Second Wirth Cabinet (3): Karl I
On the morning of November 11th, with Prime Minister Joseph Wirth absent, I shook hands with Charge d'Affaires Ellis Loring Dresel and exchanged the ratification documents.
"Prime Minister Wirth was unable to attend due to a scheduling conflict."
"Well, our President Harding couldn't make it either."
Dresel quipped lightly, extending his hand for another shake. I clasped it once more, gently.
"Then we're in similar boats."
Dresel nodded with a brief chuckle.
"What matters isn't who came, but what we've exchanged." He turned his gaze to the documents as he spoke.
I offered no particular reply, simply nodding quietly as I gathered the papers.
The ceremony was straightforward: exchange the signed documents, confirm them, and done. Through this simple procedure, both nations formally ratified the treaty, bringing the state of war between the United States and Germany to a complete end.
I glanced down at the document in my hand.
"If I may be so bold, Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes mentioned that further discussions between America and Germany might be necessary."
Dresel spoke softly. I looked up at him. His expression remained mild, but the tone had shifted from the earlier banter.
"...Is that so."
I replied curtly, and he nodded slightly before continuing.
"You may not have received the details yet, but in Washington, there's an atmosphere of addressing this more seriously."
I fell silent for a moment.
"Is this regarding the reparations issue?"
I asked quietly, and Dresel smiled ever so faintly.
"You could see it that way."
It was an ambiguous answer, but sufficient. I nodded, finishing with the papers.
"Thank you for passing it along. The Foreign Office will review it."
I stepped back, assuming a composed pose before the photographers. Dresel, too, turned familiarly toward the cameras.
My mind was a whirlwind. Before things grew more tangled, I needed to prioritize.
"I never imagined even the British Foreign Secretary would get involved. This is my first time meeting you."
"You do realize this is a conversation between nations, don't you?"
"Well, I'm here in a personal capacity."
George Curzon lifted his coffee cup with a smile. An Amsterdam cafe—that was why I'd made the trip to neutral territory, at Britain's request.
Karl I. I was considering relocating him to Switzerland. On the surface, it could be framed as restoring order or removing an unnecessary source of unrest, but the real aim was securing a means to intervene in the Hungarian question. In other words, cultivating a pro-German state from the shadows.
Friedrich Ebert and Wirth were willing to take some risks if it meant breaking diplomatic isolation. Not officially, of course. I was operating personally, and these talks remained entirely unofficial.
"Not far from here, in The Hague, you could meet your father."
"He's probably doing well somewhere."
Seeing my indifferent demeanor, Curzon paused briefly before sipping his coffee.
"To be direct: from Germany's perspective—and mine personally, as Prince Joachim of the imperial house—it's hard to trust Portugal, Britain's traditional ally, as a haven for a Habsburg monarch."
Curzon fell silent. The clink of his cup on the saucer echoed softly.
"An intriguing phrasing."
He spoke slowly.
"It sounds like Portugal is the issue, but aren't you really concerned about his 'position'?"
I showed no reaction. No need to affirm or deny.
Curzon chuckled lightly at my composure. I addressed him squarely.
"Rest assured. Germany is a republic. At the very least, I have no intention of restoring the Habsburgs to the throne."
"...And I'm to believe that?"
His tone was light, but the implication was weighty. I met his gaze steadily.
"Then why would I work for the republic?"
Curzon shook his head.
"Fair point, if you think about it."
He took another sip before continuing.
"Still, Portugal is neutral enough. I don't see why change the exile."
I mulled it over.
"Switzerland is the same. Arguably more so. He'd escape all our direct control—but fall under everyone's watch."
I said quietly, and Curzon's smile faded.
He sat motionless for a time, slowly rotating the cup's handle with his fingers.
"...That's an intriguing angle."
I didn't reply. No need to press; he already grasped it.
Curzon eyed me a moment longer, then spoke again.
"Moving to Switzerland would at least expand his range of action compared to now."
"Physically, yes."
I replied evenly.
"But politically, it narrows. Have any of the exiles who fled to Switzerland returned to politics?"
Curzon's gaze hardened imperceptibly. I pressed on.
"Portugal is safe, but isolates him from the outside. Switzerland, under constant scrutiny, strikes me as more fitting."
A brief silence.
"That could also mean anyone might meddle."
I tilted my head ever so slightly.
"Which creates balance."
Curzon's eyes returned to me.
"Mutual surveillance can be more stable than one-sided control."
My reasoning boiled down to that one point, though of course it wasn't the whole story. Whether the kingdom of Britain would pretend to be outmaneuvered was another matter.
Curzon fell quiet again. He glanced at his coffee, then took a slow sip.
"Intriguing logic."
His voice had lowered, unmistakably shifted.
"Then, regarding Karl I's treatment—shall we leave it to you?"
The abrupt turn caught me off guard.
"To me?"
Curzon nodded.
"Legally, he's an exile. We have no obligation to shepherd him to a place that's not even our soil."
I paused wordlessly. The responsibility here lay not with Germany or the Foreign Office—but with me, Joachim von Preußen, personally.
I looked up slowly.
"So you're handing it off to an individual."
Curzon didn't deny it.
"Hasn't it been that way from the start?"
He said matter-of-factly.
"I understand the undersecretary is here in a personal capacity as well."
I chuckled briefly, choosing my words carefully.
"Since I negotiated personally, the outcome is my personal responsibility?"
Curzon nodded openly this time.
"That's the understanding."
I let my gaze drop to the table, weighing it.
"Very well."
Curzon's eyes flickered faintly.
"That condition simplifies things, actually."
"Simplifies?"
I nodded.
"I'll take it to mean no one else interferes while I bear the responsibility."
Curzon's eyes narrowed.
"You seem quite confident."
I replied leisurely.
"I wouldn't have started if I weren't."
After a short silence, Curzon laughed.
"Fine. You started it—you finish it."
I could only smirk at that.
A quiet cafe in Bern, Switzerland. I sipped coffee, awaiting my contact.
Securing the deal with Britain was a win, but the issue was that Joachim von Preußen as an individual lacked the standing to fully shoulder responsibility for Karl I—in other words, the head of the vast Habsburg house. Naturally, this couldn't be handled personally.
It required action at the family level. The problem: as someone virtually disowned by the Hohenzollerns, getting full approval from the family head, Wilhelm II, was uncertain.
Hence, I needed a brother's help.
"It's been a while."
Unlike my other brothers, a man with an unusually gentle face appeared before me. I smirked.
"You've come, brother."
"Yes, Joachim. Things seem to have gotten quite noisy for you."
He set his bowler hat on the table and sat. The one man who could help me without risk—the third son of Wilhelm, Adalbert von Preußen.