Wounds of War and the Summons to Paris
"You don't believe me, do you?"
Franz Joseph shook his head. "No, no. But this place is too dangerous. If you were taken prisoner..."
I gently placed my index finger over his lips. "It's a comfort visit, remember? Of course we'll head to the rear with all the wounded starting tomorrow."
I'm not helping the war effort by sticking around here. I'm not some crazy woman singing hymns in Solferino as the Hell Brigade closes in.
I caressed his cheeks with both hands and whispered, "It was tough, wasn't it?"
His rough hand covered mine. "If hell exists, this must be it."
From what I'd heard on the way, the battle had raged for nearly fifteen hours. No commander could stay sane watching tens of thousands of soldiers die or get maimed in just a few hours right before their eyes.
"It's not your fault."
This whole era is insane. The fever of nationalism, militarism breeding armies in the name of patriotism. The turbulent years right before the so-called Beautiful Era, the Belle Époque, was supposed to usher in peace.
Well... our empire was busy even during the Belle Époque. The names alone—Pax Britannica, Belle Époque.
Did my words comfort him? "Thank you."
He glanced at the clock on the table, then scooped me up and set me down. "I have tactical discussions scheduled—sorry about this."
"It's fine."
I whispered in his ear, "Countess Esterházy-Lichtenstein got us some strong liquor."
You know what I mean, right?
"I'll be back soon."
Franz Joseph gave my cheek a quick kiss and hurried out of the tent.
*
Ouch, that stings.
"I tripped over a rock while walking today and took a tumble."
The court ladies stared at my awkward excuse—like they were looking at a troublemaking niece who'd been caught red-handed.
...Did they figure out I'd seen how exhausted Franz Joseph was? He just needed some intense comforting, that's all.
"All done. Does it hurt to move?"
The military doctor who'd bandaged my knee asked. I nodded and glanced around.
It's not as filthy as I'd feared, surprisingly.
"This is nothing like the hospitals in Vienna."
Did they prepare all day knowing I was coming? The doctor's awkward expression confirmed it.
"Still, thanks to Your Majesty, fatalities have dropped."
"Thanks to me?"
"Dr. Semmelweis's handwashing protocol. You enforced it empire-wide."
Franz Joseph did? I'd mentioned it offhand before, but seeing no change, I'd half-given up.
At least make it obvious...
"So everywhere I go, it's all this clean now?"
"Probably."
Would they listen if I ordered it? Even Nightingale took ages to get traction, and she's barely a footnote in the papers.
"Then I'll visit every ward to comfort the wounded."
"Pardon?"
"I plan to visit every ward."
At least it'll set a standard.
"Chief lady-in-waiting."
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Notify all military hospitals. The Empress wishes to see the wounded soldiers herself."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
I am the Empress. That's why everyone bowed and curtsied with the Hofknicks at my first tea party—because I'm the Empress.
My mere presence can drive them all mad.
"First, let's tend to the wounded here."
I stood, ignoring the dull ache in my knee. "Lead the way."
"Pardon? Oh, yes! This way, Your Majesty."
The doctor flustered ahead. As I followed him and pushed aside the flap into the ward, I froze.
This is the hell Franz Joseph described yesterday.
"Your Majesty."
Sophie Esterházy-Lichtenstein handed me a handkerchief spritzed with perfume. I pressed it to my nose.
"Your Majesty, perhaps you should turn back even now..."
"Doctor, don't defy Her Majesty's will."
Sophie immediately silenced him.
"...This many casualties from just one day of fighting?"
The inside was even worse—a true inferno.
The soldier on the nearest bed, arm bandaged, gaped at me like he'd seen a ghost. "E-Empress...?"
I approached his bed and took his uninjured hand. "What's your name?"
"Lakatos, Lakatos Lajos."
"Hungarian?"
"Yes..."
"Jobbulást kívánok."(Get well soon.)
"..."
As I wiped the endless tears from his eyes with my handkerchief, he burst into even more heartbroken sobs.
Sophie's voice came from nearby. "Your Majesty, another perfumed handkerchief."
...So it wasn't emotion—he was crying from the smell.
I'd handed him one by mistake while passing them out.
"...You speak Hungarian?"
"Of course. I'm the apostolic queen of Hungary. I make every effort to know the cultures of the subjects I rule."
To prove it wasn't a lie, I did the same for the other soldiers.
"Guarisca presto." Queen of the Austrian Empire's province. Italian, for Lombardy-Venetia.
"Brzy se uzdravte." Our industrial treasure. Czech, for the queen of Bohemia.
"Brzo se oporavite." Valiant soldiers. Croatian, for the queen of Croatia-Slavonia.
"Vă doresc sănătate." Where Dracula lurks. Romanian, for the archduchess of Transylvania.
"Szybkiego powrotu do zdrowia." Just... Poland. Polish, for the queen of Galicia and Lodomeria.
I flaunted every language I'd picked up during hair care sessions.
Franz Joseph might get mad if he saw, but I had to be consistent. When would I get another chance to be this close to the people?
A French envoy entered Franz Joseph's tent.
Proposing an armistice?
"His Majesty the Emperor desires a separate peace with Austria."
Buol, standing nearby, let out a disbelieving chuckle. "If that's a joke, it's not funny. Prussia's jokes are wittier."
The Crimean War involved countless nations. With Britain and Russia still at it, France—pro-British—seeking a separate peace with Austria made no sense.
"If our main forces withdraw from the front, Austria is sure to collapse."
Franz Joseph glared at the arrogant envoy.
He's not wrong.
A secret peace with France would betray Britain; for Austria, it would abandon long-standing trust with Russia.
"The war continues."
"Understood. I'll relay that."
As the envoy left, Buol pressed Franz Joseph. "Your Majesty! This was a chance to eliminate the immediate threat!"
Franz Joseph recalled why he'd joined the war. "Count Buol. Have you forgotten why I set aside your concerns and my mother's to enter this war?"
To strengthen the Holy Alliance with Russia.
"Your Majesty, a courier from Vienna."
"From Vienna?"
The courier entering the tent explained France's separate peace ploy.
"Prussia, Bavaria, and Baden conducting maneuvers in the Rhine basin..."
Buol stroked his chin, looking uneasy. "Hm, suspicious."
"What is?"
"Prussia, who signed Olomouc, siding with us now? Doesn't add up."
As Buol said, this was Prussia's golden chance for revenge on Russia and Austria.
"Yet we can't fathom why they're aiding the Empire."
Buol's question kept nagging at Franz Joseph.
It was around the time I'd ignored Sophie Archduchess's recall orders for nearly two months, pilgrimaging from hospital to hospital.
"Your Majesty, negotiations are opening."
...Finally over.
"Where?"
"Paris."
We lost.
"Empress."
Franz Joseph called me, his voice oddly upbeat. "The war will end soon."
"You sure that's okay...?"
"What's bad about it? We strengthened our alliance with Russia—our strategic goal—and won't lose territory."
"Did Sardinia and France give up on Lombardy?"
Franz Joseph burst out laughing unexpectedly. "The Paris talks are just us and Britain indulging that French upstart's tantrum."
A draw, then.
As his hand drew closer, Sophie's telegram arrived again.
"Your Majesty the Empress, Archduchess Sophie commands you to attend the Paris Congress."
What?
When I looked at Franz Joseph, he couldn't hide his scowl.
"We're grateful for the Archduchess's sacrifices for the Empire, but sending the Empress to Paris is tantamount to admitting defeat."
Buol, quietly at Franz Joseph's side, explained Sophie's thinking. "Your Majesty, the Archduchess surely didn't intend that. That upstart conceded much to host in Paris. Why? Legitimacy. He's different from us—an emperor elected by the people. To end the war, we and Britain fed his vanity. Sending the Empress is the Archduchess's way to stroke Napoleon III's ego and secure every real gain."
Makes sense... Sophie Archduchess is the powerhouse who held the Empire together. That's why Franz Joseph can't easily shake her influence.
But do I have to go?
"If you don't want to, you don't have to."
His words said no, but his face screamed please go.
"I'll go."
Better than the old days of total silence. I don't mind, really. Back in Vienna, I'd just face her weary scowl again. After a year of constant nitpicking, I dragged her homebody self all the way here.
"Who escorts the Empress?"
The courier glanced at Buol. "Count Buol."
Franz Joseph's head snapped sideways.
"Count Buol. No funny ideas."
Franz Joseph...
"Do you even know how old I am...?"
The man's turning sixty next year. I'm eighteen now.
Get a grip.