The Empire's Great Photo Fiasco
The hottest topic in the empire right now was the war between the empress and the archduchess.
"No matter how bad their relationship is, is it right for the imperial family to be divided in the middle of a war?"
Those subtly criticizing the empress while supporting the archduchess.
"She's endured this much already—that's impressive enough. And they say the victory on the Italian front was thanks to Her Majesty the Empress?"
Those belittling the archduchess while backing the empress.
They clashed over other topics too.
"Bach's songs feel too classical these days."
Voices opposing the Bach system.
"There's a reason classics are called classics."
The rebuttal from Bach system supporters.
Pauline elegantly lifted her teacup for a sip, then glanced around slyly and lowered her voice.
"…It reminds me of an interesting story I heard just yesterday."
"What story?"
"There's been so much talk lately about the gardens in our court, hasn't there? Some people admire the French-style gardens. All the trees in perfect symmetry. The orderly sight puts you at ease. But you know… I've been getting interested in English-style gardens lately. A bit wild, full of unpredictable wildflowers… but at least you can breathe."
French gardens that permitted not a single weed, versus English gardens that harmonized with nature through minimal upkeep.
The contrast between the two was stark.
"What an intriguing time. I wonder if this new wind will tear down those sturdy walls? Or will it just pass as a childish gust?"
Who were those words aimed at?
Pauline still hadn't made her final choice. She had indeed become friends with the empress. But it was ambiguous whether that's truly what she wanted—or if it was a political alliance.
'If only she'd get more involved in politics, the others would be convinced too.'
Pauline's dilemma deepened. If she allied with the empress even in politics, it would mean betraying her house.
I never expected to meet this person.
"How long do you plan to keep this old man waiting?"
"Duke Metternich."
Metternich smiled at me like an ordinary grandfather.
"Hoho, no need to worry. After falling from power in the revolution and going into exile, what power do I have left now that I've returned to Vienna?"
Joseph had mentioned he was something like an elder statesman, occasionally advising now that he'd stepped back from real power.
"I heard the girl who's to be my daughter-in-law has become friends with Your Majesty, so I took the liberty of requesting this meeting."
"Even if the man called the Coachman of Europe has lost his power, who would dismiss this encounter as mere family ties between father- and daughter-in-law?"
Concert of Europe.
If Bismarck represented the later era, then the man before my eyes was the representative of its early days.
And… the political mentor of Archduchess Sophie.
Metternich's smile remained serene.
"Hoho, it seems this old man has forgotten how to speak frankly after a lifetime."
I mustered the most harmless smile I could.
"It's the honest heart of a family elder. I fully understand—and respect—that. I'd be curious too if Sophie made a new friend."
Please, just go away already?
"Your Majesty's words are most reasonable. Seeing you in person, I can see why my daughter-in-law follows you so devotedly. Pauline may seem one way, but she's affectionate yet harbors a lonely side. It's reassuring she's befriended someone as warm as Your Majesty. This old man can rest easy."
…Is he really just talking as a father-in-law?
"My time with Lady Slavnica is enjoyable for me as well. She's a noble lady with a beautiful heart, helping others without ulterior motives."
"You flatter her. As head of the house, nothing could make me happier than her being such a good friend to Your Majesty."
After that, he truly added nothing more.
The meeting ended as a conversation between a concerned father-in-law inquiring after his daughter-in-law and me reassuring my friend's father-in-law.
"I've kept busy Her Majesty the Empress too long."
Metternich rose, leaning on his cane.
"Thank you sincerely for granting me this precious time today and for being a good friend to my daughter-in-law. This old man will now withdraw with peace of mind."
Before leaving the room, he bowed his head politely to me.
I didn't relax until he was completely gone.
Finally.
Only after the door closed did I let out the breath I'd been holding.
My hand gripping the teacup was damp from the tension of a private audience with the Coachman of Europe. Whether he'd truly come out of concern for his daughter-in-law or to test me, I still couldn't tell.
"Chief lady-in-waiting. Bring more tea."
I summoned Esterházy and asked her to replace the empty cup with a fresh one.
Would someone of Metternich's stature visit me, secluded in the empress's apartments, without any reason?
"Here is your tea."
I took a sip of the warm herbal tea and set it down again.
"Your Majesty, as I said on the first day, you must not reveal your emotions."
Ah. Slipped up from the tension.
"Metternich the Duke will only grow suspicious."
Me? Suspicious? Didn't I handle it well?
"Do you know how long Metternich has been at court?"
"Since the Napoleonic Wars, so around forty years, I suppose."
"Every empress he remembers was one who upheld decorum. By letting him read your expressions, you've only made yourself more suspicious."
Esterházy would know Metternich better than I did.
"Chief lady-in-waiting. You hit the nail on the head. That response just now—truly profound, profound."
I'd been in stifling tension moments ago. Can't she cut me a little slack?
"…What are you saying right now?"
Tsk, no dice. Even after all that flattery.
I had to pay the price by relearning court etiquette under Esterházy's guidance.
Back at his residence, Metternich replayed his meeting with the empress.
'She must know who I am.'
Even without formalities, no one could be ignorant of his name.
Not being tense would have been the stranger thing.
'Proof she was either arrogantly overconfident or foolishly naive about the world.'
"So it's true that Archduchess Sophie has the empress firmly in her grasp."
"Did you meet with Her Majesty the Empress?"
He didn't answer his son's question, merely closing his eyes in thought.
'Sophie the Archduchess, who hates liberals. And the empress, who hates nationalists.'
He'd advised the emperor that nationalism would bring the empire's downfall, but the emperor, overshadowed by Sophie, dreamed of Greater Germany.
"Your Excellency, Her Majesty the Dowager Empress has sent a letter."
"Burn it."
He didn't need to open the envelope to know its contents.
'Telling me to stay away from the empress.'
The imperial family saw Metternich as a thorn in their side.
They thought this mere minister had lorded over the court for decades, wielding power above even the emperor.
"My son, my era is over."
He recalled his glorious past.
"The system I built has crumbled. Now is the time to choose. If you can't suppress both liberalism and nationalism…"
To the end, Metternich offered advice for the empire.
"At least preserve the form of the empire."
"Reading maid. I want to know what's trending in Vienna these days."
Ferenci, who had been taking dictation for my letter, answered immediately.
"Photography is all the rage."
"Photography?"
Hmm.
Perfect. Decision made.
"Chief lady-in-waiting. Summon a photographer. Along with a letter, I want to send His Majesty a photo so he won't forget my face."
Esterházy left with an acknowledgment.
Taking quite a while.
While Ferenci read from The Three Musketeers for what felt like ages, Esterházy returned—carrying the camera herself.
Or rather, was she?
Two burly footmen grunted as they hauled a massive wooden box, followed by another carrying a tripod over his shoulder.
The maids carefully bore silver trays with glass bottles of mysterious chemicals and boxes of thin glass plates.
What is that smell?
I stared in bewilderment at this monstrous contraption.
I'd assumed she'd bring a portable studio camera. I wouldn't have bothered if I'd known.
"So, where's the photographer?"
"There is no professional photographer at court."
"Then just invite one."
That's how they do it with painters, right?
I'd sent Joseph several portraits that way.
"A man of uncertain status cannot enter the empress's apartments."
I took a deep breath.
Can't very well tell them to take it back now.
"Instead, I've noted the operating instructions, so we can proceed right away."
Fine. They'd gone to such trouble to bring it here.
Once preparations were complete, I sat and waited.
This is nerve-wracking. Seeing the maids around me holding reflectors, adjusting the light—it's too much pressure.
Should've just commissioned a portrait.
"Your Majesty, from the moment the maid uncovers the lens until she covers it again, you must not move. Not even a fraction."
"How long is that?"
"On a clear day like today indoors, about thirty seconds."
"Thirty seconds?"
Thirty seconds sounds easy, but unlike a portrait, this is a machine.
"Can't I blink?"
"Blinking is fine, but try to hold off as much as possible. And please breathe as shallowly as you can."
I nodded and, since this was a photo just for Joseph, flashed a slight smile.
10 seconds. The reflectors in the maids' hands trembled faintly.
15 seconds. Ammonia stench pricked my nostrils.
20 seconds. My mouth felt like it was cramping.
Esterházy swiftly covered the lens.
Were thirty seconds always this long?
Esterházy carefully held up the still-wet glass plate for me to see.
There was…
"…."
All the maids gaped at the photo, speechless.
Should I call it something other than me?
The figure in the photo was shakily blurred, the forced smile awkwardly off, and worst of all, my mouth's outline was indistinguishable.
"I want a dignified, empress-like shot."
Now I get why historical figures always look so expressionless.