Snubs at the Salon and the Schönbrunn Shuffle
The Belgian delegation, invited by Viennese nobles to entertain guests, attended the salon.
“Welcome. First time in Vienna, I take it?”
A kingdom forged from the great powers' interests—naturally, civilization is all new to you.
“Her Majesty the Empress is personally receiving the delegation for the first time, so she's paying extra attention, it seems. Even His Majesty the Emperor was quite tense at his coronation.”
The host is putting in the effort; you guests can't just make a mess of things.
“Countess, the Hofburg's ancient traditions might feel a bit unfamiliar, no? We find them a tad complicated ourselves.”
Your country's history is shorter than our palace bathroom's, so of course you don't get it. Shorter than our gardeners' family lineage, even.
“Still, you're fortunate. Being personally tended to by Her Majesty is hospitality unimaginable in Belgium.”
Be grateful. Normally, you lot wouldn't even glimpse the hem of Her Majesty's gown.
“We've come only to check on our princess's health.”
“Oh, health... what a heartbreaking tragedy. Here in Vienna, we're usually too busy sharing grief during mourning to check anything else.”
Prioritizing checks over condolences—very much the new kingdom mindset.
“The Archduchess worries greatly about us too. That's why Her Majesty has Her isolated so carefully, lest any impure elements disrupt the peace.”
Keeping leeches like you from latching on.
“Exactly. With the republics popping up in the Two Sicilies and all, Europe's in turmoil—Her Majesty is being cautious.”
“An old empire like ours must be even more prudent.”
The countess covered her mouth with her fan, her eyes alone smiling as she drove the point home.
“But no worries. Vienna is always gracious—we'll ensure it's a fine experience, getting up close with the imperial family.”
Hmph, a doctor like you, lucky to tag along on the delegation and meet Her Majesty, whom even we can't see casually.
“...Thank you.”
'Surely, relations between the Empress and Vienna's nobles were at their worst?'
The noblewomen before them acted like the Empress's personal guard.
Rumors of Sisi's poor ties with the German nobles had long been accepted as fact across Europe.
“I know a fine dressmaker—shall I introduce you? Belgian fashion must be busy chasing Paris trends. Vienna still holds to rococo styles.”
Do you think showing up to court in sans-culottes is normal?
No independent culture, just aping France—that's why you don't know.
“Baroness, did you hear? An artist received a medal this time.”
“Oh, I sponsored that artist's exhibition, so I heard.”
No talent in your country, so they sent a medal-less nobody like you? Or are Belgian medals so cheap no one wears them?
Finally, someone couldn't hold back.
“Is this how Vienna treats guests?”
“Oh dear, my apologies. Your customs may differ from our court protocols. We should have been more considerate.”
We've protocols because we're ancient; unsure if you even have customs.
“Madame, don't humiliate them too much.”
She exchanged a glance with the footman.
“As amends, prepare some chamomile tea for them.”
You're losing your reason and throwing a hysterical fit—shut up and calm down.
“Rushing to recall Austrian bonds like that—Belgium's economy must be in dire straits?”
So desperate for cash you couldn't even fund the delegation's education budget?
“Quite worrisome. Our dear Archduchess Henriette is queen there, after all.”
Our noble Habsburg princess deigned to be your parvenu kingdom's queen—be thankful, not hounding your in-laws for debts.
“How about tickets to the Schönbrunn Zoo after your audience with Her Majesty?”
Even beasts know grace; Belgium's rudeness is beneath beasts.
Why do they look so... what, all flustered and dazed?
“Hunjadi, what happened today?”
“We welcomed the delegation at the salon.”
Ah, the salon. That explains the faces. No telling if it's tongues or knives there.
“Lifelong scholars, those ones...”
Poor things.
A real delegation might've argued back, but they just took it and left. Otherwise, no such expressions.
“Preparations done? Let's move.”
At my words, the maids bowed in unison.
No need to repeat orders. The entire court had been gearing up for days.
The master of ceremonies handed over the dossier quietly.
“We shall proceed per Her Majesty's schedule to the summer residence.”
I just nodded.
*
The Hofburg corridors buzzed from morning.
Carpets rolled up, portraits lowered from walls, chandelier ornaments packed into crates one by one. Wooden boxes stamped with the imperial crest lined the halls endlessly.
Newcomers always wore the same look at this sight.
Unable to grasp that the palace itself was moving.
I leaned by the window, gazing down.
Guards lined the route; the stables overflowed with horses. Each scrape of hooves rang with iron.
And amid it, the Belgian delegation stood.
Still clueless.
Should've behaved from the start. Might've gotten an audience before we left for Schönbrunn.
Imperial carriages aligned one by one.
Mine and Joseph's always led.
Behind: crown prince's entourage, then court nobles' carriages in a long train.
The court was always thus.
Who leads, who follows—clear from the carriage line alone.
The Belgians were placed at the tail end.
I deliberately didn't turn. No need to check.
The master of ceremonies murmured quietly.
“Belgian delegation is ready to move.”
“Is that so?”
I took Joseph's hand and boarded the carriage.
“It'll be quite the experience.”
Schönbrunn's different from Hofburg.
The carriages began rolling.
Hofburg's gates receded slowly. The imperial banner atop them lowered gradually.
I watched the scene briefly.
Sign the court was vacant.
A mere ceremony outwardly, but weighty in court.
When court moves, power moves.
And diplomacy always trails power.
Leaving Vienna proper, roads widened.
To the carriages' gentle sway, roadside trees whipped by.
I parted the curtain halfway.
“Look, Schönbrunn's in sight.”
The palace emerged distantly.
Joseph preferred Schönbrunn to Hofburg.
“Better than Hofburg, no? Gardens for the children to run in.”
“True. I don't care for excess.”
Too vast and enclosed for a mere retreat.
“Hofburg is the state; Schönbrunn, the family.”
“Family.”
“Diplomats find others' family histories the trickiest terrain.”
At Schönbrunn, the delegation weren't official guests—just uninvited ones.
Good for half a year's torment.
“Where'd you billet the delegation?”
“Outer palace estate.”
At Schönbrunn, distance was rank.
Closer to palace: closer to power. Farther: farther from info.
Perfect for Belgium.
Joseph initially opposed the delegation coming even to Schönbrunn.
“What an honor—entering a space no one's been invited to.”
I squeezed his hand lightly.
“The Belgians don't grasp what Schönbrunn means.”
Descending the Schönbrunn carriage, I addressed the master of ceremonies.
“What's the first day's schedule?”
“Imperial family's garden stroll and rest; all official audiences canceled.”
“Inform the Belgian delegation again.”
“All diplomatic schedules received at Hofburg will be notified separately upon imperial reorganization.”
Uninvited guests must learn to wait.
“Yes, with so many tiresome matters lately, reorganization will take time.”
As I unpacked in my chambers, Königseck approached.
“Your Majesty, a telegram.”
This doesn't look like ours.
Sender: Maximilian von Habsburg
Come to Brussels at once. Your brother and I await here. All is safe. Leave Austria immediately. Maximilian.
If Charlotte got this, she'd believe her husband alive and calling her, abandoning Miramare.
Tricking his sister-in-law with a dead husband's name to seize assets.
How to play this card.
Can't reveal we intercepted it...
Now I see why the Chimmerman telegram was disclosed late.
First, alibi.
“Tighten surveillance on Charlotte. No one approaches but Archduchess Henriette and Count of Flanders.”
I pointed to a servant.
“You—what's your name?”
“Hannah, Your Majesty.”
I removed an earring and offered it to her.
“Good, Hannah. Take a quick trip to Miramare.”
The Belgian telegram would unfortunately be deemed torn up by Charlotte.
Having used the Rothschilds, the other Rothschilds would react soon... Britain's turn to move.
Belgium has few cards to pressure Austria with.
“...And?”
Earl Derby—Edward Stanley—was incredulous.
Mistaking this for family court?
“Couldn't Britain mediate?”
“London ruling on the Austrian Empress's family affairs. Quite bold.”
Untoward for a gentleman?
“Does Her Majesty mean Britain should persuade the protected Archduchess in Austria to return to Belgium?”
“We seek only to confirm her safety.”
He chuckled lightly.
“Evidence the Habsburg court threatens its own Archduchess?”
“Reports say the Empress isolates her excessively.”
“Whose reports? Brussels'? Salon gossip? We act on treaty breaches or border incursions. Intervening in a royal house's internals—without clear proof—is dubious.”
“Yet she's also a Belgian princess.”
“Habsburg Empress too.”
As the Belgian envoy opened his mouth, a document arrived for Derby's signature.
He skimmed it, raising a brow.
“Deposited at the Bank of England, it says.”
“Unilateral Austrian action—invalid.”
“Hmm, Rothschild signature too. London branch brokered it.”
He set it down, eyeing the envoy squarely.
“Situation's changed. Assets in a British bank undermine claims Austria seized them. Rather, Britain must guarantee this trust's stability.”
“But the Archduchess's own will—”
“To confirm that, she'll need to come to London herself. Or a Miramare meeting under British mediation.”
Derby chuckled lightly.
“Either way, London must act now. Congratulations—you got your mediation.”