The Smell of Regency
Smelly regency. Originally, there should be a proper order to this too.
First off, former Emperor Ferdinand I is excluded for reasons everyone knows.
Maximilian's quarreling with Joseph over Mexico, so he's out.
Karl Ludwig is the unparalleled Catholic zealot even among our in-laws.
Karl's eldest son is that Sarajevo fellow—Franz Ferdinand.
Like father, like son, they've both got that stubbornly pigheaded streak.
The youngest, Ludwig Viktor, is just too young.
"What about Mother?"
With the Archduchess still alive, the daughter-in-law handling the regency?
Normally, she'd step up herself before letting me do it.
"...Mother approved it too."
"Really? Mother did?"
Is the sun rising in the west? Or did the Earth start spinning backward without me noticing?
"Mother likes you too. It's not to torment you, Sisi—she does it because she cares about you."
"That... doesn't seem right."
"No, she said it herself. 'The Empress understands the empire's situation best right now.' For someone so stingy with praise, that's tremendous trust."
Joseph looked genuinely pleased.
Well, after all those times he'd been caught in the crossfire between his mother and wife—like a shrimp's back cracking under the heat—it's no wonder he's thrilled.
'The others are all idiots or dangerous, so you'd better roll up your sleeves and handle it, smarty.'
I could practically hear my mother-in-law's true thoughts echoing like a hallucination.
"So you're granting me full authority?"
"Anything short of dissolving the empire."
Essentially, for this brief stint, do whatever you want.
"Oh, right—Yosha. Did you get Count Buol's letter?"
"I did. The one saying if we make Holstein an independent duchy, Britain will guarantee its independence?"
Joseph tilted his head.
"But Sisi, creating an independent duchy gives us nothing, right? Better if we manage it ourselves or..."
"Would you prefer I take a trip to Holstein?"
He knows full well I travel the empire extensively, even if I rarely venture abroad.
"But the interior minister mentioned wanting to swap parts of Holstein and Silesia. The Prussian chancellor seems amenable too."
It'd be nice to snag some industrial zones.
Joseph apparently saw it as a chance to fulfill the family's long-cherished dream of reclaiming Silesia.
"Yosha, empty words are just talk between us. Nothing's set until it's on paper."
"There's such a thing as honor."
"Yosha. Is Bismarck royalty? Or a Standesherr on our level?"
"No, but he's a chancellor of a nation. Wilhelm would consider honor too..."
"He's just a Junker. A backwater landlord from the Prussian sticks."
I stared straight into Joseph's eyes, driving the point home like a nail.
"Don't trust a petty chancellor's tongue until Wilhelm himself signs a document. You're the Habsburg Emperor."
It's not like with Austria's own chancellor.
"Unlike the Hochadel, Junkers aren't knights who prize honor above life—they're greedy landlords who'll smash their neighbors' fences without hesitation to expand their fields."
I placed those commoner-born nobles at your side precisely to guard against Bismarck.
You've seen what they're capable of for loyalty's sake.
"Silesia is our cherished goal, but to them, it's the land Frederick the Great defended."
"Defended? They stole it."
Poking that family sore spot drew an immediate, sharp reaction.
"We could snatch Holstein right back."
Once is the hard part—twice?
Napoleon fell for Bismarck's schemes and stayed neutral during the Bohemian War.
Joseph's stiff expression softened into a magnanimous smile, the face of a husband soothing his sensitive wife.
"Sisi, diplomats bluffing is par for the course."
"What do you mean?"
"Bismarck constantly bragging that Austria will lose and Prussia will unify Germany? It's because he has no real intention of it."
What nonsense...
Joseph patted my shoulder with a leisurely smile.
"And Prussia may be arrogant, but they're still our brother in the Holy Alliance—a younger sibling in the German Confederation."
I swallowed my rising frustration and a long sigh.
Yelling here wouldn't shatter his stubbornness. Better to lay a trap.
"...Then Yosha, promise me just one thing."
"What?"
"If Prussia doesn't show at the monarchs' conference, take that Junker's words as gospel."
Unable to resist my earnest gaze, Joseph gently clasped the back of my hand.
"All right. If they don't appear as you predict, we'll need to pay closer attention."
I just hoped he wouldn't end up disappointed.
And so time flew by—to August.
Joseph departed for Frankfurt, site of the monarchs' conference, full of expectations.
After seeing my husband off, I headed to the office he usually used.
It's definitely different from my own room.
The office mirrored Joseph's personality to a tee: a neat, impeccably organized desk stacked with documents sorted by department; one wall covered in maps detailing the German Confederation, Italy, and the Balkans.
"Welcome, Your Imperial Majesty. Count Grüne here, to assist with your duties during the regency."
"It's been a while."
Joseph had left with Adolf von Braun, who worked at the American embassy.
No doubt it was Joseph's thoughtful gesture—Grüne would be far more comfortable than Braun.
"Count Grüne."
Last time I was here, that chair was different.
Just a few days ago, behind the desk had sat an old, hard wooden chair—the kind that made your back ache just looking at it.
Now, in its place was a plush velvet-cushioned armchair, the sort you'd expect in the empress's apartments.
"His Majesty ordered it himself just before departing," Grüne said, pulling the chair out slightly. "He commissioned an exact replica of Your Majesty's favorite."
I stifled a leaking smile and settled slowly into the seat.
So harsh on himself, yet he notices details like this for me.
He could stand to express it a little more.
Sentiments aside.
"A telegram arrived after His Majesty's departure."
Grüne handed over a single telegram stamped with the Hohenzollern seal.
Prussian King notifies absence from the conference due to health reasons.
"Notification that the King of Prussia will not attend due to health issues."
But what was done was done—I couldn't change it now.
All I could do was hope Joseph wouldn't take Wilhelm's excuse at face value.
Still, nothing but sighs escaped me.
So many documents...
"Before we begin, allow me a brief on the classification system."
Grüne first pointed to the yellow folder on the right.
"The top one is this morning's report from the Police Ministry. It details how the aftermath of the Polish uprising has spread to Galicia. The green folder beside it contains military matters."
Gray was finance ministry; blue, secret dispatches from the Foreign Ministry.
Finally, he gestured to the tallest stack of documents.
"And these are petitions from across the empire. No matter how busy, His Majesty always reads and signs at least ten personally."
I stared at the pile in a daze.
Being emperor isn't for just anyone.
No wonder he rises at the crack of dawn every day to work.
I picked up the yellow folder first.
"What do you think?"
I glanced at Grüne, who was simply standing there watching.
"Pardon?"
Isn't he supposed to offer counsel from the side?
That's how it was for Elisabeth, at least.
"Aren't you the chamberlain?"
"Yes, indeed."
Then what are you waiting for? Summarize the report for me.
I kept staring intently at Grüne, who remained bowed at the waist.
What? Why's he just standing there?
Is he testing me?
This is frustrating. My maids pick up on what I want in an instant and act.
I nudged the report slightly with my fingertip.
There—got the hint?
"I'll convey to the Police Ministry to tone down the suppression details."
What?
I'd only read the title.
"Count Grüne. There's no reading maid here."
This is the emperor's palace—I can't summon Irma.
So who does read them?
Grüne finally caught on.
"According to the Galicia governorate report, Polish rebels crossed the border—"
He stood ramrod straight, document in hand, and began the briefing.
Why's his face turning red?
"Count Grüne. Do you have a problem?"
"No, ma'am."
"Then why's your face flushed like you're angry?"
At my question, Grüne cleared his throat awkwardly.
"What reason would I have to be angry with Your Majesty?"
Then what's with that?
"The air in the office feels stuffy."
You're telling me—there's a weird smell.
"Count Grüne, did you smoke before coming in?"
Grüne panicked at my observation and denied it vehemently.
"How could I dare... in the office where one meets Your Majesty?"
Then where's it coming from?
I sniffed around, tracing the source.
"Your Majesty?"
"...It smells, doesn't it?"
Is my nose off?
"His Majesty doesn't ventilate often."
"Says he'll catch a cold—not a habit."
Even at Schönbrunn?
"It's a sweltering summer."
Bachelor stink, no doubt.
Better air it out quick.