Chapter 3: An Unreliable Family

In 1834, Franz was still a mere toddler of four, forced to spend his days in the stifling boredom of the royal nursery.

Nights were the most grueling, as his unreliable mother would insist on putting him to bed. Archduchess Sophie believed that tucking her child in was a mother’s sacred duty, and as a result, Franz could never fall asleep.

"The big rabbit is sick, the second rabbit checks on him, the third rabbit buys medicine, the fourth rabbit boils it, the fifth rabbit dies, the sixth rabbit carries the body, the seventh rabbit digs the grave, the eighth rabbit buries him, the ninth rabbit sits on the ground and cries, and the tenth rabbit asks why. The ninth rabbit says, 'The fifth rabbit is gone and will never return!'"

The lyrics were eerie, chilling enough to make one’s skin crawl upon reflection. Yet, his mother seemed oblivious to the child’s reaction, singing on in her own world, occasionally yawning and silently grumbling about why the boy wouldn't just drift off.

It wasn't that Franz didn't want to sleep; the bizarre lyrics were etched into his brain, keeping him wide awake in terror. To think that she had chosen one of the "Ten Most Terrifying Nursery Rhymes" from the future to sing to him!

Finally, Franz hit upon a plan: he would tell her stories until she fell asleep, then summon the maid to carry her away.

Just as Franz let out a sigh of relief, a man reeking of alcohol stumbled into the room. The stench was distinct—not the smell of a single spirit, but a chaotic concoction of many.

It was none other than Franz’s unreliable father. Knowing he was not quite like other men, he usually avoided others when he was in this state. Yet, the heart of a parent’s concern for their child is the same, whether they are royalty or a commoner. So, his father had arrived, clutching a jug of wine.

His father had only two hobbies: drinking and hunting. He believed alcohol was the world’s greatest treasure because, once drunk, one felt no fatigue and could forget all life's miseries. Since Franz had never cried since birth, his father assumed the boy must be deeply repressed and in need of release. Remembering his own father’s words—"Good things should be shared with family"—he had mixed his ten favorite vintages together and come to the nursery. He intended to share his favorite drink with his eldest son, hoping it would help him grow up fast; after all, drinking alone was a lonely affair.

He poured a glass for Franz, one for himself, and sat there grinning foolishly.

Franz felt his forehead vein throb, marveling at how his predecessor had managed to survive to adulthood. He walked to the door, opened it, and whispered a few words to the maid. Moments later, Lady Morsia let out a shriek, and a swarm of royal guards and doctors burst in, promptly packing up his unreliable father and carting him away.

***

Hofburg Palace, the Hall of Mirrors.

Emperor Francis II sat on his throne, taking an afternoon nap. He loved this room; it allowed him to relive the waning glory of the House of Habsburg.

The conversation at St. Stephen's Cathedral yesterday, along with the "revelations" and those impractical schemes, had already been cast to the back of his mind. He preferred the comfort of the afternoon sun over such risky endeavors.

Francis II was never a man of courage. When his brother had once set out to reform the military with bold strokes, revitalizing the Austrian army while offending vested interests, Francis had buckled under the pressure. He dismissed Archduke Charles—the man Napoleon called his "strongest opponent." The result was that the military failures of the previous century continued to plague the Austrian Empire to this day.

Francis II knew well that Austria’s domestic and international influence was waning, yet the crushing debt and the tangled web of vested interests made every reform feel like a game of whack-a-mole.

He recalled his other brother, Archduke John, who had suggested economic reforms—abolishing internal tariffs to curb the power of the nobility. At the time, with Napoleon’s invasion having weakened the regional power brokers, it had been the perfect moment for unity and change. But he had not listened.

And then there was the recently established German Customs Union (Zollverein), which Austria ought to have joined.

"It is a Prussian conspiracy!"
"We must do something; there can only be one giant within the German Confederation!"
"Once Prussia controls the Customs Union, their rise will be unstoppable..."

The imperial court had been a chaotic mess of shouting, with ministers clamoring as if they were ready to come to blows. Everyone from Finance Minister Kolowrat to Chancellor Metternich and the overreaching Baron Bruck had presented their arguments to Francis II, urging the Empire to join.

Being excluded would severely diminish Austria’s influence, yet the domestic nobility—men like Prince Windisch-Graetz and Prince Esterházy—opposed it. Francis II felt he could not ignore their voices; he had been left with no choice.

*No choice...* Francis II smiled bitterly. He felt less like an absolute monarch and more like an old widower led around by the nose by domestic squabbles.

***

Today marked the formal establishment of the Prussian-led German Customs Union. This eight-year tariff agreement would serve as the foundation for the eventual erosion of Austrian influence.

Outside the palace gates, Chancellor Metternich, Finance Minister Kolowrat, and Baron Bruck—three men whose political differences made them practically incompatible—had, for once, reached a rare consensus.

"Austria must join the German Customs Union," the blunt Baron Bruck stated first. He never liked to beat around the bush, firmly believing that everything he did was for the sake of the nation.

Finance Minister Kolowrat despised the man. Bruck always talked of "the nation" and "the people." Kolowrat was different; he never hid his greed for wealth and power. He viewed those who rejected talk of profit as hypocrites or as vested interests using such rhetoric as a smokescreen to protect their own gains. These hypocrites, he felt, were far more dangerous and filthy than those who openly pursued power.

"Austria is not going to join the German Customs Union; we are going to lead it. Prussia is not fit to lead! Germany will be the dumping ground for our goods and the source of our raw materials. Austria does not yet have a colony of its own—this is unacceptable! Germany shall be our first colony."

Kolowrat looked at Baron Bruck with a provocative sneer. "I said what you were thinking. I heard from the doctor that keeping things bottled up is bad for your health. No need to thank me."

Kolowrat laughed heartily and strode toward the palace gates.

Baron Bruck scoffed at Kolowrat’s behavior, muttered "Madman" under his breath, and then took his own determined strides through the gates.