Warsaw Conference
"You could step off that gondola without losing a thing."
Rossi’s eyes wavered.
The string of defeats in Bohemia meant Italy’s defection was all too likely.
"Venetian merchants don’t send a launched ship back to port empty-handed."
"Jerusalem or Constantinople… doesn’t the outcome so far make it obvious?"
Are the rumors of losing Lombardy true?
Rossi believed the court had judged that losing Lombardy might be better than Bohemia.
"Joking aside, we won’t lose anything. Don’t you hear that?"
Sisi spoke with a joking smile, but Sardinia was still pounding fortresses in the south.
"It’s nothing major, but here, Königseck."
Königseck handed Rossi a paper bearing Sisi’s signature.
"Take this to Creditanstalt."
Rossi rose immediately and bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"No need for such formalities until dinner."
As Rossi sat back down, Sisi added casually,
"When your business prospers and you come to Vienna, it’d be good for you to learn etiquette by then."
"I’ll keep that in mind."
Rossi couldn’t tell if it was a rebuke or a promise.
Young, but already twelve years surviving the palace as empress.
Rossi revised his assessment of Sisi.
As Sisi set down her utensils, signaling the end of the meal, Rossi withdrew.
…I should preserve that hair carefully.
Rossi decided it was worth passing down to posterity.
All his business had sharpened was his eye for people.
"A letter has arrived from Count Andrássy."
"I’ll read it myself."
How would I know what Andrássy wrote?
Andrássy sometimes used words that embarrassed Sisi with misunderstandings.
Not love letters, but about Hungary—though Joseph misunderstood at least.
To Our Beloved Empress,
Nothing special.
If it had been Budapest instead of Verona, the value would have doubled at least; love always carries an incalculable premium, and so on.
— Andrássy
But that was exactly why Sisi avoided Hungary.
What I need are bonds, not relics.
"Call the physician."
"Is something wrong?"
"My stomach’s churning."
Her original physician, Joseph Schoda, had been left in Vienna on purpose by Sisi.
Tending wounded soldiers mattered more than the empress.
After checking her pulse, the physician said it was nothing serious.
"Likely temporary indigestion from nerves worn thin by the war."
"It’s been three months with no menstruation either."
"Returning to Vienna would…"
Sisi hadn’t called him to hear that.
"No other remedies?"
"Changing your environment is the only way."
"You may go."
Sisi soothed her stomach with lemon balm herbal tea brought by her maids.
"Ida, read me the news of Teggenhof’s victory."
Nothing relieves stress like a victory report at times like this.
Ida tactfully read from a Venetian paper, not one from Vienna.
"Gazzetta di Venezia."
Sisi just nodded.
The Adriatic remains ours. The imperial fleet under Admiral Teggenhof crushed the enemy despite being outnumbered… Genoa’s port once again chose silence before Venice.
Sardinia’s ironclads: two sunk. In ironclad combat, the ram remains the decisive solution.
Feels good all the way down.
The Austrian Empire had no sunken ships even in inferiority.
Coastal Croatia, despite its shores, was army-focused like the rest—victory cheers in Italian Evviva.
I see why commanders drill morale. Turns disadvantages into wins.
Sisi hoped her sister Marie would restore the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies.
Albrecht only truly grasped how many bonds had sold after receiving the supplies.
"We can hold Brünn for two months."
Supplies flowed so smoothly he even joked—uncharacteristic for Albrecht.
"Raised by Her Majesty the Empress."
"The Empress?"
"Yes, she donated her hair, they say."
"The Empress?"
Sisi would have snapped if she heard—what do they think my hair is?—but everyone reacted the same.
The conservatives scored a point.
They’d likely see the empress cutting her hair as too radical.
But Albrecht shook off thoughts of her.
His Majesty won’t stand idly by.
Joseph was known as magnanimous.
He’d hesitated until the last on signing the 1848 Hungarian revolutionaries’ executions.
Joseph wavered on politics, but was resolute when mother or wife were targeted.
"What’s the south like?"
Albrecht now had leisure to ask about the south—even a week into Brünn.
No rails meant Prussia hauled supplies by wagon through mud, wheels often stuck.
"A great victory at Pavia, they say."
"Pavia? Sardinia must be cornered."
"And…"
Yohn hesitated, then spoke under Albrecht’s gaze.
"Attacking Lignano."
On the quadrilateral fortress report, Albrecht weighed political fallout over battlefield wins.
"The House of Savoy’s done for."
Albrecht grimaced in horror.
War’s foremost line: don’t touch the empress.
"What’re those bastards saying?"
Albrecht dropped courtesy.
Even burial in European diplomacy was preferable.
"They blame the empress for not evacuating during war…"
"They declared war by surprise—think diplomacy will swallow that?"
The Sardinian-Piedmont king knew better.
Other nations might excuse new dynasties or colonies.
"Vienna orders us to hold just a bit longer."
Stupid Italians are helping us.
Great power diplomacy always follows custom.
"Does the prime minister mean such precedents should be tolerated?"
Precedent meant permissibility henceforth.
Palmerston faced Tory attacks.
Wouldn’t Prussia settling the German question be better for Europe?
Knowing Victoria’s mind, Palmerston endured silently.
"Prime Minister! Answer us!"
"Who keeps rules if not Britain!"
"They’ve crossed the line! Sardinia signed Geneva!"
Don’t they see we can’t let Germany fragment as France wants?
"Imperial safety is unrelated to Geneva."
"Ignore treaties, respect custom?"
Palmerston believed unified Germany would check Britain and Russia.
Austria leading Germany created an oversized power.
As time passed in British silence, Brünn’s decisive battle results emerged.
Britain could stomach that much.
Disraeli shook newspapers in Westminster, rebuking.
"Is Liberal balance waiting for Russia to step in?"
Russia, quiet since Crimea, reemerged as Europe’s gendarme.
Sensing something off as Palmerston stayed silent, Disraeli called,
"Prime Minister Palmerston?"
Palmerston remained standing, gripping the podium.
"…One moment."
Fever made lifting his head harder than usual.
"Europe…"
His last words.
He collapsed; by next dawn, Palmerston was dead—Britain missing its first intervention chance.
Kingdom of Poland Constitutional, Warsaw.
Bismarck disliked the news.
Even now discussing mediation, the Confederation dreams of resurgence, catching breath.
South German states like Bavaria armed faster with time.
French Foreign Minister Rouher,
Russian Prince Gorchakov,
Austrian Baron Hübsch,
Prussian Bismarck.
"Right on time."
Sardinia’s Foreign Minister Visconti-Venosta joined.
Gorchakov opened as mediator.
"We’re not here to debate war’s causes—enough has happened."
No one eyed the documents.
"France agrees this conference must yield results."
Gorchakov opened the first page.
"Russia proposes splitting agenda into four: military matters first, German question second, Italian third, great power guarantees and future order last."
"All agree?"
Hübsch supported first.
"Austria agrees to Russia’s proposal."
Bismarck nodded after thought.
"Prussia agrees—but each agenda in separate meetings."
Frame jointly, negotiate bilaterally for gains.
Hübsch, agreeing, added,
"Why not settle military here and now, while gathered?"
Gorchakov nodded.
"Fine. First agenda."
"Prussian forces tactically superior but failed decisive breakthrough."
All eyed Bismarck; he didn’t refute.
"Austrians preserved strength via phased retreat, holding defenses around Brünn."
France proposes immediate ceasefire.
Venosta couldn’t accept.
"Sardinia can continue the war."
"Prussia cannot agree to full ceasefire."
"Why?"
"Fronts unresolved."
As ceasefire debate raged, Gorchakov halted.
"Then, limited halt to operations—not full ceasefire?"
"Fronts?"
"Freeze at current holdings?"
"Austria agrees."
"Prussia accepts."
Venosta disliked it, but Prussia and Austria aligned.
Signatures done, pens down.
The first day ended anticlimactically.