Chapter 134
Chapter 134
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 134
Chapter Title: Goodbye Edward (1)
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"It's already 1910."
And if things don't speed up or slow down, there are four years left until the World War.
It feels like just yesterday I first set foot in the New Palace, but time has a way of slipping by mercilessly fast sometimes.
Of course, 1910 itself was a peaceful year worldwide with no major incidents, so Europe—blissfully unaware of the storm brewing ahead—continued savoring the final remnants of the Belle Époque, much like the calm before the gale.
But a few people, myself included, could sense the Great War looming over all of Europe from conflicts and disputes popping up everywhere: the Bosnian Crisis, the Persian Revolution, and more.
Theodore Roosevelt, who had stepped down as president, even grumbled in a personal letter to me recently that the world was heading in a bad direction.
Though most of what he wrote was just vicious curses and insults aimed at his former protégé and current U.S. President William Howard Taft—who was increasingly bucking Roosevelt's influence and pursuing the exact opposite course.
Of course, Taft probably had plenty to say to Roosevelt too.
Especially about how Roosevelt still treated him like a subordinate and nitpicked everything he did.
'In the end, those two former friends will split completely before long.'
And that rift would play a huge role in the 1912 U.S. presidential election two years from now.
Roosevelt reneged on his no-third-term pledge to oust Taft, formed the Progressive Party, and ran again—splitting the Republican vote and handing the win to Democrat Woodrow Wilson as a result.
"Woodrow Wilson, though."
To sum him up simply: a hypocritical, duplicitous moralist who pretended to be pure as snow on the outside but was rotten to the core.
He preached moralism and rationalism, but his actual actions were no different from Theodore Roosevelt's hegemony.
He legalized strikes and boycotts with the Clayton Antitrust Act, yet labor crackdowns were rampant during his presidency—especially contributing to the Colorado Coalfield War becoming known as the bloodiest labor struggle in U.S. history.
And after pushing for national self-determination at the end of World War I, he stayed silent on the Allied colonies? That's too infamous to even need mentioning.
"On top of that, he's a white supremacist and racist."
Though considering he hailed from Virginia—the heart of the Confederacy during the Civil War—and the Democratic Party was a conservative outfit dominated by white supremacist Dixiecrats until FDR, it's not all that surprising.
If a Southern Democrat from Virginia wasn't a white supremacist, that would be the shock.
"But in this world, will the U.S. even join the World War?"
In the original history, Woodrow Wilson kept America neutral until Germany's unrestricted submarine warfare and the Zimmermann Telegram pushed him into the war. But here? Who knows.
With Germany already dominating naval power through our alliance with Britain, there's no reason for unrestricted subs, and I sure as hell wouldn't greenlight something as stupid as the Zimmermann Telegram.
So personally, I figure America stays neutral.
Though their "neutrality" always tilted toward their cousins in Britain and the Allies, so if the Russo-French alliance gets salty about it and pulls some stunt like original-history Germany, things could change.
"Guess we'll have to wait and see. It's still a ways off before Woodrow Wilson even becomes president."
Anyway, the Great War is right around the corner now.
As 1910 rolled in, I celebrated another birthday amid everyone's well-wishes and officially turned eighteen—legally an adult at last.
No one will call me a kid anymore, even if they say I'm young. But one regrettable thing? I'm still seen in Germans' minds as 'the boy who saved the Kaiser.'
Even though my boyhood days are long gone.
I worry this nickname might stick even when I'm old.
Getting called the 'boy' who saved the Kaiser as a geezer? Yeah, no thanks.
"Speaking of which, next year kicks off a nonstop chain of wars."
And wouldn't you know it, it starts with Italy—still Germany's ally—forcing the issue.
In 1911, Italy attacked the Ottoman Empire—Germany's friendly neighbor—over Libya without so much as a heads-up, sparking the Italo-Turkish War.
That shakes the Ottomans, so Serbia, Bulgaria, Greece, and Montenegro form the Balkan League, invade, and boom: First Balkan War in 1912.
Then the London Treaty wraps it up on May 30, 1913, and not even a month later—June 29—Bulgaria, pissed about the spoils, starts the Second Balkan War. As someone who'll live through it, just imagining it gives me a stomachache.
'And the year after that? Sarajevo and World War I.'
So I want to savor this last truly peaceful year quietly, but sadly, I know that's not happening.
May 6, 1910. Bitter news arrived from Britain.
[Death of King Edward VII of the United Kingdom.]
Edward VII had passed away at sixty-eight.
Unlike his great-grandson Charles III, whose mother Queen Victoria lived so long he spent ages as Prince of Wales before ascending, Edward barely wore the crown for nine years. As someone close to the king, I couldn't help feeling regretful.
'I kept telling him to cut back on smokes and exercise...'
But apparently, that fell on deaf ears for Edward VII—the guy who puffed twelve cigars and twenty cigarettes daily, ballooned to a 48-inch (about 122 cm) waist, and devoured ten full-course meals a day.
At this point, is it even natural causes?
"So Uncle Edward has gone too, huh..."
Wilhelm II muttered in a distant, complex tone. He could never claim a great relationship with his uncle—whom he often griped about as "chubby Édouard"—but family deaths stir up all sorts of emotions anyway.
Though here, unlike the original history's constant Anglo-German clashes, relations were decent, so maybe that's part of it.
"Looks like it's time for a London visit."
"We'll need to assemble a delegation. Attending royals..."
"Everyone. Including the boys and Luise. She's plenty grown now."
I nodded at Wilhelm II's words, getting the picture.
Of course, I'd be attending the funeral too.
A few days later, the imperial family and I arrived in London with the delegation.
Germany's contingent was massive—even by other nations' standards—since it included not just Wilhelm II's family, but his siblings like Prince Heinrich and Princess Margarete, plus royals from German states like Crown Prince Rupprecht of Bavaria.
'Last time I was in London? The radio issue with Edward VII, right?'
Returning for his funeral? My heart felt heavy.
"Billy, you made it."
"George, Mary. My condolences."
While I was lost in thought, we reached Buckingham Palace, where Edward VII's coffin lay.
Standing out front to greet us were chief mourner Prince of Wales George—now George V, King of the United Kingdom and Emperor of India—with his family.
George V's face was its usual stoic mask, but his eyes brimmed with unmistakable sorrow over his father's death.
"B-Billy, Uncle Billy. L-Long time no see. H-Have you been well?"
As Crown Prince Wilhelm and his wife offered condolences to George V, along with Wilhelm II's children, Albert—future George VI—greeted the Kaiser. His stammer seemed worse than I remembered from childhood.
"Yes, you look healthy too. Good to see, Bertie."
Wilhelm II smiled warmly and patted the prince's shoulder.
He'd always been kind to Albert, who developed his stammer from his strict father's upbringing—just as the Kaiser had his own arm disability that strained things with his parents. Seemed like he empathized.
After greetings with Luise and the other cousins, Albert turned to me.
"B-Baron. Y-You too, it's been ages. Y-You're much t-taller than last time."
"Must be all that milk."
I shook his hand warmly, joking—but it was true. During my growth spurt, I shot up fast. Even Luise's rapid growth couldn't match it; my pride wouldn't allow being shorter.
"Where's David, anyway?"
Wilhelm II glanced around, and George V's robot-like face crumpled instantly.
Whoa, he can make expressions like that?
I knew the reason, of course.
"Tch, that wastrel's probably off chasing skirts somewhere."
As expected, George V grumbled about his disappointing eldest son—Edward VIII already giving him grief.
Add in the fourth son, still a kid, Duke of Kent George, and...
Yeah, condolences to George V's stomach.
"Funeral for my father, and the future Prince of Wales is still so immature."
"Heh, you've got your hands full. Others not here yet?"
"Carl and Maud are already here. Rest should arrive soon."
If Queen Victoria was Europe's grandmother, Edward VII was Europe's uncle—related to most royal houses—so his funeral drew royals and nobles from across the continent.
Eight monarchs among them, including Norway's Haakon VII (whom George V just mentioned and Wilhelm II knew). Scotland Yard and the British Guards were on high alert, eyes peeled for troublemakers across London.
Oh, and surprisingly, Tsar Nicholas II—Edward's nephew by marriage—wasn't on the list.
Instead, Russia's reps were his mother (Edward's sister-in-law) Dowager Empress Marie of Denmark, her fourth son Grand Duke Mikhail Alexandrovich, and Nicholas's eldest daughter Grand Duchess Olga Nikolaevna Romanova.
'Did Olga attend Edward VII's funeral originally?'
I knew she traveled Europe as Nicholas's stand-in from youth, but whether this was a history change or original, who knows? Not like I memorized the guest list.
'Anyway, with royals from Japan and Qing coming too? It'll be a spectacle.'
Nothing like Victoria Dowager Empress's funeral.
A testament to Edward VII's stature.
"Alright, everyone inside."
At George V's word, I headed into Buckingham Palace toward Edward VII's coffin.
Mourning the end of the Edwardian era—the last golden age of the British Empire alongside Victoria's.