Again, however, she was mistaken. Rudolf was installed as soon as possible in a remote part of the palace, the Archduchess insisting that it was not suitable for the heir to a great empire to be brought up by a young mother who as yet did not even know how to conduct herself. When Elizabeth begged to be allowed the care of her own child and dwelt on the comfort it would be to her, her mother-in-law declared indignantly that it was absurd to talk of the need for comfort when she had everything in the world to make her happy. From Sophie’s point of view indeed this was perhaps true, but Elizabeth was of a different stamp, and no outward luxury could make up to her for disappointed hopes or an empty heart. Matters grew still worse for her when in the Summer of 1857 the Emperor’s second brother, Ferdinand Maximilian, married Charlotte, the daughter of King Leopold First of Belgium. This aspiring princess attached herself at once to the court party and became a great favorite with her mother-in-law. Meanwhile heavy clouds were gathering on the political horizon. Among Franz Joseph’s Italian subjects the ferment was strongest, but throughout the whole Empire there was great discontent. It was well known that the Archduchess Sophie held the reins of power, and that it was she who declared war or concluded peace,—a state of things that caused much opposition in diplomatic circles, while all classes united in condemning this so-called “petticoat government.” When the war with France and Sardinia broke out in 1859, it was less a question of the country’s incontestable rights than of the maintenance of the power of the Jesuits. Elizabeth plainly saw the mistake her husband was making in allowing himself to be guided so much by his mother in political matters and longed to use her influence with him to prevent it, but she was powerless. No one asked her advice, no one cared for her opinion; so she held her peace. While Franz Joseph was fighting at Solferino and his mother corresponded with foreign courts or held long conferences with statesmen and diplomats, the Empress had to content herself with visiting wounded soldiers and officers from the Italian battlefields. Like an angel of mercy she went about among the hospitals, tasting the food that had been prepared and distributing money and cigars. Her gentle words of pity and cheer carried the more weight since they had none of the sanctimonious tone so common at that time. The halo of piety with which the Archduchess Sophie enveloped all her actions was most distasteful to Elizabeth, who did not attempt to conceal her dislike of the clergy.