Fall 1904 — Movement Reveal

The west has been busy. Germany walked into Burgundy, and France's fleets went sightseeing toward Rome. London notices that a hostess who sends her silver south leaves her front door with fewer footmen. France, England knocked at Brest last autumn and was told "after you." Tonight she knocks again, politely. Germany, the North Sea stays quiet while you work; Danish water is still yours. Russia, Norway's answer has not changed in three years. Italy, Turkey, congratulations on your sturdy chairs. The alliance is real until the convoy is not.

- Enid, for England

Bravo, Ines. Trieste was a masterpiece, and the whole table watched you march every soldier you had east to take it. Such devotion to the Adriatic deserves a fan, and I'm volunteering. While you're busy with Austria, someone ought to water the plants in Rome. It would be a shame to let a capital sit empty in autumn. To Greta: Burgundy looks wonderful on you, but Paris is not for rent, darling. Enid, do keep the Channel tidy for me.

Burgundy is German. Two years of French guards and it fell in one spring. Paris should count what is left and decide whether to keep paying for a southern road it cannot hold. England, Holland, Belgium and Denmark are settled; your fleets will find nothing to buy here. Russia, the Baltic stays quiet. Austria and Italy, Germany's business runs west. Ink matches boots. Germany does not decorate a lie.

I told you I was counting. Four knocks, and Trieste finally opened the door. Asta, I am not cruel; Budapest and Albania are lovely this time of year, and you will have plenty of quiet to enjoy them. Raya, nicely done in Serbia; the two of us make an excellent pair of scissors. Faye, two fleets in my bathwater is very forward of you. The Tyrrhenian is not a hotel, darling, and Naples is not checking in guests. Tala, your chairs are sturdy. Mine are getting fuller. Kisses from Trieste.

Russia, dear, you walked out of Budapest to go visiting in Serbia, and a Habsburg never leaves a door open twice. The Hungarian crown is back on a Hungarian head, and I would like my Serbian rooms back too, please. Italy, enjoy Trieste's sea air; mothers keep a list, and you are underlined in red. To everyone counting Austria out: we were shoved out of two houses this spring and moved into a better one by summer. A small empire is still an empire, and I am a patient one.

— Asta

Serbia's bells rang a Russian hour this spring. Someone slipped into Budapest while the door was open, and I don't blame them. Doors in autumn are always tempting. But a house remembers whose fire warmed it. Russia comes home as winter does, from three sides at once, without hurry and without apology. To the guest in Budapest: leave the lamps lit. We'll need them. To everyone else: the snow is coming for no one but Russia's own.

The harvest is in, and my table is still full. Greece eats well, Bulgaria sleeps soundly, and the Black Sea is as calm as a cup of tea. I count the same chairs as last year and I am content. Let the north fight over its cold coasts. Italy, Austria, Russia: if you come as guests, you will be fed. If you come as wolves, you will find the doors bolted and the cooks holding very large ladles. Winter is coming, so choose your manners well.