Last year had been fine, since the abundant harvest of 1860 had left us with ample reserves.
But once those reserves began to run dry, and it became certain the war would not end quickly, the market fell into panic.
Unlike us, with our protective tariffs, Britain was struck even harder. They were calling it the Lancashire Famine, and countless textile mills were either shutting their doors or driving their workers out into the streets.
Free trade is not a cure-all. External shocks come crashing in like waves, without the slightest filter.
Now that the looms of Britain and France have stopped, this is our chance to monopolize Europe’s cloth. That is why the place I chose was Bohemia.
Bohemia’s textile industry was second to none on the continent.
There was a reason it was nicknamed the Manchester of Austria.
“Release it little by little, slowly, only in our Bohemia.”
What mattered was that, unlike in other countries, cotton cloth would be sold at the same price.
Because in the eyes of the subjects, it would make them believe that the Emperor had the power to control the crisis.
The reason fascism and communism gained popularity during the Great Depression was that people wanted powerful leadership that would feed them.
When Britain’s starving workers pour into the streets, I must make Bohemia’s well-fed textile workers praise the Emperor.
The unwavering stability of the empire is worth far more than a few coins.
Still, it does feel like a waste.
If only I weren’t the Empress, I would have sold it on the international market at a high price…!
Ah, my stomach hurts.
“Call the lieutenant colonel. It is time to go to the Procuratie Nuove.”
Because if I got any fuller, I would no longer be able to move.
*
Forty days.
The day my tedious confinement ended, and the day I would officially present my daughter to the world.
Venice had been in a festive mood ever since the day I announced here that I had given birth.
“Your Majesty, a great crowd has gathered in Piazza San Marco.”
I checked the hair Fanny had arranged for me and looked down at the daughter in my arms.
“And His Majesty the Emperor?”
“He is said to be arriving in about five minutes.”
Once Josef arrived, the official event would begin with us together.
“Sisi.”
At the familiar voice, I turned around and saw Josef standing there.
“Josha. I heard it would take about five more minutes.”
You came earlier than I thought.
“I came early because I wanted to see you.”
Had we been apart a little too long? Usually, he only reacted like this when we had been separated for more than three months.
“Shall we rehearse?”
“No, I can do it in one go.”
Really? If he was confident, then so be it.
Josef was not the sort of man to boast idly.
The plan we had was simple.
“We will reenact exactly what Her Majesty Queen Maria Theresa did in Hungary.”
Aside from a baptism, there were no events where a newborn child was shown to the public. At most, a portrait would be released throughout the empire around three months after birth.
How many historical records had I read in order to make this man, conservative to the bone, participate in this event?
“Let us go.”
I held my youngest daughter in my arms and slowly headed toward the balcony.
When the attendants opened the balcony doors, a great cheer rang out.
“Waaaaah—!”
With a bright smile, I stepped close to the railing.
Piazza San Marco was truly packed with people.
People were hanging from every window and every roof, and in their hands, Austrian flags and Venice’s lion banners were waving together.
“Viva la mamma!”
“Viva l’Imperatrice!”
Their fervor was directed at me, the woman who had given birth to a child in their city.
“At this rate, I shall have to give birth in Tyrol next time.”
Josef quietly offered me a playful joke.
He meant it was their territory, just like Bohemia.
Now, for the highlight.
I slightly drew back the swaddling cloth wrapped around the child in my arms.
“The noble fifth child of Their Majesties the Emperor and Empress! Her Imperial Highness, the Archduchess of the Empire, has received her baptismal name!”
As Grüne began reading the proclamation, Piazza San Marco fell silent in an instant.
Everyone must have been curious. What would this child’s name be?
Maria? Elisabeth, or perhaps Theresia?
Even if it were one of the obvious Habsburg names, they would likely cheer.
“Long live Her Imperial Highness Archduchess Maria Adriana von Österreich!”
The subjects doubted their own ears and turned to look at one another.
“Maria Adriana?”
“Adriana! The child of the Adriatic!”
“Viva Maria Adriana!”
Amid the exploding cheers, Josef looked on with an expression that said he could not understand the Italians at all.
Josef, what are you doing?
When I lightly touched his arm, he turned to look at me.
“What are you doing? You have to hold Adriana.”
I told you, what they want to see is the Emperor embracing their sea.
“Shall I keep holding her?”
Contrary to my expectation that Josef would take her, he gave the exact opposite answer.
“It would be better for it to remain in the papers today.”
After answering me briefly, Josef slowly placed his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
Well, I suppose this does seem more fitting.
The image of the strong Emperor he wanted.
Surely he did not have the Hungarian coronation because he wanted to do that too, did he?
While entertaining such absurd thoughts inwardly, I waved to the Venetians.
“It feels as though not just Venice, but all of Veneto has gathered here.”
Josef looked down bitterly at the cheering crowd and tightened his grip on his sword.
“…Max will be jealous if he hears of this.”
…As if anyone needed more proof that he had inherited Wittelsbach blood.
“It’s wine!”
At someone’s cry, the crowd’s eyes turned to a structure installed in one corner of the square.
The double-headed eagle, symbol of the Habsburgs. From the beak of that statue, a red stream was gushing forth.
The citizens of Venice rushed forward, jostling one another as they held out cups—or even their bare hands—to catch the wine.
“When did you prepare that?”
“It is an auspicious occasion for the imperial family. I could not send them home empty-mouthed.”
Under Josef’s sharp gaze, I slightly turned my head away.
So he is dissatisfied that I do not even attend banquets often enough….
“Let us go inside.”
The subjects let out disappointed sighs, but we could not stand there all day.
Leaving the cheering crowd behind, I entered the palace with Josef escorting me.
“Oh, Möwe!”
There was only one person who would call me a seagull.
“Ludwig.”
“You will not call me an eagle?”
I greeted him gladly.
“Have you forgotten that the person standing before you is the true master of the eagle?”
At that moment, Josef’s arm around my waist tightened.
“I wonder why the Crown Prince of Bavaria has come here.”
“Josha, Ludwig is just my cousin. He is my nephew.”
I am Ludwig’s paternal aunt.
At my words, Josef gave a disbelieving laugh and replied.
“You were my cousin too.”
Ah, right.
“Unless it is a political marriage, cousins do not usually marry, do they?”
So stop being jealous!
“And besides, there is an eight-year age gap. When I was freely riding horses to my heart’s content, he was still in his nurse’s arms.”
“There is a seven-year gap between you and me.”
Ha, there is no way out.
I raised both hands and declared surrender.
“Then stop glaring now. Ludwig will get frightened and run away.”
I tapped Josef’s arm and turned my head toward Ludwig.
“So, what brings His Highness the Crown Prince of Bavaria all the way here to Venice instead of Vienna? Brother Max surely did not send you.”
Maximilian II was a strict scholar type, so he would surely detest his son wandering around so freely like this.
“I came to see my muse.”
Josef, Josef. Stop.
It is just a child’s bravado.
Relax your arm.
“Crown Prince of Bavaria.”
Josef’s voice sank low.
I could no longer tell whether it was summer or winter.
“Your muse is the mother of my children. You would do well to choose your words carefully.”
A chilling warning.
An ordinary noble would have flattened himself on the spot, but Ludwig only widened his eyes and tilted his head.
“Your Majesty the Emperor does not understand art.”
“…What?”
“A muse is not something one possesses, but something one worships. The light does not disappear just because Your Majesty monopolizes it.”
Oh dear, Ludwig.
Josef, please understand. His nickname is the Mad King.
To resolve the situation, I hurriedly cut off Ludwig’s words.
“So, you can do that worshipping later. You did not come empty-handed, did you?”
He gave me a board game as a gift.
“The one you asked me to obtain from London.”
…What am I to do with those people in the British royal family?
No matter how I look at it, this is brand new.
“The original?”
“They say the Prince of Wales has it… but as you know, he left on a journey to broaden his horizons.”
That was the official pretext, yes.
Queen Victoria believed her husband’s death was entirely due to Bertie’s dissipation.
Even so… he had seemed ill to begin with. Does it make sense to send the heir off to the Middle East for education when the London Expo is being held right now?
“You did offer your condolences before you came, did you not?”
But of course, I could not say that aloud.
One could not discuss another family’s matters with a different royal house.
“I don’t know. They would not even see me.”
“Max is doing well there, is he not?”
Ludwig merely shrugged.
“I do not know if this is what the Kaiser wishes to hear, but he is doing well.”
Josef’s expression briefly eased, but his expectations were betrayed at once.
“He is so close with that upstart Napoleon, you would think he was the French ambassador instead of Austria’s representative.”
This… if it reaches Mother-in-law’s ears, she will go beyond rage.
At the last banquet, when he asked the Duchess of Belgiojoso to dance, I did tell Josef he had done it because he was still immature, but he had been summoned directly to Vienna and scolded.
Moreover, there was only one thing to discuss if he was meeting with Napoleon now.
“Ludwig, you came to see the wine fountain anyway, did you not?”
“…May I go?”
Why does this child watch my mood more than his own father’s?
“Go on. I need to speak with His Majesty the Emperor for a moment.”
Ludwig glanced at Josef and then went out to the square.
Once only the two of us remained, I brought up the subject of Max to Josef.
The fact that France was intervening in the Mexican civil war had already become a rumor throughout Europe.
“Napoleon will try to give Max the throne of Emperor of Mexico.”
Josef looked as though he had no idea what I was talking about.
“Would he go there if he were in his right mind?”
Exactly, right? I hope he will not go either… but they are saying he will borrow another country’s army and go play emperor in a country where the president is perfectly alive and the people are resisting with guns in hand.
“So if he says he is going, stop him.”
You do not want Maximilian to die either.