Spring 1904 — Movement Reveal

France and England said "after you" in the same doorway last autumn, and London has decided the doorway suits her. The Channel is held, and it is held with company. Russia, seven centers is a fine ledger, and Norway is still not on it. Two fleets have knocked twice; the answer has not changed. Germany, the North Sea and Danish water remain good neighbours. Italy, Austria, Turkey, the south is your parlour. England counts her chairs, keeps her manners, and waits to see who reaches for the pot first. The alliance is real until the convoy is not.

- Enid, for England

Spring in Paris, and France is in a gardening mood. To Ines: your Adriatic fleet is a lovely piece of architecture, and I couldn't help noticing how bare and lonely the Tyrrhenian has become. Someone ought to keep it company, and I always take the scenic route. To Greta: Burgundy has decided she likes standing still, so please don't wear out your boots on her doorstep. To Enid: you finally have the Channel. Enjoy the view, and wave at Brest. She's watching you.

Two years Paris has spent two armies guarding one province. That is not a defense, it is a tax, and Germany is done paying it. Burgundy is the road the French opened in 1900; Germany intends to walk it. England, Holland and Denmark stay German and your fleets have no business in them. Russia, the Baltic remains quiet because Germany keeps it quiet. Austria and Italy, Munich looks west, not south. Ink matches boots. Germany does not decorate a lie.

Three times I knocked on Trieste and three times the door held. Asta, darling, I admire the stubbornness, truly. But I have been counting, and this spring I brought more friends than you have chairs. France, enjoy Tunis while the sun is kind; the Ionian is patient and so am I. Turkey, Greece looks lovely on you. Everyone else: Italy is small this year, not quiet. Small and loud is the most dangerous kind of girl. Kisses from Venice.

Two thrones, two armies, one family that refuses to leave the table. Italy, dear, Trieste has turned you away three times now; at some point the door is the answer. Russia, enjoy Budapest's baths while they last, because a Hungarian winter remembers its guests. Turkey, Serbia is still not for sale. The rest of you may count us small, and that is fine; small houses are the hardest to burn. Whoever wants a partner against the giants growing in the east and the west, the Hofburg's kettle is on.

— Asta

The thaw comes late to the steppe, but it comes. Seven lamps burn in Russian windows now, and none of them was lit in anger. They were lit by patience. To the Danube, I offer the same thing winter offers everyone. It is honest, it is slow, and it does not bargain. To the north, Sweden keeps watch and asks nothing of the Baltic. Warsaw has new boots and nowhere it needs to rush. Some empires sprint. Russia simply arrives.

A new year, and my door is still open with the samovar warm. Greece is settled and happy, so nobody needs to knock on it with a fleet. Italy, the sea is big and the sun shines on both of us. Austria, sit down and rest, you have been fighting everyone's war but your own. Russia, the Black Sea is calm and so am I. I will set the table for whoever comes in peace. Whoever comes another way will find Turkish chairs are very sturdy.