“So, how much money do we have left?”
Vittorio Emanuele II spoke in a trembling voice.
“We have, in effect, been close to bankruptcy for three months already. The Rothschilds of London also stated this morning that any further extension of loans would be impossible.”
Cavour, too, knew how dangerous the present situation was.
“Those damned Jews.”
Vittorio spat out the curse harshly.
“And France? What did that Napoleon fellow say?”
“They are repeating the terms of the Plombières agreement like parrots. France will enter the war only if Austria attacks first.”
Bang!
Vittorio slammed his fist down on the desk.
“All the blood we shed in Crimea was for nothing! Austria is still arm in arm with Russia, and those English bastards prattle on about the peace of Europe while effectively taking Austria’s side. What are we, then? Are we to go on playing the clown, sitting atop a mountain of debt?”
Cavour let out a deep sigh.
The original plan had been perfect.
To unify Italy by borrowing the strength of Britain and France.
A scenario in which Austria, unable to withstand the pressure from Western Europe’s two great powers, would ultimately betray Russia.
But for reasons unknown, Austria had sided with Russia, and the great powers, unwilling to suffer any further losses, had made treaties with one another again and brought the war to an end.
“Prime Minister, speak honestly. If we disband the army now and pretend none of this ever happened… what will become of this country?”
Cavour made a cold assessment.
“A national default will be declared at once. Our government bonds will become scraps of paper, and the army, deprived of its pay, will turn into a mob.”
There was one problem even greater than that.
“Mazzini and his followers will rise up again, claiming that the royal family has no interest in Italian unification.”
Vittorio sank deep into his chair.
“Hoo, damn it. We have to take Milan somehow. Damn it, Venice is…”
“Veneto will be impossible without foreign aid. Even before this, it was divided into three factions, and then the Austrian Empress played her little game there.”
“Yes, damn it. If not for that woman.”
Vittorio’s gaze sharpened.
Cavour felt a bitterness on the tip of his tongue.
“According to reports, the citizens of Venice are now thoroughly absorbed in their game of the Queen of Venice. The Empress restored their pride for them.”
“You mean they were swayed by some mere festival?”
“The masses are simple. Bread and circuses, and a little respect. Besides, the republican bastards regard our House of Savoy as just another occupying force.
If we advance now, far from being welcomed as a liberation army, we will be branded as invaders. We must forget Veneto for the time being.”
“All that remains is Milan, then.”
Gritting his teeth, Vittorio glared toward the Ticino River, the border of Lombardy.
“But France will only move if we are attacked first. Austria is no fool. There is no reason they would strike us first while we sit still, is there?”
Cavour’s glasses caught the light and flashed.
“The Emperor of Austria is young, and his pride is strong.”
“And?”
“We must touch that pride.”
“Do you have a method?”
“Leave it to me.”
***
“We cannot turn away from the cries of suffering heard across all Italy!”
Il Risorgimento of Turin.
“Unification of Italy: A Mission of the Age?”
Le Moniteur of Paris.
“Giuseppe Garibaldi Forms Unit of Austrian Deserters and Exiles”
The Times of London.
“Armed Demonstrations Along the Ticino: A Test of Patience?”
Gazzetta di Milano.
“This Is a Clear Violation of the Treaty. Foreign Minister Buol Reminds Them of the Agreement”
And lastly, our own Wiener Zeitung of Vienna.
Every newspaper in the world was focused on Milan.
“Clear them away.”
The maids swiftly removed the newspapers. In the space they left, another letter was set down.
Nene truly was very grateful.
“To you, it must have been nothing more than a little adventure. Franz and I were not a fated love, but I could have become an excellent Empress. That fact weighs down on me.”
That was what Nene had said when we met while she was pregnant with her first child.
To be honest, I had not exactly been in my right mind then, either…
The reason I had gone to Bavaria myself was also because Josef had sent me, meaning for me to reconcile with my older sister Nene.
I should give that Josef a gift too.
“I do not know whether it will be of help.”
What lay before me was a thick letter of credit stamped with the crest of the House of Thurn und Taxis.
It was what Nene had placed in my hands—no. In truth, it was no different from an enormous dowry sent to the Imperial House.
Perhaps one of the reasons the Archduchess cherishes Charlotte more than me is because of the dowry, too?
There are eight siblings, after all… she could not spend it all on me alone.
“With the recent railway construction and the Ringstrasse project, the financial situation is extremely difficult. His Majesty the Emperor will also be grateful for Her Majesty the Empress’s consideration for the Empire.”
Esterházy… my worry is a little different.
“He might instead become emboldened by having more money and attack.”
If it were France or Prussia, I could be confident they would not attack, but…
“Ida. I must write a letter.”
“I shall write a letter to His Majesty the Emperor.”
Hmm, how should I begin?
Terms of endearment as cringeworthy as Josef’s are… difficult for me.
At first, I thought someone had ghostwritten those letters for him.
“To my Josef.”
At least I am not writing, To His Majesty the Emperor.
I rationalized it to myself that way.
“From Bavaria, I send a small gift for you. It is the sentiment Duchess Helene entrusted to me, asking that it be used for the future of our Empire.
I hope this letter of credit will lighten, even if only a little, the heavy burden weighing upon your shoulders.
Yosha, I have one request. I do not wish to see this money vanish in the smoke of gunpowder.
I know of the commotion coming from the south. But Josef.
Barking dogs do not bite. Even if they scratch at your noble pride, that is only proof that they have been driven to the edge of a cliff.
The eagle merely flies through the sky and endures.
Your patience will soon become our victory. Please do not waste your dignity on their base provocations.
Your Sisi.”
Not bad, I think.
I might have a bit of talent for writing.
Ida showed me the letter she had written.
“Your Majesty?”
“…You wrote it well.”
“I merely wrote down Your Majesty’s words.”
“The eagle merely looks down loftily from the sky, conserving its talons for the surest moment.”
I have no memory of saying it like that.
It seems I have no talent for writing after all…
“Ida, how old were you this year?”
“Nineteen.”
Well… she has been with me since she was fifteen.
To enter the Empress’s household as a lady-in-waiting at that age, she must have had some kind of talent.
They say that after three years at a village school, even a dog can recite poetry. After four years as a lady-in-waiting in the Empress’s palace, one writes better than the Empress herself.
Hmm… In any case, France will enter the war.
Napoleon has a showy personality, just as I saw in Paris before.
How should I phrase it so that Josef can be warned of France’s intervention without wounding his pride?
“Chief Lady-in-Waiting. Does the Archduchess also tend not to speak to His Majesty about military matters?”
“Her Imperial Highness the Archduchess merely worries for the Empire’s well-being as the greatest elder of the House of Habsburg. Spreading out maps and moving soldiers is the sanctuary of men who hold the sword.”
As expected.
“Then does the Archduchess not say a single word about war?”
“She does not speak of war itself, but of His Majesty’s honor and the will of God. She prays without ceasing that His Majesty may choose the proper path, and merely offers prudent counsel. Her Majesty the Empress is not a strategist, but the mother of a vast Empire.”
Hmm, what should I do?
Josef is very proud.
If I say, The French army will absolutely intervene, so you must not! he will subtly try to prove himself.
He has gotten a little better these days, but at the time of our newlywed days, he had a bit of an inferiority complex regarding his mother.
“Ida, I wish to inform His Majesty of my assessment of Napoleon, whom I met during the Paris Conference.”
After confirming that Ida had prepared a fresh sheet of stationery, I searched my memory.
Napoleon III was, yes.
“He is a kind of actor.”
I recalled the man I had seen in Paris.
The hand that stroked his mustache, the exaggerated gestures, and the man who knew how to bring photographers along and stir up the citizens.
“A man who wishes to resemble his great uncle, Napoleon I.”
That is why war is indispensable to him.
It was so in the Crimean War, and this Italian War, too, he will consider an opportunity to stand in the spotlight.
“What he wants is not war. He will want to become the hero who appears in the scene where a great empire bullies a small country.”
Now I have to turn this into words that Josef would like to hear.
“Ida, write this down.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“That man wears the crown of an emperor, but in essence, he is a gambler.”
It makes me think of an Austrian who failed to get into the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. He also had quite the mustache.
“He has now placed his stake and is waiting only for you to lose your composure. What he fears is silence. As Your Majesty knows, he is an emperor who rose on the support of the citizens.”
I rambled on, pouring out the thoughts that came to mind.
“The moment we cross the border first, we will take on the role of the villain who steps onto the stage he has designed. But an audience will grow bored of a stage without a villain, and the actor left alone upon it will become an object of mockery.”
Ida paused her pen for a moment and sank into thought, then soon began moving it again.
She showed me the completed letter.
“The master of Paris has inherited a great name, yet he is one who constantly craves the applause of others in order to bear the weight of that name.
……
Please, do not become a supporting actor in the clown’s base little play.”
A letter that elegantly said, If we are struck first, France will be unable to enter the war.
Now that we had money and had sent advice, there should be no need to hurry, should there?
“Send it as it is.”
Esterházy, taking the letter, melted the sealing wax, stamped it with the Empress’s seal, and sent it to Josef.
I had done everything I could.
Myself and the Archduchess’s officials.
Whose opinion would Josef prefer?