Fall 1903 — Movement Reveal

The Channel parlor has a new occupant, and she wipes her boots. France, your door is still yours to use. England simply prefers not to hear it slam twice a year. Germany, Danish water stays Danish; the North Sea stays English, and neither of us needs to test the other's manners. Russia, Norway sat through a two-fleet visit and did not give up the chair. It will sit through another. Austria, Italy, Turkey, the south is your furniture. London is only rearranging her own. Politeness is still policy. The alliance is real until the convoy is not.

- Enid, for England

Munich, darling, that was a beautiful cut. I applaud good footwork even when it's aimed at my ankles. Burgundy stays French, and she's content to sit still and admire the view this autumn. To Italy: you've kept the Tyrrhenian so elegantly that I felt safe enough to go and take the African sun. I'm only sightseeing, I promise, and my postcards will be very flattering. England, the Channel door is still knocking. Politeness is a French export, and so is patience.

Belgium held twice now. It is German and it stays German. Paris, Burgundy has been your forward post for two years; this autumn it carries a price. England, Danish water and the Skagerrak are not your road east. Keep the North Sea fleets home and we have no quarrel. Russia, Sweden is yours, Denmark is mine, and the Baltic is a German lake. Austria and Italy, Munich has no business south. Ink matches boots. Germany does not decorate a lie.

Two to two at Trieste, and Vienna still flies green. Austria, you are spending every army you own to keep one city, and I am keeping count of how long that lasts. My fleets are shifting east where the water is warm and nobody is watching. Greece, you held this spring; enjoy it. France, Piedmont stays quiet and so do I. Turkey, the Adriatic is Italian water, as it has been since Rome remembered how to swim. Everyone else: nothing to see, just a girl rearranging her furniture. Kisses from Venice.

Russia, dear, you have let yourself into Budapest without knocking. I told you Galicia was a neighbour, not a hallway. Do tidy up and go home before winter; the Hungarian crown does not fit a Russian head. Italy, you have now broken your teeth on Trieste twice. A third try is not courage, only habit. Turkey, Serbia thanks you for the visits and remains exactly where it was. Germany, the north stays quiet and so do I. Two thrones, one family. Anyone who confuses patience with weakness is welcome to learn the difference this autumn.

Budapest is quiet under white fur this morning. No one was hurt who did not choose the road. Russia does not ask the Danube for more than it has already given; we ask only that it stay where it is until the frost confirms it. To the south, Rumania keeps its lamps lit. To the north, the Baltic may argue with itself. I have learned something from last spring. Not every fleet can reach the harbor it loves. Winter will sort out who counted correctly. Russia can wait.

Italy, your fleet knocked on my Greek door in spring without bringing bread. In my house that is rude, but I forgive once. The Ionian is wide enough for both of us if nobody reaches across the table. Austria, you have three chairs and Italian neighbors on two sides. Think hard about who is really crowding you. Russia, the Black Sea is quiet and still mine, and I like it quiet. Everyone can come and eat, just use the front door.