The Spark of the Second Schleswig War
Denmark's King Christian IX had absolutely no desire to sign the constitution.
"Your Majesty, the people are waiting. If you delay any longer, the mob might scale the palace walls."
From outside came the roar of the crowd.
"Long live Denmark!"
"Schleswig is Danish soil!"
"Denmark to the Eider!"
Denmark, too, could not escape the age of nationalism.
Christian IX bit his lip.
"Prime Minister, the moment I sign this constitution, the London Protocol becomes a scrap of paper. Don't you know that means war?"
"We have nothing to fear from Prussia! They've enjoyed peace for too long, and we have Britain on our side."
That was exactly what Palmerston, the Prime Minister, had said.
'I am satisfied that all reasonable men throughout Europe, including France and Russia, desire the maintenance of Denmark's independence, territorial integrity, and rights.
We—and at least I—am convinced that if any violent attempt were made to overturn Denmark's rights and infringe her independence, those who made the attempt would have to fight not only Denmark but other countries as well.'
The foolish delusion that the German Confederation would back down out of fear of Britain if Schleswig were annexed to Denmark.
Besides, Christian IX himself was born in Germany.
"Germany is just as gripped by nationalism as we are."
In his view, this was suicide.
"Your Majesty, have you forgotten the rumors swirling about your origins? The people suspect you might be a German spy. If you refuse to sign now... they'll drag you from the throne and proclaim a republic."
The prime minister lowered his voice, striking at the most painful spot.
Denmark had made him king just three days ago, succeeding Frederick VII.
He had no base, no power. All he faced were the suspicious glares of his people.
'God, why have you given me this poisoned chalice?'
The king picked up the pen. His hand trembled uncontrollably.
Outside, they were still chanting "Denmark to the Eider River!"
To survive as Denmark's king, he signed.
"Proclaim it."
Christian IX let the pen fall limply.
In the Prussian Chancellor's office.
A telegram fluttered onto the desk amid thick cigar smoke.
"He's signed it."
Otto von Bismarck smiled broadly.
"Denmark's new king has sent us a fine gift."
"Your Excellency, does that mean war?"
"War indeed. A thoroughly just war at that. They're the ones who violated the London Protocol, so the justification is ours. Who could oppose reclaiming Schleswig, the sacred land of the German people?"
Bismarck had laid countless smokescreens for this operation.
Britain was masked as opposing nationalism and demanding treaty compliance.
Russia had joined in crushing the Polish rebels via the Alvensleben Convention.
"Now send a telegram to Vienna. Say we believe that Austria, the 'protector of the German Confederation,' will not shirk this sacred duty."
The bait was cast. If Austria refused to join the war, Prussian leadership in Germany would be secured.
If they joined, they'd waste their national strength in a muddy quagmire at the northern edge, far from their own territory.
Either way, Prussia won.
"Will the Emperor really follow?"
"He has no choice. He lives off Habsburg pride."
At the same time, in Hofburg Palace.
"Your Majesty, even the Federal Diet is urging Your Majesty's decision."
Franz Joseph knew, yet he had no choice but to play along.
If Austria backed out here, Bismarck would stir up the Germans by claiming Prussia alone shed blood for the German people.
'He's telling us to relinquish the presidency of the German Confederation.'
"What's our financial situation?"
"Since the Italian defense war, tax revenues from Lombardy and Venetia have been steadily incoming. Military funds are sufficient."
"And the army's morale?"
"The Crimean War and the Italian War have filled them with pride. But Your Majesty, the north is too far."
"If we don't step in, Prussia will become master of Germany."
An emperor has no choice but to fight certain battles.
"Tell Berlin that Austria, as president of the German Confederation, will lead in judging Denmark's arrogance."
"Your Majesty, but..."
"Don't worry. We have money and a victorious army. Whatever Bismarck's scheme, no tricks work against overwhelming force."
"Understood."
As the Foreign Minister turned to leave, Franz Joseph called him back.
"Have Gablenz look into Prussia's tactical changes in more detail than Denmark."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
February 1, 1864.
War had begun.
Austrian Sixth Corps Commander Ludwig von Gablenz lowered his telescope and swallowed a hollow laugh.
...Seriously, is that an army?
They looked a mess.
Uniforms caked in mud, no discipline or spirit in the soldiers' movements.
"General, isn't His Majesty overreacting?" said his aide Gondrecourt with a sneer.
"To monitor and analyze rabble like that. All they've got is wasting bullets with those Dreyse rifles."
"Dreyse rifles, you say."
Gablenz raised his telescope again to examine the rifles the Prussian soldiers carried.
Breech-loading rifles loaded from behind.
They could fire prone and had a fast rate of fire, but fatal flaws.
'Shorter range than ours, severe gas leakage.'
Austria's pride, the Lorenz rifle, had greater range.
'How did we stop the French in the Crimean War? We smashed them with artillery from afar, then blew their heads off with precision fire as they approached.'
"Orders are orders, though."
Gablenz pulled out his notebook.
"His Majesty must be wary of Prussia. Record everything—how they move, every little detail."
"Yes, sir."
The commander Moltke was rumored to be a desk jockey for years.
'Transporting troops by rail...'
Soldiers must march on two legs to build spirit.
Gablenz wrote in his notebook: 'Enemy fears our firepower, focuses on passive trench tactics and terrain concealment.'
The Austrians were confident, and thus the first victory on the Danish front went to Austria.
It felt like every bone in my body had been disassembled joint by joint and hastily reassembled.
Childbirth never gets familiar, no matter how many times you go through it.
"Esterházy, where's Valerie?"
"In the bath, ma'am."
Aigoo, why are my knees shaking like this? It can't be arthritis from old age... right?
"Good."
If it had been a son, Hungary would be even more frenzied by now.
They'd see him not as the daughter of a Hungarian duchess, but as the crown prince of Hungary.
Of course, the Hungarians are still going wild calling this child "Hungary's baby," but at least the political pressure on Franz Joseph will be lighter.
I'm sorry to him, though.
He says he understands, but emotionally, it might be different. He's just not one to show his feelings.
"Esterházy, make absolutely sure His Majesty doesn't come here, no matter what. Tell him I'm safe and the little archduchess is loved."
"...Understood."
With Bismarck trying to claim the "protector of the German people" image, the moment the Emperor leaves Vienna for Hungary, Bismarck will propagandize it as "The Austrian Emperor prioritizes Hungary over German blood."
At least I need to spare Franz Joseph the guilt of abandoning me.
"Don't worry. You know how Brandenburg kept coming at us, Esterházy."
During the two coronations in Prague and Milan, they kept invoking the Napoleonic Wars.
'The marriage of Marie Louise and Napoleon.'
Not a humiliating surrender, but the Habsburg way.
A chain to bind the revolutionary Napoleon into our order, neutralizing France from within.
Rational at the time, but to nationalists, it left the throne vacant.
To Germans, we became mere multi-ethnic administrators, not protectors.
I gazed at my diary, lost in thought.
1. To Franz Joseph, Habsburg is a family legacy.
2. He can't give up the German Confederation presidency. He believes it's the Habsburg identity.
3. He knows intellectually that Austrian-led German unification is impossible, but can't accept it in his heart.
4. He calculates symbols first, even knowing the costs.
5. A classic avoidant crushed by an suffocating sense of duty.
To Franz Joseph, Germany is his identity—it's what defines what being Habsburg means.
"I'll return to Vienna as soon as the purification rite is over."
Out the window, Hungarians were firing celebratory cannons for my childbirth.
They're calling me Hungary's lover now, in a frenzy, but this courtesy only shows because we're strong.
What if Franz Joseph loses to Bismarck and is ousted from the German Confederation? If Habsburg loses authority as "Germany's protector" and is reduced to a dynasty isolated by the Danube?
They'll show their true colors immediately.
They'll pressure the weakened Emperor for equal rights and try to split the country in half.
Like the 1867 Ausgleich in history.
To stabilize Hungary, paradoxically, we must hold Germany. Slowly, but not too slowly.
Wonder where she got the cannon from, anyway.
