Frankie Goes to the Hofburg, or Napoléon II, Regent of Austria?
Je Suis Famille
@Awkwardvulture @Drex @Kurt_Steiner @Diego @Ivan Lupo : My attempt to try to write for Spain
Soundtrack: Juan Crisostomo Arriaga: Overture to Los Esclavos Felices
*interior* *a tent* *military encampment by the sounds one hears*
Carlos, Count of Molina: you did what?
Carlos, Count of Montemolin: we had no choice, father, I swear
Molina: *looks at Juan de Montizon*
Juan: he's not lying, sir. It was a mass given by the pope himself, we couldn't have refused to attend without compromising our support in Spain.
Molina: for the funeral of the usurper's mother! Do you know what he did to me, to your uncles? To your grandfather? To Spain? How could you even think of-
Montemolin: it wasn't like we wanted to go, but Uncle Miguel and Cousin Henri were both there, so we thought it would be alright
Molina: are Uncle Miguel or Cousin Henri king of Spain?
Montemolin: no, sir
Juan: *faintly sarcastic* to be fair, neither are you, sir. No more than they are king of Portugal or king of France[1].
Molina: *slaps his son through the face* Cousin Henri is the nephew of that usurping bitch in Madrid. You think he cares a jot about us?
Montemolin: he seemed very nice.
Molina: *half sarcastically* oh, he seemed very nice. Is that why he's in Rome, as the usurper's lackey?
Juan: I thought the usurper is in Madrid
Molina: *face turning purple with rage* *raises his hand again*
Juan: I'll just go stand quietly in the corner.
Molina: He's in Rome trailing after the usurper like he is because he has no mind of his own. *looks pointedly at Juan expecting him to say something* if he had any balls he would be raising his standard in the Vendée like his whore of a mother did, or like Saint Louis' daughter [2] did at Bordeaux. But clearly the French have forgotten what it is to be men! *thumps chest for emphasis*
Montemolin: he was only ten, sir.
Molina: and now he is fifteen. How many times has some idiot taken a potshot at the duc d'Orléans. That could be the first shot of a war to put his arse back on the throne, but he's a coward and a clown[3] who spends his days partying in Rome
Juan: because this war is currently so successful?
Molina: I thought you were standing quietly?
Montemolin: he isn't partying sir. At least...no more than anyone else does at Carnival. And the pope has agreed to acknowledge him as rightful king of France and Navarre
Molina: bah! Acknowledge is not crown. If you'd gone to see him crowned king of France at Saint Peter's I'd have supported it. Bitten my tongue about your associating with that...filth...the son of a usurper. I send you to Italy to enlist aid from your uncle in Naples, and instead you go to a funeral! *swears* what sons I have.
Montemolin: the son of a usurper was the one who convinced the pope to do that, father.
Molina: give the funeral? I know. I heard.
Montemolin: to acknowledge Cousin Henri.
Molina: *surprised*
Montemolin: the usurper's son was the one who got the pope to rescind permission for Cousin Maria's marriage to *spits* that Wettin boy.
Molina: *eyebrow goes up*
Montemolin: the usurper's son was the one who convinced Uncle Miguel to transfer his rights to Cousin Sebastian.
Molina: that much I know. Sebastian's mother won't shut up about *imitates voice* how wonderful she thinks "D. Napoleão" is. You know who else thought he was wonderful? My father. Your uncle, the late king. You know what he did to them. Like Saturn, gobbling up his children. Spain was regarded as baubles for that Criollo whore of his. He thought he was too good to marry your aunt, the Queen of Naples. Your mother had to flee to America because her father wasn't brave enough to make a stand-
Montemolin: wasn't there a ship at Cadiz waiting to take you and grandpapa and grandmama to Mexico as well?
Molina: *glares furiously at his eldest like "how dare you bring that up" when I'm on a roll* I was a boy!
Juan: so was Cousin Henri.
Molina: *glares furiously at his second like "you know that's not the same thing"* and where is Mexico now? Hmm? Jewel of the Spanish Empire ripped away because of that usurper-
Montemolin: didn't they offer you the crown, though? You could've been their emperador.
Molina: I would never have accepted such a...disgraceful-
Juan: well, in all fairness, from what I heard from the Mexican Ambassador in Rome, the feeling's mutual. They weren't very keen on you either. But they didn't want to be rude.
Molina: *strides over to his son to strike him again*
Montemolin: he gave me something for you.
Molina: who?
Montemolin: D. Napoleón. *produces letter*
Molina: *horrified* *like his son's just announced Frankie gave him plague or syphilis*
Montemolin: shall I read it to you, father?
Molina: *glares at Juan like "I'll deal with you later"* *snatches letter from his son* it's in French. *tone is like "that's the language of the anti-Christ"*
Juan: I'm sure Carlos will be happy to translate it for you father
Molina: *ignores the jibe* *reads* To Charles, infante of Spain, duc d'Elizondo, comte de Molina, etc etc and all others to whom these presents shall come, greetings from your loyal friend- *to his sons* Friend? Just like his father. He tries to be royal and then fails in such a way that everyone knows he isn't.
Montemolin: I made the same objection, and he replied that "where one tolerates one's brothers, one chooses one's friends"[4]
Molina: *reads further* we commend to your tender care our cousins, Paul[5], Louis Lucien, Pierre and Antoine de Canino[6], as well as our most beloved heir, Louis Napoléon, in the hopes that they can be of some service to your campaign- *trails off* Bonapartes? In Spain? Is he mad! The troops will desert.
Juan: more than they are already?
Molina: *reading* it has come to our attention that the Isabellinos have treated the late Senora Cabrera in a most appalling fashion [7] and such treatment runs contrary to the restoration of a good and godly order. *looks at his sons in surprise* It is not our wish to see a power such as Spain so broken and rent asunder by such discord. Not when there are far more pressing threats both beyond the Pyrenees and across the seas. Be assured of our good will towards you and yours. Your loyal and devoted servant, François.
*silence in the tent* *then Molina walks over to a candle*
Montemolin: what are you doing, father?
Molina: a Borbon will never owe his throne to a Bonaparte! And a Spaniard will never sit on the throne at the beck and call of a Frenchman. *watches as letter burns*
Soldier: *runs into tent* *bows* Sire, there are some soldiers here. They say they were sent by the duque de Reichstadt.
Molina: *practically rips open the flap of the tent* *sees around a hundred soldiers there* why are they all in black?
Soldier: they are the Carbonari, sire. The charcoal burners.
Molina: and the chap in the red shirt?
Soldier: that is their leader-
Molina: a Bonaparte, no doubt.
Soldier: no, sire. His name is...*pauses to think* Jusepe Garebali or something. He was actually on his way down to South America when the ship docked in Barcelona. He joined up when he saw the other Italians getting off.
Molina: *looks at the smartly dressed "Carbonari" versus the rag-bag Carlists* what am I supposed to do with them?
Soldier: apparently the duque thought you could use them among your troops.
Molina: what's in the trunks on the wagon?
Soldier: money, sir. The duque made it clear that your acceptance of the gold would be acceptance of the troops.[8]
[1] this snark might be my interpretation but Juan and his dad's difficult relationship did apparently start during the Carlist Wars
[2] Madame Royal was campaigning for her parents to be canonized during the Restauration, but was unsuccessful. Even if they weren't canonized, there were many royals who regarded them as "practically saints".
[3] said by the marquis de Rochejacquelin in 1848 of Henri as well
[4] while this was said by Napoléon III to Alexander II OTL, I could definitely see Frankie (given his whole "family of choice" with the two Alberts, Henri, Stephan of Hungary and grandparents as "surrogate" parents) having the same mentality
[5] he died in 1827 after a self-inflicted gunshot wound while cleaning his gun, seems pretty butterfliable.
[6] these are all Lucien's sons who all volunteered and fought in the Carbonari movement in Italy in the 1830s.
[7] Senora Cabrera (Maria Grino), was the mother of Carlist general Ramon Cabrera. In the opening years of the war, Cabrera would release his Isabellino prisoners on condition that they would not take up arms against him. Until 1836, when the Isabellinos took Senora Cabrera hostage as a "price" for his good behaviour. Cabrera shot the Isabellino mayor and several officers who brought him the "order". In retaliation, the Isabellinos executed his mother by firing squad in the public square in 1836. Cabrera's nickname of "The Tiger of the Maestrazgo" for his behaviour that followed.
[8] as Bernard Cornwell writes in Sharpe "money talks, merit walks". Sending these Carbonari to Spain is Reichstadt's way of solving several problems at once: first, it takes them out of the jails in places like Modena, Milan, Rome and Parma; second, it supplies Carlos with guys who actually have experience fighting (albeit against the Austrian army). And while many of them would likely side with the Isabellinos if they had a choice, Frankie probably gave them the ultimatum: want to get out of jail, you promise to fight (plus, if they die fighting, it takes care of the problem without an Italian prince having to bloody his hands). Plus, the idea of Giuseppe Garibaldi fighting in Spain, for the Carlists (despite being completely opposed to monarchical ideas, his fighting for Cavour instead of Mazzini OTL proves he wasn't as hardcore republican as one would think), makes for delicious historic irony.
Soundtrack: Juan Crisostomo Arriaga: Overture to Los Esclavos Felices
*interior* *a tent* *military encampment by the sounds one hears*
Carlos, Count of Molina: you did what?
Carlos, Count of Montemolin: we had no choice, father, I swear
Molina: *looks at Juan de Montizon*
Juan: he's not lying, sir. It was a mass given by the pope himself, we couldn't have refused to attend without compromising our support in Spain.
Molina: for the funeral of the usurper's mother! Do you know what he did to me, to your uncles? To your grandfather? To Spain? How could you even think of-
Montemolin: it wasn't like we wanted to go, but Uncle Miguel and Cousin Henri were both there, so we thought it would be alright
Molina: are Uncle Miguel or Cousin Henri king of Spain?
Montemolin: no, sir
Juan: *faintly sarcastic* to be fair, neither are you, sir. No more than they are king of Portugal or king of France[1].
Molina: *slaps his son through the face* Cousin Henri is the nephew of that usurping bitch in Madrid. You think he cares a jot about us?
Montemolin: he seemed very nice.
Molina: *half sarcastically* oh, he seemed very nice. Is that why he's in Rome, as the usurper's lackey?
Juan: I thought the usurper is in Madrid
Molina: *face turning purple with rage* *raises his hand again*
Juan: I'll just go stand quietly in the corner.
Molina: He's in Rome trailing after the usurper like he is because he has no mind of his own. *looks pointedly at Juan expecting him to say something* if he had any balls he would be raising his standard in the Vendée like his whore of a mother did, or like Saint Louis' daughter [2] did at Bordeaux. But clearly the French have forgotten what it is to be men! *thumps chest for emphasis*
Montemolin: he was only ten, sir.
Molina: and now he is fifteen. How many times has some idiot taken a potshot at the duc d'Orléans. That could be the first shot of a war to put his arse back on the throne, but he's a coward and a clown[3] who spends his days partying in Rome
Juan: because this war is currently so successful?
Molina: I thought you were standing quietly?
Montemolin: he isn't partying sir. At least...no more than anyone else does at Carnival. And the pope has agreed to acknowledge him as rightful king of France and Navarre
Molina: bah! Acknowledge is not crown. If you'd gone to see him crowned king of France at Saint Peter's I'd have supported it. Bitten my tongue about your associating with that...filth...the son of a usurper. I send you to Italy to enlist aid from your uncle in Naples, and instead you go to a funeral! *swears* what sons I have.
Montemolin: the son of a usurper was the one who convinced the pope to do that, father.
Molina: give the funeral? I know. I heard.
Montemolin: to acknowledge Cousin Henri.
Molina: *surprised*
Montemolin: the usurper's son was the one who got the pope to rescind permission for Cousin Maria's marriage to *spits* that Wettin boy.
Molina: *eyebrow goes up*
Montemolin: the usurper's son was the one who convinced Uncle Miguel to transfer his rights to Cousin Sebastian.
Molina: that much I know. Sebastian's mother won't shut up about *imitates voice* how wonderful she thinks "D. Napoleão" is. You know who else thought he was wonderful? My father. Your uncle, the late king. You know what he did to them. Like Saturn, gobbling up his children. Spain was regarded as baubles for that Criollo whore of his. He thought he was too good to marry your aunt, the Queen of Naples. Your mother had to flee to America because her father wasn't brave enough to make a stand-
Montemolin: wasn't there a ship at Cadiz waiting to take you and grandpapa and grandmama to Mexico as well?
Molina: *glares furiously at his eldest like "how dare you bring that up" when I'm on a roll* I was a boy!
Juan: so was Cousin Henri.
Molina: *glares furiously at his second like "you know that's not the same thing"* and where is Mexico now? Hmm? Jewel of the Spanish Empire ripped away because of that usurper-
Montemolin: didn't they offer you the crown, though? You could've been their emperador.
Molina: I would never have accepted such a...disgraceful-
Juan: well, in all fairness, from what I heard from the Mexican Ambassador in Rome, the feeling's mutual. They weren't very keen on you either. But they didn't want to be rude.
Molina: *strides over to his son to strike him again*
Montemolin: he gave me something for you.
Molina: who?
Montemolin: D. Napoleón. *produces letter*
Molina: *horrified* *like his son's just announced Frankie gave him plague or syphilis*
Montemolin: shall I read it to you, father?
Molina: *glares at Juan like "I'll deal with you later"* *snatches letter from his son* it's in French. *tone is like "that's the language of the anti-Christ"*
Juan: I'm sure Carlos will be happy to translate it for you father
Molina: *ignores the jibe* *reads* To Charles, infante of Spain, duc d'Elizondo, comte de Molina, etc etc and all others to whom these presents shall come, greetings from your loyal friend- *to his sons* Friend? Just like his father. He tries to be royal and then fails in such a way that everyone knows he isn't.
Montemolin: I made the same objection, and he replied that "where one tolerates one's brothers, one chooses one's friends"[4]
Molina: *reads further* we commend to your tender care our cousins, Paul[5], Louis Lucien, Pierre and Antoine de Canino[6], as well as our most beloved heir, Louis Napoléon, in the hopes that they can be of some service to your campaign- *trails off* Bonapartes? In Spain? Is he mad! The troops will desert.
Juan: more than they are already?
Molina: *reading* it has come to our attention that the Isabellinos have treated the late Senora Cabrera in a most appalling fashion [7] and such treatment runs contrary to the restoration of a good and godly order. *looks at his sons in surprise* It is not our wish to see a power such as Spain so broken and rent asunder by such discord. Not when there are far more pressing threats both beyond the Pyrenees and across the seas. Be assured of our good will towards you and yours. Your loyal and devoted servant, François.
*silence in the tent* *then Molina walks over to a candle*
Montemolin: what are you doing, father?
Molina: a Borbon will never owe his throne to a Bonaparte! And a Spaniard will never sit on the throne at the beck and call of a Frenchman. *watches as letter burns*
Soldier: *runs into tent* *bows* Sire, there are some soldiers here. They say they were sent by the duque de Reichstadt.
Molina: *practically rips open the flap of the tent* *sees around a hundred soldiers there* why are they all in black?
Soldier: they are the Carbonari, sire. The charcoal burners.
Molina: and the chap in the red shirt?
Soldier: that is their leader-
Molina: a Bonaparte, no doubt.
Soldier: no, sire. His name is...*pauses to think* Jusepe Garebali or something. He was actually on his way down to South America when the ship docked in Barcelona. He joined up when he saw the other Italians getting off.
Molina: *looks at the smartly dressed "Carbonari" versus the rag-bag Carlists* what am I supposed to do with them?
Soldier: apparently the duque thought you could use them among your troops.
Molina: what's in the trunks on the wagon?
Soldier: money, sir. The duque made it clear that your acceptance of the gold would be acceptance of the troops.[8]
[1] this snark might be my interpretation but Juan and his dad's difficult relationship did apparently start during the Carlist Wars
[2] Madame Royal was campaigning for her parents to be canonized during the Restauration, but was unsuccessful. Even if they weren't canonized, there were many royals who regarded them as "practically saints".
[3] said by the marquis de Rochejacquelin in 1848 of Henri as well
[4] while this was said by Napoléon III to Alexander II OTL, I could definitely see Frankie (given his whole "family of choice" with the two Alberts, Henri, Stephan of Hungary and grandparents as "surrogate" parents) having the same mentality
[5] he died in 1827 after a self-inflicted gunshot wound while cleaning his gun, seems pretty butterfliable.
[6] these are all Lucien's sons who all volunteered and fought in the Carbonari movement in Italy in the 1830s.
[7] Senora Cabrera (Maria Grino), was the mother of Carlist general Ramon Cabrera. In the opening years of the war, Cabrera would release his Isabellino prisoners on condition that they would not take up arms against him. Until 1836, when the Isabellinos took Senora Cabrera hostage as a "price" for his good behaviour. Cabrera shot the Isabellino mayor and several officers who brought him the "order". In retaliation, the Isabellinos executed his mother by firing squad in the public square in 1836. Cabrera's nickname of "The Tiger of the Maestrazgo" for his behaviour that followed.
[8] as Bernard Cornwell writes in Sharpe "money talks, merit walks". Sending these Carbonari to Spain is Reichstadt's way of solving several problems at once: first, it takes them out of the jails in places like Modena, Milan, Rome and Parma; second, it supplies Carlos with guys who actually have experience fighting (albeit against the Austrian army). And while many of them would likely side with the Isabellinos if they had a choice, Frankie probably gave them the ultimatum: want to get out of jail, you promise to fight (plus, if they die fighting, it takes care of the problem without an Italian prince having to bloody his hands). Plus, the idea of Giuseppe Garibaldi fighting in Spain, for the Carlists (despite being completely opposed to monarchical ideas, his fighting for Cavour instead of Mazzini OTL proves he wasn't as hardcore republican as one would think), makes for delicious historic irony.
well, he's not "wrong" in wanting to back Carlos up. Mostly because a Spain tearing itself apart is no use to anyone except Louis Philippe's government in Paris. Why? Because while Louis Philippe is backing the liberals, they've got legitimacy. It's in LP's/France's interests to see Spain "implode". Britain being persuaded to stay out of it probably doesn't take much with an oyster-backbone like Melbourne in office. Portugal getting Sebastian as king - although I suspect Maria II will be sending her mother-in-law back over the border before the woman's finished unpacking. Beira wasn't the...easiest person to get along with. Think Mary Stuart vs Margaret Douglas. - means that that's now a "second front" for the Spanish to worry about.
Louis Philippe can tell the liberals "I got you" as much as he likes, but as long as he can't send French troops into Spain (let's face it, that's likely to be a tripwire that makes the rest of Europe say "he's trying on Napoléon's boots"), support is going to be mostly moral. Naples is unlikely to help, and Frankie emptying a few jails of Carbonari is a good way of discrediting the Spanish liberals. Not because the Carbonari are "thrilled" to be fighting for the Carlists, but because it makes it very difficult to portray it as "liberal vs reactionary" when the people on the reactionary side are probably even more liberal than the ones in Madrid.
So Frankie is demonstrating to be a true genius (Many would say evil genius)
Is that a bad thing? The genius part, not the evil genius part, him succeeding by the pen and persuasion what his father tried/failed with the sword
Probatum Est [1]
Soundtrack: Mendelssohn: Die Beiden Pädagogen Overture
*interior* *clock is ticking loudly* *then chimes the hour* *followed by the city bells* *we see Metternich working at his desk* *courier arrives with dispatches* *leaves them on the desk* *after the clock is finished chiming there is silence*
Metternich: *opens the pack of dispatches* *takes the first out* *writes a response or a note* *repeats this in a silence that becomes ever more brooding as the ticking of the clock grows louder* *comes to dispatch halfway down the pack* *reads it* *puts it aside* *starts writing a response* *then snatches the dispatch from the pile again* *reads it thoroughly* *rises from the chair* *gets a funny little smile on his face as he walks out of the room, still holding the letter*
Emperor Franz: *seated on a bench in the garden* *enjoying the sunlight* *watching his grandsons, Franz Joseph, Ferdinand Maximilian and Karl Ludwig running around* *their mother, Archduchess Sophie, and Empress Charlotte are on another bench nearby* *cooing over little Archduchess Maria Anna who is just starting to sit up by herself*
*suddenly the birds stop singing* *Empress Charlotte pulls her coat more firmly around her* *even the children briefly pause what they're doing*
Metternich: *bows before Franz* your Majesty
*everybody goes back to as they were* *the birds start chirping again*
Franz: Prince, I trust this is something urgent? *motions for the chancellor to be seated alongside him*
Sophie/Charlotte: *both watch this disapprovingly*
Metternich: your Majesty, I bring news about your niece, the duke of Teschen's daughter
Franz: *gives a "what is it now look" as he stands up and motions for Metternich to walk with him to go and look at the flowers*
Metternich: the king of Sicily has refused the offer of her hand in marriage, Majesty. He prefers a French match
Franz: *looks at Metternich like "this will not do"* I didn't think Ferdinando was such a liberal.
Metternich: as I understand it, the dowry was what persuaded him.
Franz: Gott im himmel, is there no depth to which the duc d'Orléans will not sink?
Metternich: of course, your Majesty...with what your grandson has accomplished with Portugal and the rapprochement among the Bonapartes at his grandmother's funeral-
Franz: them attending the matriarch's funeral is hardly a rapprochement. My uncles all attended my grandmother's funeral and then continued to squabble over her corpse regardless.
Metternich: your Majesty is not concerned that the duke of Reichstadt, the former "king of Rome", being in Rome, amidst all those Bonapartes will try something.
Franz: *doesn't answer* *no doubt the thought has crossed his mind*
Metternich: well, he has, sir.
Franz: *shocked* w-w-w-what?
Metternich: his Serene Highness has been the one to foil your niece's match with the king of Sicily
Franz: You told me it was a French match-
Metternich: it is, Majesty, one which will jeopardize our alliance with the kingdom of the French to no end. And no doubt serve to further undermine what little influence Austria has left in Sicily.
Franz: and you're sure Frankie did this?
Metternich: in his own hand he confirmed it, sire. *offers the letter*
Franz: *reads the letter* *swallows* *you can see he almost looks heart broken*
Metternich: it is his way, Majesty, one cannot take in a stray bear cub and expect it not to bite. Sooner or later, they grow to hate everyone and everything.
Franz: *several emotions flashing over his face* *opens his mouth several times to say something* *finally just sighs*
Metternich: there is another snippet of news, Majesty...about Maria Theresia's French match.
Franz: *irritably* not this again.
Metternich: now would be the best time to agree to it. Austria will need the alliance with France more than ever if he is seemingly galvanizing Italy. To bottle him up in Italy and-
Franz: how often didn't we try that with his father? And every time his father broke through. What makes us think that he will be different- are you alright, Count Kolowrat?
Kolowrat: *out of breath* *clearly having just run to get to Franz* *holds up finger as he catches his breath*
Metternich: as I was saying your Majesty, this is the perfect excuse to agree to your niece's match to the duc de Chartres, so we can send him home with a bride and France will not feel as though we have been wasting their time for the last few months.
Kolowrat: Majesty I *clutches at stitch in his side* must ask you to please reconsider.
Metternich: not now, Comte, can't you see-
Kolowrat: *between gasps* it will be a grave mistake to side with the duc d'Orléans now. It'll look as if you're only siding him because you can no longer side with King Charles now that his granddaughter is to be married-
Metternich: *through gritted teeth* Comte, perhaps you should sit down, get your breath back. You might have a heart attack if you strain yourself *tries to herd Franz away*
Franz: *confused but resisting* Madame d'Artois is to marry? To whom?
Kolowrat: the king of Sicily, Majesty. *hands Franz a letter* *duplicate of the one that Metternich gave Franz, only this one stipulates that Louise is to marry Ferdinando, adding that the pope has granted the dispensation*
Franz: *looks from one to the other* *trying to puzzle out which one is the "truth"*
Metternich: *playing his trump to Kolowrat* it doesn't matter now anyway.
Kolowrat: *confused* why not?
Metternich: *produces another letter* *this is the one he received in the dispatches that he reread* *smarmily* Le Roi Charles est mort, vive le Roi Louis Philippe
[1] it has been tried
*interior* *clock is ticking loudly* *then chimes the hour* *followed by the city bells* *we see Metternich working at his desk* *courier arrives with dispatches* *leaves them on the desk* *after the clock is finished chiming there is silence*
Metternich: *opens the pack of dispatches* *takes the first out* *writes a response or a note* *repeats this in a silence that becomes ever more brooding as the ticking of the clock grows louder* *comes to dispatch halfway down the pack* *reads it* *puts it aside* *starts writing a response* *then snatches the dispatch from the pile again* *reads it thoroughly* *rises from the chair* *gets a funny little smile on his face as he walks out of the room, still holding the letter*
Emperor Franz: *seated on a bench in the garden* *enjoying the sunlight* *watching his grandsons, Franz Joseph, Ferdinand Maximilian and Karl Ludwig running around* *their mother, Archduchess Sophie, and Empress Charlotte are on another bench nearby* *cooing over little Archduchess Maria Anna who is just starting to sit up by herself*
*suddenly the birds stop singing* *Empress Charlotte pulls her coat more firmly around her* *even the children briefly pause what they're doing*
Metternich: *bows before Franz* your Majesty
*everybody goes back to as they were* *the birds start chirping again*
Franz: Prince, I trust this is something urgent? *motions for the chancellor to be seated alongside him*
Sophie/Charlotte: *both watch this disapprovingly*
Metternich: your Majesty, I bring news about your niece, the duke of Teschen's daughter
Franz: *gives a "what is it now look" as he stands up and motions for Metternich to walk with him to go and look at the flowers*
Metternich: the king of Sicily has refused the offer of her hand in marriage, Majesty. He prefers a French match
Franz: *looks at Metternich like "this will not do"* I didn't think Ferdinando was such a liberal.
Metternich: as I understand it, the dowry was what persuaded him.
Franz: Gott im himmel, is there no depth to which the duc d'Orléans will not sink?
Metternich: of course, your Majesty...with what your grandson has accomplished with Portugal and the rapprochement among the Bonapartes at his grandmother's funeral-
Franz: them attending the matriarch's funeral is hardly a rapprochement. My uncles all attended my grandmother's funeral and then continued to squabble over her corpse regardless.
Metternich: your Majesty is not concerned that the duke of Reichstadt, the former "king of Rome", being in Rome, amidst all those Bonapartes will try something.
Franz: *doesn't answer* *no doubt the thought has crossed his mind*
Metternich: well, he has, sir.
Franz: *shocked* w-w-w-what?
Metternich: his Serene Highness has been the one to foil your niece's match with the king of Sicily
Franz: You told me it was a French match-
Metternich: it is, Majesty, one which will jeopardize our alliance with the kingdom of the French to no end. And no doubt serve to further undermine what little influence Austria has left in Sicily.
Franz: and you're sure Frankie did this?
Metternich: in his own hand he confirmed it, sire. *offers the letter*
Franz: *reads the letter* *swallows* *you can see he almost looks heart broken*
Metternich: it is his way, Majesty, one cannot take in a stray bear cub and expect it not to bite. Sooner or later, they grow to hate everyone and everything.
Franz: *several emotions flashing over his face* *opens his mouth several times to say something* *finally just sighs*
Metternich: there is another snippet of news, Majesty...about Maria Theresia's French match.
Franz: *irritably* not this again.
Metternich: now would be the best time to agree to it. Austria will need the alliance with France more than ever if he is seemingly galvanizing Italy. To bottle him up in Italy and-
Franz: how often didn't we try that with his father? And every time his father broke through. What makes us think that he will be different- are you alright, Count Kolowrat?
Kolowrat: *out of breath* *clearly having just run to get to Franz* *holds up finger as he catches his breath*
Metternich: as I was saying your Majesty, this is the perfect excuse to agree to your niece's match to the duc de Chartres, so we can send him home with a bride and France will not feel as though we have been wasting their time for the last few months.
Kolowrat: Majesty I *clutches at stitch in his side* must ask you to please reconsider.
Metternich: not now, Comte, can't you see-
Kolowrat: *between gasps* it will be a grave mistake to side with the duc d'Orléans now. It'll look as if you're only siding him because you can no longer side with King Charles now that his granddaughter is to be married-
Metternich: *through gritted teeth* Comte, perhaps you should sit down, get your breath back. You might have a heart attack if you strain yourself *tries to herd Franz away*
Franz: *confused but resisting* Madame d'Artois is to marry? To whom?
Kolowrat: the king of Sicily, Majesty. *hands Franz a letter* *duplicate of the one that Metternich gave Franz, only this one stipulates that Louise is to marry Ferdinando, adding that the pope has granted the dispensation*
Franz: *looks from one to the other* *trying to puzzle out which one is the "truth"*
Metternich: *playing his trump to Kolowrat* it doesn't matter now anyway.
Kolowrat: *confused* why not?
Metternich: *produces another letter* *this is the one he received in the dispatches that he reread* *smarmily* Le Roi Charles est mort, vive le Roi Louis Philippe
[1] it has been tried
Amici Miei! Ah Mes Amis!
Soundtrack: Berlioz, Grande symphonie funèbre et triomphale Op. 15 - Apothéose
*exterior shot of Milan's Duomo* *pan to the cathedral doors*
Henri de Chambord: *dressed in black exits the cathedral* *his mother, her face hidden by a black mourning veil on his arm*
Frankie: *exits behind Henri* *escorting Louise in similar mourning attire*
Henri: *looks at the piazza* *its thronged with crowds* *all wearing black* *some are even hugging prints of the late Charles X*
Louise: *pokes Henri in the small of the back with the point of her umbrella* *hisses* say something, Riton [1]
Henri: *looks at the crowd for a moment* *then kisses his mother's cheek before climbing, first onto the carriage wheels* *then onto the driver's box* *finally he stands on the roof of the coach* *between the ostrich plumes nodding at each corner* *removes hat and holds it in front of him*
Frankie: *underway* God please don't let the roof give way
Henri: *in fluent Italian* miei cari amici! We are deeply touched at this... *swallows* overwhelming show of support for the kindest and most honest of kings, the best of men and the most beloved of grandfathers. And be assured, we shall treasure this moment always, to see the deep love and concern that has moved you to this great show of support, It is your love and support which has made us brave enough to do this. When our own country has been deceived - cruelly - and rejected us, you have welcomed us with open arms, were we not French, we should wish to be Italian. Rest assured that, when we take up the reins of government, the people of Milan, of Tuscany, of Modena, of Savoy, of Rome, of Venice and Parma, will know no truer friend than the king of France!
Someone in crowd: Viva Enrico di Francia!
*by the time Frankie helps him down from the coach roof the crowd is chanting it*
Caroline de Berri: *looks at her son* *then dips a deep curtsey* *crowd cheers even louder*
Louise: *ruins the moment by playfully knocking Henri's hat off his head* *then escaping into the coach*
Crowd: *laughs at her antics*
Henri: *stands at door of coach* you realize this is goodbye.
Louise: *kisses his cheek* it's au revoir, not adieu. *looks at Frankie* I think to believe that we will never see one another again with him around...well, there's more chance of finding an atheist in heaven.
Henri: *looks like he wants to say something*
Louise: happier times will come again, Henri. But you need to stand ready for when they do.
Henri: *nods* *you can see he's on the brink of breaking down*
Frankie: *shakes Henri's hand* *whispers something in his ear* *then climbs up on the driver's box*
Henri: *getting into the other carriage* you're not a fuc- fudging cabbie, François
Frankie: *grins* I'm rather sure that the duc d'Orléans and Prince Metternich would beg to differ. Besides...who's going to stop a cab with me as the driver? I don't know who the passenger is, but her driver is the king of Rome? *whips up horses and drives off* *several other carriages with trunks - obviously Louise's trousseau - fall in behind him*
Henri: *climbs into other coach* *followed by Caroline* *pulls door shut* *their driver whips up the horses* *they ride out of the square in the other direction* *to the crowd singing the finale from Mayr's Gioas: Noi protesi al Regio Trono[2]*
*somewhere down the road* *one can see its later in the day* *the coach has been changed* *but Frankie's still driving* *he takes a sip out of a flask*
Louise: *from inside* Monsieur François?
Frankie: *mouth to the flask* Hmm?
Louise: what's the king like?
Frankie: I've never met him. I tried to get permission to enter Naples but I was told to wait at Rome. And threatened that if I crossed the border I would be- well, separated from some parts of my body I rather like.
Louise: *laughs*
Frankie: and he refused to come to Rome when I requested. But I did send the portrait that Madame Neuville painted of you. It was short notice and Henri had just gotten it.
Louise: *practically hanging out of the window* you think he'll like me?
Frankie: do you know any man who wouldn't prefer the original?
Louise: I think Max of Bavaria will head the list
Frankie: no accounting for taste, Madame. *remembers* there's a present for you.
Louise: where?
Frankie: its under the seat. Next to the wine.
Louise: *looks pointedly at his flask* more wine?
Frankie: this is triple distilled whiskey, not wine.
Louise: can I have a taste?
Frankie: *frowns in disapproval* *but hands her the flask*
Louise: it smells like a wet dog.
Frankie: *thinks for a moment* I've never actually thought of that
Louise: no thanks. If it tastes as bad as it smells... Can't imagine drinking a dog.
Frankie: *chuckles* why don't you get your present, then we can talk.
*muffled noises of Louise moving around inside the coach*
Louise: *shouts* Napoléon!
Frankie: *mutters* only my mother calls me Napoléon, *to Louise* yes dear.
Louise: what's this?
Frankie: a wedding present. Can't have you proving the Orléans right and turning up without anything.
Louise: a wedding present? This is not a wedding present! This is...
Frankie: the necklace my father gave my mother to say "well done" when I was born?
Louise: he gave her this?
Frankie: actually half of that stuff belonged to my mother. Figured that the jewellery your aunt has will go to Henri's wife...whomever that may be, and my mother doesn't wear these any more[3]
*sound of Louise opening further boxes* *couple of screams of excitement*
Frankie: Either you approve...or you're having a seizure, should I stop for a doctor?
Louise: *pokes head out of coach* she just gave them to you?
Frankie: give...is a...relative term. She won't miss them.
Louise: you stole them?
Frankie: *grins* liberated. That's what we Bonapartes are all about. *serious voice* they were coming to me any way. Since emeralds are so not my colour, I thought I'd let someone who can use them more than I can have them.
Louise: what about your wife? Won't she want them back?
Frankie: *mockingly* Louise, I'd like you to meet my imaginary wife; my wife, Louise d'Artois.
Louise: *playfully shaking hands with an invisible woman* how do you do, Madame la Duchesse.
Frankie: you can't miss something you never had. Like my mother. Besides, if I don't take them from her those...brats of hers will fight and squabble over them like they're owed the inheritance of their father their king.
Louise: you never speak about her. Or them.
Frankie: what's to talk about. She's a selfish, weak woman who abandoned me and my father like we were pieces of garbage. How many times have you seen her since you moved to Vienna? Two, three? She cares more about her new husband than she does about me.
Louise: I didn't know she remarried.
Frankie: widow of an emperor, made a duchess mired in Parmesan cheese and then the whore of a count, hardly anything worth mentioning.
Louise: at least your parents didn't have to get married like mine did.
Frankie: oh?
Louise: was one of the last things grandpapa said about mama. That she and papa had to get married because he got her pregnant.
Frankie: did you ask her about it?
Louise: no. She just looked so...horrified that he knew-
Frankie: and you thought you'd ask me?
Louise: you know these sorts of things, and at least you've always been honest with me
Frankie: the answer is true in every way except one. It wasn't your mother.
Louise: but grandpapa said it was in Naples
Frankie: versions vary on whether it was the queen of Sardinia [4] or the duchesse d'Orléans, but what happened was that long before you or I were thought of, and about a year after your mama was born, your papa went to Naples and...left an impression on the court. The princess of Salerno told me.
Louise: the duchesse d'Orléans, as in-
Frankie: as in the woman swanning around the Tuileries pretending to be queen. There doesn't seem to be any record of what happened to the child - understandable, even with all the shit that was hitting the fan in 1799, advertising your daughter was a...well-
Louise: whore?
Frankie: I was going to say impressionable. Here comes the handsome young French prince, and he says a few pretty words to you...heart's all aflutter...one thing leads to another and next thing you're ruined.
Louise: you think that that's why the duc d'Orléans said what he did about Mama? In the Vendée
Frankie: he wouldn't be the first person to do it. What's that saying? When you're guilty of something you accuse someone else of doing the same so you're not alone?
Louise: *as next town comes into view* I've never heard that saying
Frankie: wonderful. Then history can remember me as the man who came up with it. On the road between Milan and Cremona. At *pulls out pocket watch* four-thirty-seven in the afternoon of April 23 1836. Least that'll be something worth remembering me for. Might not have the ambitions of writing a grand opera like Ferdinand of Coburg-
Louise: *laughing* he wants to write an opera?
Frankie: I know. Frightfully dull. Likely it will have some...insipid little libretto by some non-entity Italian- like my uncle Lucien who fancies himself a writer.
Louise: or maybe it'll be like Frau Heiter [5] or Madame Farrenc [6]'s work that is actually good.
Frankie: have you met us Bonapartes? Most of us aren't just short, we suffer from a shortage of things like talent, common decency and ordinary respect for our fellow citizens. Anything a woman like Madame Farrenc writes will be an improvement, I'm sure.
*fade to black*
[1] old French pet form of Henri
[2] We reach out to the royal throne. Gioas, Re di Giuda/Joas, Roi de Judée is the story of a young king with a dead father triumphantly restored after being deposed by a usurper who murdered the rest of his family. I was going to go with Va' Pensiero from Verdi's Nabbucco, but that won't be written for another five years, and won't be popular as a street song for another twelve.
[2] Noi Protesi al Regio Trono
[3] after the Congress of Vienna, Marie Louise was allowed to retire to Parma with all of the jewellery that Napoléon had gifted her. Due to her having no "legitimate" heirs, most went back to the Habsburgs, the diamond necklace ended up with Archduchess Sophie, for instance.
Like this diamond-and-ruby parure made for her wedding
the emerald and diamond parure made for her
And of course, this bad boy that Nappy gave her when Frankie was born
[4] Maria Cristina of Naples
[5] Frau Heiter was the pseudonym that Maria Amalie of Saxony published her compositions under
[6] Louise Farrenc was the first female professor at the Paris Conservatory in the 1830s.
*exterior shot of Milan's Duomo* *pan to the cathedral doors*
Henri de Chambord: *dressed in black exits the cathedral* *his mother, her face hidden by a black mourning veil on his arm*
Frankie: *exits behind Henri* *escorting Louise in similar mourning attire*
Henri: *looks at the piazza* *its thronged with crowds* *all wearing black* *some are even hugging prints of the late Charles X*
Louise: *pokes Henri in the small of the back with the point of her umbrella* *hisses* say something, Riton [1]
Henri: *looks at the crowd for a moment* *then kisses his mother's cheek before climbing, first onto the carriage wheels* *then onto the driver's box* *finally he stands on the roof of the coach* *between the ostrich plumes nodding at each corner* *removes hat and holds it in front of him*
Frankie: *underway* God please don't let the roof give way
Henri: *in fluent Italian* miei cari amici! We are deeply touched at this... *swallows* overwhelming show of support for the kindest and most honest of kings, the best of men and the most beloved of grandfathers. And be assured, we shall treasure this moment always, to see the deep love and concern that has moved you to this great show of support, It is your love and support which has made us brave enough to do this. When our own country has been deceived - cruelly - and rejected us, you have welcomed us with open arms, were we not French, we should wish to be Italian. Rest assured that, when we take up the reins of government, the people of Milan, of Tuscany, of Modena, of Savoy, of Rome, of Venice and Parma, will know no truer friend than the king of France!
Someone in crowd: Viva Enrico di Francia!
*by the time Frankie helps him down from the coach roof the crowd is chanting it*
Caroline de Berri: *looks at her son* *then dips a deep curtsey* *crowd cheers even louder*
Louise: *ruins the moment by playfully knocking Henri's hat off his head* *then escaping into the coach*
Crowd: *laughs at her antics*
Henri: *stands at door of coach* you realize this is goodbye.
Louise: *kisses his cheek* it's au revoir, not adieu. *looks at Frankie* I think to believe that we will never see one another again with him around...well, there's more chance of finding an atheist in heaven.
Henri: *looks like he wants to say something*
Louise: happier times will come again, Henri. But you need to stand ready for when they do.
Henri: *nods* *you can see he's on the brink of breaking down*
Frankie: *shakes Henri's hand* *whispers something in his ear* *then climbs up on the driver's box*
Henri: *getting into the other carriage* you're not a fuc- fudging cabbie, François
Frankie: *grins* I'm rather sure that the duc d'Orléans and Prince Metternich would beg to differ. Besides...who's going to stop a cab with me as the driver? I don't know who the passenger is, but her driver is the king of Rome? *whips up horses and drives off* *several other carriages with trunks - obviously Louise's trousseau - fall in behind him*
Henri: *climbs into other coach* *followed by Caroline* *pulls door shut* *their driver whips up the horses* *they ride out of the square in the other direction* *to the crowd singing the finale from Mayr's Gioas: Noi protesi al Regio Trono[2]*
*somewhere down the road* *one can see its later in the day* *the coach has been changed* *but Frankie's still driving* *he takes a sip out of a flask*
Louise: *from inside* Monsieur François?
Frankie: *mouth to the flask* Hmm?
Louise: what's the king like?
Frankie: I've never met him. I tried to get permission to enter Naples but I was told to wait at Rome. And threatened that if I crossed the border I would be- well, separated from some parts of my body I rather like.
Louise: *laughs*
Frankie: and he refused to come to Rome when I requested. But I did send the portrait that Madame Neuville painted of you. It was short notice and Henri had just gotten it.
Louise: *practically hanging out of the window* you think he'll like me?
Frankie: do you know any man who wouldn't prefer the original?
Louise: I think Max of Bavaria will head the list
Frankie: no accounting for taste, Madame. *remembers* there's a present for you.
Louise: where?
Frankie: its under the seat. Next to the wine.
Louise: *looks pointedly at his flask* more wine?
Frankie: this is triple distilled whiskey, not wine.
Louise: can I have a taste?
Frankie: *frowns in disapproval* *but hands her the flask*
Louise: it smells like a wet dog.
Frankie: *thinks for a moment* I've never actually thought of that
Louise: no thanks. If it tastes as bad as it smells... Can't imagine drinking a dog.
Frankie: *chuckles* why don't you get your present, then we can talk.
*muffled noises of Louise moving around inside the coach*
Louise: *shouts* Napoléon!
Frankie: *mutters* only my mother calls me Napoléon, *to Louise* yes dear.
Louise: what's this?
Frankie: a wedding present. Can't have you proving the Orléans right and turning up without anything.
Louise: a wedding present? This is not a wedding present! This is...
Frankie: the necklace my father gave my mother to say "well done" when I was born?
Louise: he gave her this?
Frankie: actually half of that stuff belonged to my mother. Figured that the jewellery your aunt has will go to Henri's wife...whomever that may be, and my mother doesn't wear these any more[3]
*sound of Louise opening further boxes* *couple of screams of excitement*
Frankie: Either you approve...or you're having a seizure, should I stop for a doctor?
Louise: *pokes head out of coach* she just gave them to you?
Frankie: give...is a...relative term. She won't miss them.
Louise: you stole them?
Frankie: *grins* liberated. That's what we Bonapartes are all about. *serious voice* they were coming to me any way. Since emeralds are so not my colour, I thought I'd let someone who can use them more than I can have them.
Louise: what about your wife? Won't she want them back?
Frankie: *mockingly* Louise, I'd like you to meet my imaginary wife; my wife, Louise d'Artois.
Louise: *playfully shaking hands with an invisible woman* how do you do, Madame la Duchesse.
Frankie: you can't miss something you never had. Like my mother. Besides, if I don't take them from her those...brats of hers will fight and squabble over them like they're owed the inheritance of their father their king.
Louise: you never speak about her. Or them.
Frankie: what's to talk about. She's a selfish, weak woman who abandoned me and my father like we were pieces of garbage. How many times have you seen her since you moved to Vienna? Two, three? She cares more about her new husband than she does about me.
Louise: I didn't know she remarried.
Frankie: widow of an emperor, made a duchess mired in Parmesan cheese and then the whore of a count, hardly anything worth mentioning.
Louise: at least your parents didn't have to get married like mine did.
Frankie: oh?
Louise: was one of the last things grandpapa said about mama. That she and papa had to get married because he got her pregnant.
Frankie: did you ask her about it?
Louise: no. She just looked so...horrified that he knew-
Frankie: and you thought you'd ask me?
Louise: you know these sorts of things, and at least you've always been honest with me
Frankie: the answer is true in every way except one. It wasn't your mother.
Louise: but grandpapa said it was in Naples
Frankie: versions vary on whether it was the queen of Sardinia [4] or the duchesse d'Orléans, but what happened was that long before you or I were thought of, and about a year after your mama was born, your papa went to Naples and...left an impression on the court. The princess of Salerno told me.
Louise: the duchesse d'Orléans, as in-
Frankie: as in the woman swanning around the Tuileries pretending to be queen. There doesn't seem to be any record of what happened to the child - understandable, even with all the shit that was hitting the fan in 1799, advertising your daughter was a...well-
Louise: whore?
Frankie: I was going to say impressionable. Here comes the handsome young French prince, and he says a few pretty words to you...heart's all aflutter...one thing leads to another and next thing you're ruined.
Louise: you think that that's why the duc d'Orléans said what he did about Mama? In the Vendée
Frankie: he wouldn't be the first person to do it. What's that saying? When you're guilty of something you accuse someone else of doing the same so you're not alone?
Louise: *as next town comes into view* I've never heard that saying
Frankie: wonderful. Then history can remember me as the man who came up with it. On the road between Milan and Cremona. At *pulls out pocket watch* four-thirty-seven in the afternoon of April 23 1836. Least that'll be something worth remembering me for. Might not have the ambitions of writing a grand opera like Ferdinand of Coburg-
Louise: *laughing* he wants to write an opera?
Frankie: I know. Frightfully dull. Likely it will have some...insipid little libretto by some non-entity Italian- like my uncle Lucien who fancies himself a writer.
Louise: or maybe it'll be like Frau Heiter [5] or Madame Farrenc [6]'s work that is actually good.
Frankie: have you met us Bonapartes? Most of us aren't just short, we suffer from a shortage of things like talent, common decency and ordinary respect for our fellow citizens. Anything a woman like Madame Farrenc writes will be an improvement, I'm sure.
*fade to black*
[1] old French pet form of Henri
[2] We reach out to the royal throne. Gioas, Re di Giuda/Joas, Roi de Judée is the story of a young king with a dead father triumphantly restored after being deposed by a usurper who murdered the rest of his family. I was going to go with Va' Pensiero from Verdi's Nabbucco, but that won't be written for another five years, and won't be popular as a street song for another twelve.
[2] Noi Protesi al Regio Trono
Like this diamond-and-ruby parure made for her wedding
the emerald and diamond parure made for her
And of course, this bad boy that Nappy gave her when Frankie was born
[5] Frau Heiter was the pseudonym that Maria Amalie of Saxony published her compositions under
[6] Louise Farrenc was the first female professor at the Paris Conservatory in the 1830s.