The Woman Who Could Become a Mother
"The stories coming through the nobles every day are one thing, but this is different."
I smiled as I chatted with the man beside me.
I poked Joseph in the side, and only then did he react.
"Indeed."
Tell me how it's different!
"...It's the opposite of what they said—that the nobles themselves are protesting the factories being built."
The man replied with an expression of deep emotion.
"No, Your Majesty. We have ears and eyes of our own."
The opera had already faded into mere background music; every subject in the audience was watching us—watching me—and straining to listen.
"His Majesty ponders every day how best to commend your hard work, yet the nobles who should speak for you have betrayed you instead."
The emperor isn't oppressing the people—the nobles are deceiving the emperor?
In truth, the Milanese nobles you trust aren't independence fighters; they're a corrupt privileged class blocking the emperor's grace for their own gain. Got it?
The boy sitting right in front of us turned to ask.
"Your Majesty, but why do you wish to speak with us—"
"Emilio! Forgive us, Your Majesty..."
You, a republican, huh?
It's not like they can suddenly believe the emperor is their father overnight.
To them, the '48 revolutions are still fresh—less than a full generation ago.
"It's fine. At your age, all sorts of thoughts can tangle the mind."
I answered the boy, who looked just fifteen or so.
"The Emperor and Empress are the father and mother of the Empire; the subjects are our children. Isn't it natural for parents to talk with their children?"
Poke, poke.
"Exactly. Unable to tend to every child myself, I've heard through the nobles who represent them."
Good job, my Joseph.
I placed my hand on the back of Joseph's.
"The subjects were deceived by them and wronged their father."
"Indeed."
"Fearing Your Majesty's meetings with the people, they've fled in advance."
At those words, everyone's gaze turned to the empty box seats.
"Lies always come to light, just like... that emperor's invisible clothes. Everyone whispers how magnificent they are, but in the end, there's nothing there at all."
To attend La Scala, these were citizens with some capital to spare.
Poke, poke.
"Ahem. No matter how brightly the facade shines, a place missing truth is nothing but a whitewashed tomb."
"...Your Majesty!"
The subjects stared at Joseph in shock.
...What was that? Why's he getting a better reaction than me?
Even if Jesus returned to live in Milan, he wouldn't get that kind of fervor.
"Are you all right, sir?"
"Your Majesty, Your Majesty has seen through the nobles!"
With those words, the man beside me collapsed.
"Hey! Over here!"
I urgently called for the guards.
"Guards! A man's collapsed here! Hurry—to the hospital!"
The guards hesitated, torn between their duty and the Empress's command.
"This is an order. Get him to the hospital immediately. I'll ride back with His Majesty in his carriage—use mine."
The guard glanced between Joseph and me, then hoisted the fallen man and dashed off.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
Even as the Empress's words, a guard wouldn't move so readily without forgetting his post.
Joseph must have given some signal.
"If you're worried about the Empress, why not head to the hospital right after the play ends?"
I nodded.
For now, we had to handle this chaotic situation.
Silence filled the carriage on the way back after the play.
"Well done."
"You did more than your share."
He'd followed along perfectly despite the sudden improvisation.
The bourgeoisie wouldn't flip to our side in an instant.
"You know this is just a temporary bandage, right?"
Joseph nodded reluctantly.
"Do you think they truly believe in us now?"
No.
"Nationalism is like opium—it simplifies the world into black and white. Their misfortunes are Austria's fault; Sardinia's prosperity is thanks to the nation. A sweet delusion."
"Does that even make sense?"
Pfft.
"Joseph, our apostolic king. Could you convert to Protestantism?"
"Is that what you mean by religion?"
I gazed out the carriage window at the dark streets of Milan slipping by.
"A thoroughly modern religion where God is replaced by the nation."
"......"
"Just as you can't abandon your identity as apostolic king to become Protestant, those who've pledged to the Italian nation won't accept our Habsburg doctrine. To them, you're not the Pope—you're Martin Luther. Or rather, a caliph."
At least Protestants share a fractured brotherhood.
I looked at Joseph.
He still wore that expression—hard to understand, or unwilling to accept.
"Joseph. What makes a religion? Faith, scripture, and martyrs."
I folded my fingers one by one as I spoke.
"To them, the nation is unquestionable faith. Their shared language and reinvented history is scripture; those killed by your armies in '48 are the bloodied martyrs."
"Then what we did today was...?"
"Not missionary work."
I cut him off.
"We didn't try to convert their faith. We just exposed that 'the priests you believe in are greedy frauds embezzling your tithes.'"
"......"
"When the object of faith remains, but the leaders guiding it become untrustworthy, what happens to the flock?"
Joseph didn't answer.
"They seek a more fanatical new leader, or plunge into utter chaos doubting everything. What we saw at La Scala today wasn't rapture—it was that chaos. The man fainting was the same."
The Italian question was settled in our defeat.
"It's different from Hungary or Bohemia. We can win those over."
"Win over Bohemia and Hungary? They didn't choose to be Slavs or Hungarians either."
"Your Majesty, defining Bohemia as Slavs doesn't mean they want to submit to Russia. Caught between Germany and Russia, they'll think it's better to stick with us."
You already know that, Joseph.
"Your Majesty, if you want to talk politics with me more... forget Vienna's views for a bit."
I knew how Sophie's failures would unfold.
"If, as you've always wanted from me, you desire only love, not politics. Yes, I can do that."
"Tch..."
He pondered briefly, then asked cautiously.
"Then what was that just now? If the Italian problem can't be solved, why go that far?"
Just my personality.
"It'd be unfair if only we suffered."
Even if Sardinia unified it, I wanted a weakened Italy.
If I can't have it, I'll shatter it into pieces.
"...I felt a mother in you."
What? What the hell is this guy saying?
The more Joseph heard Sisi's explanation, the more one person came to mind.
'Mother...'
Cool reason untouched by emotion, ruthless divide-and-rule politics, and iron will to endure any criticism for the Empire's sake.
The standard of capable politics Joseph had learned from all his life was his mother, Archduchess Sophie.
"...I felt a mother in you."
Sisi wrinkled her delicate face in displeasure.
Joseph found it hard to answer her question.
As Empress, she was capable, but her policies clashed with his ideals.
Approaching the people without hesitation, reaching out not just to Germans but to Bohemians and Hungarians, treating Lombardy as a lost cause.
As a proponent of Greater Austria, Joseph couldn't easily take her hand.
Besides, the Sisi he longed for was a sanctuary.
The fact that his sole salvation wore his mother's face tormented him more.
I thought I'd escaped Mother's prison, only to find the wife I love is the same cage?
"Joseph."
She reached out again.
"Should I just... stop with the politics?"
Her warm hand enveloped him.
...Because I'm pathetic.
She was saying, 'If you can't handle me, I'll discard my strongest weapon for you and become your sanctuary.'
...Because I'm not strong enough to stabilize the Empire.
Joseph clenched his fist tight.
In truth, I don't like politics that much.
Memories of exhausting days from before come back, and basically, I hate the stress of competition.
In Sophie's and the Milanese nobles' case, I dove into politics out of anger at their invasions of my turf or dismissals.
So if Joseph tells me to quit, I plan to.
"Can you promise me one thing?"
"What?"
"Erase Mother's shadow from me."
I withdrew my hand and slowly nodded.
Joseph had ultimately chosen his mother.
I wasn't disappointed like Elisabeth might have been.
...I knew that's who he was from the start, and everyone's bonds and values point elsewhere.
"Got it, Joseph."
Still, it stung a little.