No More Appeasement Policies
Franz Joseph was gripping the railing tightly with both hands, swallowing his anger. It would have been better if he'd just yelled or lashed out.
"Franz Joseph."
I called his name hesitantly, but he remained silent.
"I want to be alone."
Ice dripped from his voice. But was that really what he meant? He must be feeling an unbearable sense of humiliation from having his authority undermined by Maximilian.
Ugh.
Instead of answering, I slowly approached and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind his solid back. I could feel his body flinch through his uniform.
Right?This is the answer you want, isn't it?
"Max had no malice. He's just clueless."
"That's the bigger problem. Incompetence is a sin for royalty. The Milanese nobles must be sneering behind our backs. The emperor's brother dancing with a rebel. They'll take our leniency for weakness."
I could feel the tension draining from his body. Seems like I'm on the right track?
"You were the star of the night. People went wild for Don Quixote and applauded your mercy. Max's dance was just comic relief."
He slowly turned to face me, placing a hand on my cheek and gently brushing my lips with his thumb.
"Pfft, sorry, but not tonight."
"Why not?"
"I've been drinking."
"Back in the day, you only did it when you'd been drinking."
That was then. I nuzzled my cheek against his palm and whispered affectionately.
"If we want to go to the Expo next year, we have no choice."
"Do we have to go? What if we dismiss him as viceroy and ship Maximilian off to London instead?"
"So you can make me Queen of Lombardy-Venetia?"
Good, he seemed a bit less angry. "Anyway, you're right. Max's appeasement ploy failed."
No more appeasement policies. The nobles despise us, but the commoners love us.
"Remember what I said when we first came to La Scala?"
"Make it like Versailles."
"It's time to divide and conquer."
"Hand them the railway concessions?"
Franz Joseph clearly didn't like the idea. It did sound like appeasement at first glance.
"There's a railway planned over the Brenner Pass from Innsbruck down to Verona. Give that to Milan's industrialists. Like the Western Railway."
"Aren't you ashamed to have it named after you?"
Ow! Super embarrassing! Empress Elisabeth Railway? Still, since it bore my name, I'd been quietly snapping up shares.
"Westbahn! Not Kaiserin Elisabeth Bahn!"
No, this wasn't the time for lovey-dovey banter with Franz Joseph.
"The coronation's coming up. Bring it up then. Tell them the economy linking Bohemia to Milan will bring us wealth."
"Baron Bruck suggested something similar, though the focus was different."
I lowered my voice in case anyone was listening.
"You know why Vienna's nobles cherish you?"
"Because I protect them."
"Exactly. The Milanese nobles don't need our protection. But the bourgeoisie do. They need someone to shield them from the nobles."
"I'm aware. But..."
"What's the problem?"
"No matter how pressed I am, allying with merchants over nobles feels wrong."
Oh, Lord. So it wasn't ignorance—it was principle. That made convincing him even harder.
"Bohemia..."
No, Bohemia was different. Its nobles and bourgeoisie were both pro-imperial. That's why he'd gone along with my ideas without argument. It was one of the empire's most loyal regions—arguably more than Austria itself.
But here, the nobles were hostile, and the bourgeoisie needed wooing. How could I persuade and win him over?
"Even Emperor Joseph I, whom you admired, said the same: 'Do everything for the people, but never let it be done by the people.'"
I hadn't known that far. I'd just thought of him as an enlightened monarch.
"Reforms don't always bring good results, Sisi."
"No. Remember when we emancipated the serfs?"
"Emperor Joseph II did that."
Right—this was 19th-century serf emancipation.
"It hurt the Hungarian nobles and made the masses choose Vienna. We crushed the rebellion as a result."
"I don't mean to disparage him, but historians call him a failed ruler."
Franz Joseph seemed about to add more but held back.
I hadn't wanted to resort to this. With a deep sigh, I went limp at the knees and slumped my head against his chest.
"Haa..."
"Sisi?"
His body stiffened instantly. The cool-headed emperor discussing politics vanished, replaced by my anxious husband.
"What's wrong? Are you feeling ill? You overdid it earlier..."
"...And I'm the one suffering here?"
"What?"
I looked up at him, mustering the most pitiful, exhausted gaze I could.
"You saw it. Those nobles in black. How they looked at me—no, us."
I really didn't want to stoop this low...It feels like my last shred of pride is crumbling.
He held me in silence for a long time. After a while, he murmured quietly,
"It's getting chilly. Let's go inside."
Spring nights were still cold. Before we turned back, I checked off items against his chest. Tension in his arms? Weak. Voice? Higher than before. Expression? His usual Franz Joseph. Normally, I'd drape my cloak over him, but he wore his uniform even in midwinter—no cape. Unless it was a coronation or something formal.
After that, he kept an eye on Maximilian but said nothing more, and the banquet ended without incident.
*
Like in Bohemia, the Italian coronation had strong religious overtones, so it was much the same.
"You did well."
"You too."
"Mother-in-law prepared a gift for you."
I handed him the newspaper.
"They say all the Papal States' capital is flowing to Piedmont."
She'd practically rebuilt the Habsburgs, so there were lessons to learn. Siding with Sardinia like this would only bring plunder and confiscation. To signal that entrepreneurs would be next if Sardinia won, articles kept appearing in the official gazette.
"Cavour's forcibly selling off monastery assets to fund the war."
Franz Joseph folded the paper and sat on the opposite sofa.
"Anyway, no more Maximilian. Even if you beg."
What? I hung out with Max a lot, but it didn't have to be him.
"I have plenty of friends. For the London Expo next year, I'm taking my cousin Ludwig. You know how sensitive he is?"
He'd have wept and given a standing ovation to Don Quixote.
"The crown prince? As long as he doesn't cause a scene in London."
"He won't make a fuss over that. And are you still helping the Two Sicilies?"
We and France were fighting proxy wars. They backed Sardinia; we backed the Two Sicilies.
"It's draining the treasury dry."
Was this about the Zollverein? It must be a headache for him too.
"Is the treasury that short?"
"Not enough for you to worry about."
We had enough from beating Sardinia, but supporting the Two Sicilies was a stretch?
"Don't brush it off. Everyone knows aid to Naples lines the nobles' pockets."
If it weren't my sister's country, I wouldn't say this. Honestly, I'd prefer Sardinia absorb and destroy the Two Sicilies.
"Sorry, but we have to stop the support."
He spoke with genuine regret.
"Do it. I'm sorry for Maria, but..."
He looked surprised.
"I thought you'd object."
"Yosha, I'm your empress. Empress of the Habsburgs, not the Bourbons."
If 2,000 regulars were struggling against a thousand red-shirted rabble, it wasn't a money issue—it was one of will. I'd assumed we'd sent proper numbers, but how could 20,000 troops lose to a militia thousand strong?
"No need to help when our own treasury's tight."
Control of the straits would effectively go to Italy—no helping it.
Hmm, should I say this? I held back to spare his pride...
"Yosha. If it's tough, just say so. You don't have to give me the Tiergarten villa."
"No need to worry. The reparations from Sardinia give us breathing room."
He concluded firmly and changed the subject.
"Then we'll wrap up Milan business here. We'll decide on Maximilian after the London Expo. He'll keep the viceroy post till then, but stripped of financial authority."
"Good thinking. Cut off his funds, and Max will shape up."
"Who are you writing to?"
"The Prince of Wales. He sent me a letter saying he's off to Ireland."
"The Prince of Wales? Why you?"
"Don't worry. He's just bored and venting. He was all mopey about army training in Ireland."
"Army? That'll straighten him out. But you're on nickname terms now?"
"He's like me in a lot of ways."
"What'd you write?"
"Be good to your father."
"Not the queen?"
He should know. "Prince Albert looked pale. Like he was covering it with makeup..."
Like a cancer patient in the hospital.
Whether annoyed at talk of another man or not, he rose from the sofa, strode over, and wrapped his arms around my waist as if it were natural.
"Shall we go rest now?"
I poked his chest with my index finger and pushed him away.
"You know it's off-limits starting today?"
"Why?"
"Because I have to go to London."
I told you? The London Expo next year. Can't get pregnant now.
"The Expo's next spring. Half a year left."
"Getting pregnant now means I can't go."
He grumbled like he was wronged. "We can be careful."
"How can I trust you?"
I flashed a teasing smile and slipped into the bedroom. Of course, I left the door open. He was coming anyway.