The Emperor's Confession
It wouldn't be wrong to say that Sisi had spent most of her married life pregnant.
Almost immediately after their marriage in '54 came Sophie's pregnancy, followed by a brief respite after the birth before she delivered twins in '57. Then Ferdinand in Bohemia in '59, and Adriana in Venice in '62.
The fact that she'd passed a third of her time as empress in that condition made it no surprise that she rarely appeared in the public eye to her imperial subjects. And even then, she traveled freely more often than not.
She still looks like a girl of sixteen... isn't this too much?
It wasn't infallible like some in the royal circles imagined, but including recovery periods, they'd spent far more nights simply holding hands than otherwise. The times she wasn't pregnant were mostly when she was off traveling, which only amplified the point.
Franz Joseph pulled a small box from the depths of a drawer. A contraceptive device procured from London.
He wasn't unused to the newfangled condoms. But even those that the devout Joseph had resorted to—betraying God and the Church—had proven utterly useless.
Even forsaking my imperial duty.
The acrid sulfur stench had wrinkled Sisi's nose, and the thick texture had brought them only pain.
Franz Joseph rose slowly from his seat and made for the palace chapel. Nestled within the Swiss Wing, it was the place he visited every morning for Mass.
But today, he had come for a different purpose.
"Your Majesty, I'll fetch the bishop. Please wait a moment."
The priest assumed the emperor had come for Mass.
"As an apostolic monarch, I have transgressed the teachings of the Church. Hear my confession."
The assistant priest, on his way to summon the bishop, froze at the unexpected reply.
No one could have imagined the Emperor of the Empire—rumored to be the most pious of men, Franz Joseph himself—seeking the sacrament of confession in person.
"...Understood, Your Majesty."
Having received the sacrament, he entered the confessional and reflected.
Cardinal Rauscher had once mentioned it: that between the Church and the empress, the emperor had chosen the Church.
In their early marriage, he and Sisi had quarreled over etiquette. After that, it was usually over his excessive devotion to Catholicism.
Lorenz Mayer, the priest, sat behind the latticed grille and made the Sign of the Cross.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."
"Amen."
Franz Joseph began his confession in a trembling voice.
"Bless me, for I have sinned. It has been one day since my last confession."
Mayer held his breath and listened.
Normally, he would have offered the ritual comfort: "May the mercy of God be with you."
But his penitent was the emperor.
Franz Joseph swallowed dryly and continued.
The letter from France had only displeased Sisi.
That left only one path remaining.
The most primal, the most certain—and the act most strictly forbidden by the Church.
"Father, I have defiled the sanctity of the sacrament of matrimony."
"...What sin have you committed?"
Silence fell.
Within the confessional, Franz Joseph became the most wretched of sinners and spoke.
"I... have committed the sin of Onan."
The sin of Onan—from Genesis, where he spilled his seed upon the ground to deny his brother's widow, incurring the Lord's wrath and death.
Coitus interruptus.
Catholic doctrine deems it a grave sin against nature's order, tantamount to murder by thwarting the gift of life.
As a priest, there was only one thing to confirm: accident or intent?
"If it was by mistake, you shall be forgiven."
No reply came. Mayer was certain.
The Emperor of Austria had confessed to seeking pleasure while shirking its responsibility.
"Do you repent this sin? And promise never to commit it again?"
Without firm resolve against future transgression, the priest had no authority to absolve.
"This act was mine alone, though shared in body with my wife. The responsibility and intent rest solely with me. The empress knows nothing. She merely followed her husband and bears no guilt."
Why confess to a mere priest like me, and not Cardinal Rauscher... I see.
Mayer squeezed his eyes shut and, in place of the Act of Contrition, offered comfort.
"God shall look mercifully upon Your Majesty's love as well."
Franz Joseph made a brief Sign of the Cross and rose.
He could not linger long in confession.
Returning to his office, his gaze first fell upon the portrait on his desk.
Elisabeth, smiling with the fresh clarity of morning dew.
A moment's respite, then the day's labors began.
Following the birth of Archduchess Adriana, anti-Austrian sentiment has noticeably decreased.
A faint smile crossed Franz Joseph's lips.
Thank goodness.
Sisi's judgment had been correct.
Seeing the report proving her right diluted his guilt somewhat.
Put the guilt aside.
As a husband, he had sinned—but as emperor, he could bear no stain.
He washed down a morsel of bread with coffee and took up the next document.
[Detailed figures and analysis attached]
Franz Joseph jotted a note at the end: What of reactions from Britain and France?
The office filled only with the scratch of his pen on paper and his steady breathing.
Like a penitent undertaking mortification, he plunged into the stack of documents.
Half past seven in the morning.
Grüne entered precisely on time.
"An invitation from the Foreign Ministry for the Frankfurt Federal Monarchs' Conference."
Austria's future—and Franz Joseph's strike to humble the arrogant Prussians.
"What does Hübner say?"
"The kings of Bavaria, Saxony, and Hanover have already sent positive replies."
"And Prussia?"
"No response yet."
Wilhelm I will come. If Prussia alone boycotted a gathering of all German sovereigns... it would confirm their disloyalty.
This summer in Frankfurt would reveal the truth.
Before turning to the next task, he recalled those Sisi had recommended.
"Grüne."
"Yes, Your Majesty. Speak."
"Does the empress desire German unification?"
Grüne paused to gather his thoughts at the unexpected question.
Too weighty to brush off lightly.
Schmerling of the Interior Ministry, Hübner of Foreign Affairs, Bruck of Finance.
Those Sisi had recommended or preserved in post were unmistakably Greater German advocates, aiming for a strong Austria. The sort Archduchess Sophie might approve of.
Yet considering Sisi's actions in Venice or her fondness for her Hungarian maids, she seemed distant from such ideals.
One side must be a facade.
Wasn't that why the archduchess was slowly relinquishing power?
With the succession settled and no personnel disputes, she now viewed Sisi's frequent travels indulgently—as rest for a body worn by pregnancies.
"She is more likely not a Greater German partisan."
Grüne spoke to Franz Joseph with firm conviction.
"I'd like to hear your reasoning."
"Even if those she recommended are Greater Germans, the decision rests with Your Majesty."
Grüne prioritized the empress's personal conduct over her nominees.
"Looking solely at Her Majesty, she shows no interest in Greater Germany. She concerns herself far more with the empire's constituent peoples."
No reports of separate correspondence with Bavaria, for one.
"I believe an empress close to France and Britain does not seek a German empire under Austrian lead."
"Grüne, why assume the choice is mine? You know me well enough."
In his early marriage and reign, his mother's nominees had been near-commands, not choices. Grüne himself had been one.
Franz Joseph's unspoken worry—that he, once obeying his mother, now danced to Sisi's tune—never reached her. He always felt she held the reins.
"The sovereign I know would never bend to another's will. Had the empress's suggestions harmed the empire, Your Majesty would have rejected them outright."
As the emperor's closest retainer, Grüne offered frank counsel on what he'd witnessed.
"You two now view the empire as one. To call it manipulation is wrong; companionship fits better."
Franz Joseph masked his pleasure and said offhandedly,
"You rarely speak at such length. Seems you've been swayed by the empress too."
As his gaze returned to the documents, the office fell silent once more.
Ten in the morning.
Audience hour.
"The first petitioner is Foreign Minister Hübner, requesting access to the original London Protocol."
"Admit him."
His advocacy for Greater Germany balanced by emphasis on diplomacy with Western powers had always earned Franz Joseph's trust.
"Minister Hübner. Your business?"
"Permission to view the original London Protocol."
"Why the original?"
"Prussia's movements grow suspicious since Denmark's March decree."
"Insufficient, the copy in Foreign Ministry archives?"
"Nuances not captured in copies are needed."
"Granted. Send my seal to the secret archives custodian."
"My thanks."
Hübner bowed deeply once more and withdrew.
The audience lasted under five minutes, but the emperor had many more to see.
*
In Berlin, Wilhelm I and Bismarck quarreled fiercely over Franz Joseph's letter.
"If Your Majesty boards that carriage to Frankfurt, I resign on the spot. No—resignation won't suffice. Better I leap from this window than witness Prussia's ruin!"
"Chancellor! Are you threatening me now?"
Bismarck's stubborn fits were nothing new, but this time his passion was genuine.
His eyes flushed as if with tears, he pressed the king relentlessly.
"Not a threat—loyalty! Your Majesty, please! Remain king of Prussia. Do not become a vassal of the Austrian emperor!"