favors.”
“Love?”
“Reopening Carnival, introducing Archduchess Adriana.”
Sisi twirled vongole.
“Not just whim?”
“Venetians trust the waves.”
“Wave-rider—poet material.”
“Overpraise, Your Majesty.”
Sisi smiled, but Rossi couldn’t read the truth beneath.
“Want it? I’ll buy back the auction lot for 100,000 gulden.”