Paris and London are places where political offenders tend to gather.
So I had expected we might meet, perhaps, but…
“It is hard to believe you are the man called the beautiful condemned prisoner.”
I said, looking him over.
“The life of an exile is, by nature, rather far removed from elegance.”
A condemned man talking back?
“Hunger isn’t particularly helpful for maintaining one’s beauty, after all.”
Not that I’m one to talk.
I folded my fan and turned to Bertie.
“Bertie, may I take this gentleman with me? My lady-in-waiting must have explained, but it seems there was an unfortunate incident due to a misunderstanding.”
“Ah, of course. If he is someone you know…”
That was what an imperial guarantee of identity amounted to.
“Artists are always rather extreme, aren’t they? And anyone grows sensitive when they are hungry.”
After making a vague excuse, I called Hunyadi.
“Hunyadi. Take this man to Savile Row.”
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
“Königsegg.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
I covered my mouth with my fan so that only she could hear and whispered.
“What did they say he was arrested for?”
“… They say he was caught while taking a walk.”
Ah, I see… so that’s the concept.
An unidentified man loitering around the place where the Prince of Wales and the Empress of Austria were taking a walk.
Truly the perfect set of conditions to draw the Guards’ attention.
Gyula, Gyula Andrássy…
Even now, I occasionally exchanged letters with Ferenc Deák and József Eötvös through Hunyadi.
They were reliable moderate Hungarians. Even Joseph understood that much.
But Gyula Andrássy was a dangerous man. So I sent him away for now. I would have to be satisfied with having made his acquaintance.
“Sisi? What are you thinking about so deeply?”
At Bertie’s voice, I came back to myself.
“Nothing.”
I smiled lightly and took Bertie’s arm.
“Now then, we should enjoy our own schedule.”
Let’s think a little about how to use that double-edged sword.
Bertie checked the time by looking at his pocket watch.
“I shall escort you to the Lyceum Theatre, my lady.”
“I’ll be in your care, Mr. Saxe-Coburg-Gotha.”
The theatre we arrived at by carriage reeked strongly of gas.
Oh… a bluish light with a somewhat artificial feel to it. Should I tell them to decorate Vienna like this too?
But the theatres in Vienna still lack proper ventilation.
“Your Majesty, and Your Highness. I shall escort you this way.”
The manager bowed so deeply his waist nearly touched the ground and guided us to the box seats.
Once we took our seats, the audience on the first floor stirred and looked up at us.
“It seems everyone already knew.”
Judging by the fact that nobles, not gentry, were seated on the first floor.
“It’s not so different from Vienna.”
Well, even in the twenty-first century, the British royal family was like that wherever they went.
“Unlike plays in Vienna, this is in the form of melodrama, so there will be quite a lot of singing.”
So melodrama existed.
If I’d known that, I would have tried the musical format ages ago.
I took out the opera glasses Joseph had given me.
If you look at the other seats just before the curtain rises, there are quite a few amusing things to see.
For example, something like that.
“He’s meeting a housekeeper.”
“Who do you mean?”
“Viscount Palmerston.”
He had probably come to keep an eye on Bertie, who was trying to readjust relations with Austria.
And while he was at it, to meet his mistress as well.
“Lord Cupid is busy again today, I see.”
The more I look at Britain, the less I understand it.
We, a colonial empire and a multiethnic empire, are called oppressors,
while they emphasize strict morals on the surface and claim to value the family, yet what is the meaning of that sort of secret private life?
No wonder Jekyll and Hyde came out of Britain.
“Do you think poorly of it, Sisi?”
“As long as His Majesty and I don’t do it, that’s enough.”
Whether other people commit adultery or not.
“If my mother had seen it, she would already have spent three hours scolding him over Lord Palmerston’s private life alone.”
“Still, it is a little fascinating. Vienna hardly has that kind of atmosphere.”
It was accepted for a husband to keep a mistress with his wife’s tacit consent, and society openly turned a blind eye to it. It was also customary for the wife, after producing an heir, to have her own affairs overlooked by her husband.
Something like an unofficial polygamy, perhaps.
If it was not tacitly accepted, then it was not a mistress but adultery.
And that was no different from a declaration of war between families, breaking the sacred marriage vows.
“His Majesty the Emperor has no royal mistress, does he?”
Of course not. If he did, that would be a serious problem. Now that I’ve borne an heir, I’ll get rid of what’s no longer necessary.
I answered Bertie’s question with a nod.
As I watched the play, I made one resolution.
That I would get Joseph’s permission and create a musical.
If I ever have occasion to go to La Scala again, I’ll put a musical on stage.
Cough, cough.
My cough hasn’t stopped since morning.
“Your Majesty!”
“Sisi!”
Why the sudden commotion?
“Why do you all look so serious?”
“B-blood.”
Bertie flustered and repeated the same words.
When I followed his pointing finger to the handkerchief, I saw that it was stained with blood.
I brought my hand to my mouth and felt something wet.
… What is this?
***
“Your Majesty, an urgent telegram has arrived from London.”
Count Grünne entered, carrying the telegram on a tray.
Joseph merely inclined his head amid the mountain of documents awaiting approval.
“London?”
“If it is London, is it about Sisi?”
A faint note of expectation was mixed into his voice.
Ever since Sisi had left, the officials had been worn down with fatigue.
Conflicts of opinion between Archduchess Sophie and Joseph had grown frequent, and there was no Empress to open the door to the Emperor’s office, come in, drink tea with him, or invite him out for a walk.
Joseph set down his pen and picked up the telegram.
「Her Majesty the Empress complains of mild cold symptoms. For the sake of rest, the scheduled itinerary has been canceled, and an early return to the palace has been decided.」
As Joseph read through the telegram, the space between his brows narrowed.
“It says it is a mild cold.”
Unease swept over Grünne.
“… Does it perhaps say she will return to the palace?”
“Yes.”
His unease had been correct.
“Has there ever been a case where Her Majesty the Empress went on a journey and returned early?”
There had not. No matter how much he thought about it, there had not.
“Chief Aide-de-Camp, as you know, the Empress is not someone who would cancel her schedule over a mere mild cold.”
“They have clearly blurred the situation with diplomatic wording.”
Joseph grew restless, and in the end decided to summon the physician.
“Bring the Empress’s physician. Since she left that man Škoda in Vienna because of the children.”
A short while later, Škoda entered carefully, watching the Emperor’s complexion.
“Your Majesty, you called for me?”
Instead of answering, Joseph handed him the telegram.
Škoda quickly scanned the telegram, judged what Joseph wanted to ask, and answered.
“Recently, papers stating that smog increases the number of pneumonia patients have frequently been appearing in academic circles.”
“Smog?”
Škoda calmly began to explain as a physician.
“Yes. London’s fog is not simple water vapor, but no different from poison gas mixed with coal dust and sulfur spewed from tens of thousands of factory chimneys. Even a healthy adult man will develop phlegm and shortness of breath if he remains there for long. Let alone Her Majesty the Empress…”
He stopped speaking for a moment and gauged the Emperor’s expression. It was because he had to touch upon the most painful point.
“Speak. What about the Empress?”
“… Her Majesty the Empress has given birth to no fewer than four children in the five years since her marriage.”
Joseph’s eyes trembled.
“Is that a problem?”
“Of course. From a medical perspective, it takes at least two years for a woman’s body to fully recover after childbirth. Moreover, Her Majesty has repeated pregnancy and delivery without rest.”
Škoda delivered his diagnosis with an almost cruel composure.
“Outwardly, she is young and beautiful, but Her Majesty the Empress’s body is already in a precarious state, as if only the shell remains. Frequent childbirth robs the mother’s body of its vital essence and, in particular, weakens the lungs and bronchi. All nutrients and energy have been poured into the fetuses.
In such a state, with her immunity depleted, she inhaled London’s harsh smog… It is only natural that her lungs could not endure and began to scream.”
Joseph clenched his fist tightly.
He had made Sisi ill.
His obsession with seeing an heir to the empire quickly, and his own desire for her, had ultimately driven her to the brink of death.
“It was reported as a simple cold, but if I may dare to judge, it is acute pneumonia accompanied by hemoptysis, or in the worst case…”
Škoda swallowed the rest of his words, but even without saying it, Joseph knew.
Tuberculosis.
He had no choice but to let her go.
“Is it serious enough that she must be sent to Laxenburg outside Vienna for recuperation?”
Škoda bowed even more deeply.
“Your Majesty, if it is tuberculosis, you must look farther afield.”
“Physician, tell me your opinion.”
Joseph had been thinking within the empire, but his expectations were betrayed.
“She must go to Madeira. Only the warm sun year-round and the clean winds of the Atlantic can heal torn lungs. Since she is in London, if you borrow a ship from the British royal family, she can be conveyed there in the greatest comfort.”
Joseph stared blankly at Madeira, the small dot on the map.
From Vienna to Madeira was far too great a distance. Even if he wanted to hold her right now, it was a distance he could not reach.
“But calling her back to Vienna is no different from a death sentence.”
With trembling hands, he rubbed his face.
“… Chief Aide-de-Camp, send a telegram to London asking for their cooperation.”
***
What did I say?
“I told you, it’s just because I’m tired.”
See, the coughing stopped as soon as I left London.
“Your Majesty, Their Imperial Highnesses Archduke Maximilian and his wife will handle matters well.”
No… that’s not it.
I’m really fine.
How old am I right now? It’s too early for me to die.
Until she is stabbed by Lucheni’s blade, Elisabeth von Wittelsbach will absolutely not die.
At least, she shouldn’t if there’s any minimal conscience involved.
It was only that London’s air was bad.
So why are they sending me all the way to Madeira?
“… It can’t be that Joseph has found another woman, can it?”
I thought Joseph would naturally have me brought back to Vienna.
And so the Victoria and Albert headed for Madeira.
By the way, what kind of childish name is that?
How is it any different from calling a ship the Franz Joseph und Elisabeth?