The Salon Waltz
"Your Majesty the Empress."
"Pauline, long time no see."
To solve the homework my mother-in-law assigned, I needed an accomplice.
Conveniently, the queen of high society happened to be my friend.
"Empress Eugénie chose London."
"What a shame."
Probably something Napoleon pulled.
Still, eyeing a comeback from Vienna...
"The French public still harbors hostility toward Vienna."
"Behind the declaration of the President of the German Confederation at Versailles, Bismarck was undoubtedly pulling the strings."
While everyone was fixated on the Battle of Sedan and diplomacy, Bismarck moved swiftly, uniting the Germans.
Instead of a German king, he declared a presidency, successfully driving a wedge between France and Austria.
'We're still the German kings, though.' That sly old fox.
Thanks to him, Vienna's Germans are split down the middle.
Those who lost the presidency but cling to German unification dreams—the German faction—and those ready to abandon it for a unified empire—the imperial faction.
"So, Pauline, I need your help."
"What kind of help, Your Majesty?"
"I can't think of anyone better suited to lead the salon. So, will you lend a hand?"
You have to see a skilled assistant's demonstration first before you can mimic it.
Mother-in-law no longer has the energy for demos.
"Of course."
Pauline flashed a refreshing smile.
Is that the secret to her Paris charm?
I envy that big mouth...
Back in my acting days, I was jealous of performers with wide mouths.
The slightest smile or frown shows such vivid expression.
'Mine's small, so I had to fan it mysteriously for that enigmatic vibe.'
Still, as empress, it's not a bad trait. Hard-to-read emotions naturally command authority.
*
It's been ages since a proper salon.
Tea parties were rare, banquets only when necessary.
Maybe that's why the guests invited to today's Hofburg small salon wore expressions laced with peculiar tension.
Good—small round tables and sofas instead of a big banquet setup.
Strauss, swamped with musical production, was set to play waltzes today.
"Your Majesty the Empress."
"Come in, Count Beust. Deák, you must be tired from the long journey."
The two exchanged polite nods.
The air between them seemed surprisingly cordial.
'Riding the same boat, are they?'
"This is Pauline, Princess von Metternich. Let me introduce you."
As I presented Pauline, she approached them.
"Professor Deák, you look just as vigorous as when I saw you in Pest years ago. I remember meeting you at my family's Sándor estate."
"Your kind words bring back fond memories of home."
With Pauline drawing Deák away, I'd handle the remaining guest.
"Strauss's waltzes are always so satisfying, aren't they?"
"They never fail to lighten people's steps."
"Yet some find that frivolity off-putting."
Still pushing to concede to Hungary on the Hungarian issue?
I get wanting to focus on Germany, but that's not why Joseph trusts you, Count.
"Sometimes you step on toes while waltzing."
"The first beat belongs to the leader, the second to the follower. Balance comes on the final beat. Match steps, and there's no collision."
'Show Austria extending a hand to Hungary for the lead.'
Not wrong.
"Sometimes a march is needed, all marching as one. Last year's Philharmonic concert at the newly opened Musikverein was unforgettable—like the Radetzky March echoing there."
But will you keep obstructing my man's plans? "The Radetzky March is fine, but waltzes suit me better. Marches fit when the destination's clear."
Is he talking Hungary or Germany?
Right on cue, the next guest arrived.
"Your Majesty the Empress."
An elderly man sporting the Iron Crown medal.
"Lord Palacký, it's been since Ferdinand's christening."
We hadn't even crossed paths since.
"Yes, war kept us apart—I'm grateful you remember the regret."
František Palacký, father of Czech nation and history.
"I've heard your health's been poor."
"I dragged this ailing body to Your Majesty's grace."
As Palacký bowed politely, I noted Beust's stiff lips.
'Waltzes are for two. Far from our multi-ethnic reality.'
Deák's reaction wasn't as bad as I'd feared.
"May I ask what you were discussing?"
"Just the Philharmonic."
Palacký smiled like a kindly grandfather.
"Same as ever, even after so long."
In Paris, fashion's inevitable; in Vienna, music's the easiest icebreaker.
"I can't monopolize a new guest. Count Beust, if it's no imposition, why not chat with Lord Palacký?"
Beust, composure regained, replied.
"Certainly."
I continued greeting arrivals. Königsegg was supposed to signal my exit timing.
'Where's Königsegg standing?'
Königsegg, watching from the wall, mimed adjusting her gloves.
I fiddled with mine, nodded lightly to them, and settled on the inner sofa.
Perfect vantage: full view of the room's flow, lighting shadowing my face.
I observed Pauline closely.
'Impressive... I'm already exhausted and want to bolt.'
She smoothly steered Deák toward Beust and Palacký, opening the conversation floodgates.
Other guests mattered, but those three bombshells were priority.
Beust reacted first, fidgeting with his teacup, desperately seeking Pauline's eyes.
Clear as day from afar: he wanted out or a topic shift.
Balancing power half-German, half-Hungarian? If Bohemia demands too, revenge on Prussia might slip away.
Has he lost it? Underestimating France after watching it crumble?
Deák, stroking his chin, listened intently to Palacký.
'Deák's more indifferent to Slavs than I thought?'
Königsegg approached.
"Your Majesty, His Majesty the Emperor asks when it might end."
I want to retreat to my room now.
"Another three hours, probably."
Guests didn't come with spare time.
I picked up the Tokay wine a footman offered.
The wine even Louis XIV praised as kings' nectar.
Splurged to boost Hungarian nobles' spirits.
I just wet my lips.
Ugh, potent.
Joseph and I downed this on our wedding night and slept like logs.
Pushing memories aside, I refocused.
"They say no Parisian salonnière ranks second to you—clearly no exaggeration."
'That's why she wanted the guest list.'
To disrupt emerging alliances, she constantly pulls in fresh faces, shaking the board.
Pauline occasionally nodded my way; I'd return it, linking her groups to others.
...Expect me to do that? Better to waltz with Bismarck a hundred times.
Footmen, feigning service, relayed intel.
'Palacký pitching Bohemian autonomy to Deák, and he's nodding along?'
What's spinning here?
Hungary won't concede Bohemian autonomy, so this is just to torment Austria now.
Aiming to extract more concessions later?
I peeked at Beust's pallor through my fan.
'Paler than a corpse.'
Diplomatic whiz maybe, but outmatched in multi-ethnic infighting by battle-hardened vets like Deák and Palacký.
Yet Joseph trusts him.
Our eyes met Pauline's as she chatted nearby with noblewomen. I subtly pointed my fan at Beust.
'Rescue him.'
"Oh dear, you three look so grave—no other guests dare approach."
Pauline flipped the mood instantly.
"I was just discussing Sir Strauss's new waltz with these ladies. Professor Deák, I've heard Hungarian balls are far more passionate than Vienna's—is it true?"
Three hours.
With Pauline masterfully directing the stage, I could just spectate comfortably till the end.
Used to crave the spotlight like her, but was I just capitalism's slave?
Gathering intel while reminiscing flew by the time.
Slowing music signaled wrap-up.
"Sir Strauss, splendid as always."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Heading out, I locked eyes one by one.
"Thanks for your precious time."
"We wish Your Majesty glory."
Exchanging farewells, I exited the salon.
Haa, alive.
"Königsegg. Is His Majesty still in his study?"
"He just headed to the bedroom."
Perfect.
Time to brag about tonight's smashingly successful salon.