Main reason I learned Hungarian and German, solved me a mountain of problems in my research.
28
In accordance with my weekly updating schedule...
The Hofburg Palace Gardens
2 March 1816, Vienna
Joseph had set up a temporary shooting gallery in the Hofburg gardens.
The arrival of numerous British investors, in fits and starts, to Vienna, had precipitated a remarkable new vitality in the city. The entire Habsburg family had also come, from their possessions in Italy- Uncle Ferdinand and his sister, Marie-Louise, who refused to see him still- and from their respective little refuges from Franz’s informants- Uncle Charles and Uncle John. Now British-designed textiles and goods resided within Viennese shop-windows, and the Bohemian and Hungarian nobility had fluttered out of the city, their faces flushed at the sheer prosperity it was experiencing, to spread the cult of industry.
And, well, Joseph could not say that it was of his design. Not truthfully, at least. Circumstances had sort of… come together.
His and Uncle John’s efforts had led to the rise of a consortium of Austrian-minded investors in Britain, who had come as a troupe, picking up hangers-on in France and Naples. The Rothschilds were clearly the masterminds and the backbones; there were even some Frankfurt-born men hopping around, speaking their odd dialect, from Amschel Rothschild in Frankfurt am Main.
Now the grey-faced bureaucrats had begun to come out in fits and starts, fanning their faces in the hot summer sun, gawking at the British youths hawking little pistols in broken German. A few, glamourous Metternich and the other high-ranking Ministers included, were trying their hand at shooting the targets, rather heavy-handedly depicting men in the French colours and a number of ridiculously short caricatures of Napoleon.
Joseph put a smile on his face and waved. Deep down, he ached for Prague, with its cultured sensibility and the foreign languages that everyone there seemed to be learning nowadays- and, of course, the men, movements and works of art that Dobrovský so loudly and wonderfully promoted in his letters. But he needed to play host, since his father was sulking in the palace and clanging around in his bedroom with the hangers-on who had docked in Trieste with the British.
He’d not visited Kolbe since that day in June, apart from a few cursory stops with Dobrovský and a few Czech books. The Linguistics Department at the university had begun to encounter a minor renaissance, motivated by the frequent presence of the heir to Austria in its immediate environs. Apart from a higher salary and a more concerted effort to keep the building presentable, though, there was no physical change. That would soon change, though, if Joseph had anything to say about it.
There was a man approaching him; Joseph shook himself internally and greeted Salomon Rothschild with a smile and a handshake.
“I hope that you are not leading us on a wild goose chase,” the elder Rothschild remarked, smiling genially. “Your bureaucracy, if I may be blunt, needs to be sped up. Remember, you promised to provide the bulk of the iron for the railways. Sooner or later, my associates will grow bored and we don’t even know how much return we can reap, anyhow...”
“Please, just wait for a while longer,” Joseph replied, his voice thin and slightly wheedling. “Enjoy the sights, sounds and pleasures of Vienna! Are your brothers not coming to be ennobled?”
Rothschild shrugged expansively. “We have not received an invitation.”
“I shall make sure that it comes soon enough. The railway planners have, I think, obtained all the information required for the projects, yes?”
“As I understand it, they will have to take a closer look at the environs to make a clearer judgement. As such, our men will be staying around for longer. I, myself, do not think that is so much of a bad thing. Do you disagree?”
Joseph shook his head.
The Hofburg Palace Gardens
2 March 1816, Vienna
Joseph had set up a temporary shooting gallery in the Hofburg gardens.
The arrival of numerous British investors, in fits and starts, to Vienna, had precipitated a remarkable new vitality in the city. The entire Habsburg family had also come, from their possessions in Italy- Uncle Ferdinand and his sister, Marie-Louise, who refused to see him still- and from their respective little refuges from Franz’s informants- Uncle Charles and Uncle John. Now British-designed textiles and goods resided within Viennese shop-windows, and the Bohemian and Hungarian nobility had fluttered out of the city, their faces flushed at the sheer prosperity it was experiencing, to spread the cult of industry.
And, well, Joseph could not say that it was of his design. Not truthfully, at least. Circumstances had sort of… come together.
His and Uncle John’s efforts had led to the rise of a consortium of Austrian-minded investors in Britain, who had come as a troupe, picking up hangers-on in France and Naples. The Rothschilds were clearly the masterminds and the backbones; there were even some Frankfurt-born men hopping around, speaking their odd dialect, from Amschel Rothschild in Frankfurt am Main.
Now the grey-faced bureaucrats had begun to come out in fits and starts, fanning their faces in the hot summer sun, gawking at the British youths hawking little pistols in broken German. A few, glamourous Metternich and the other high-ranking Ministers included, were trying their hand at shooting the targets, rather heavy-handedly depicting men in the French colours and a number of ridiculously short caricatures of Napoleon.
Joseph put a smile on his face and waved. Deep down, he ached for Prague, with its cultured sensibility and the foreign languages that everyone there seemed to be learning nowadays- and, of course, the men, movements and works of art that Dobrovský so loudly and wonderfully promoted in his letters. But he needed to play host, since his father was sulking in the palace and clanging around in his bedroom with the hangers-on who had docked in Trieste with the British.
He’d not visited Kolbe since that day in June, apart from a few cursory stops with Dobrovský and a few Czech books. The Linguistics Department at the university had begun to encounter a minor renaissance, motivated by the frequent presence of the heir to Austria in its immediate environs. Apart from a higher salary and a more concerted effort to keep the building presentable, though, there was no physical change. That would soon change, though, if Joseph had anything to say about it.
There was a man approaching him; Joseph shook himself internally and greeted Salomon Rothschild with a smile and a handshake.
“I hope that you are not leading us on a wild goose chase,” the elder Rothschild remarked, smiling genially. “Your bureaucracy, if I may be blunt, needs to be sped up. Remember, you promised to provide the bulk of the iron for the railways. Sooner or later, my associates will grow bored and we don’t even know how much return we can reap, anyhow...”
“Please, just wait for a while longer,” Joseph replied, his voice thin and slightly wheedling. “Enjoy the sights, sounds and pleasures of Vienna! Are your brothers not coming to be ennobled?”
Rothschild shrugged expansively. “We have not received an invitation.”
“I shall make sure that it comes soon enough. The railway planners have, I think, obtained all the information required for the projects, yes?”
“As I understand it, they will have to take a closer look at the environs to make a clearer judgement. As such, our men will be staying around for longer. I, myself, do not think that is so much of a bad thing. Do you disagree?”
Joseph shook his head.
Would appreciate recommendations on prospective railway lines. I know now that canals (especially the Vienna-Trieste route) take about 10-20 years to build, so it's unlikely that the Rothschilds would end up financing more than one. Instead I think they would end up financing railways- there's just one problem. I don't know how long different railways would take to build. I do know that there won't be any railways going up and down mountains anytime soon, which limits us to railways on flat ground. But I don't know how long it will take.
Is there any geographic issues for a Vienna-Pressburg-Budapest line? I guess the focus might be on steamboats for those cities, though.
Hungary is prime real-estate for railways. The Bohemiam heartlands, maybe? How plausible is a Prague-Vienna line this early?
Hungary is prime real-estate for railways. The Bohemiam heartlands, maybe? How plausible is a Prague-Vienna line this early?
Looking at the geography, it does seem that a Prague-Pressburg-Vienna line is possible and even viable - extending that to Budapest is a possibility (even if the main interest would be boats, since Budapest, Vienna and Pressburg are connected via the Danube). Agram-Budapest is also a possible extension, if only because it would serve as a good starting point for eventually connecting it to the port cities. A Milan-Venice-Trieste line is also viable, though connecting that to the primary lines past the Alps is going to be a challenge.
The real issue/barrier is that the port cities are largely separated from the major population centres (save for Milan) by mountains, which means any railway connections are going to both come late and be expensive. As odd as it sounds, a network in North Italy (aside from the central Viennese network) seems to be the most viable - and an interesting impetus for industrialization occurring in Italy as well as Bohemia. Of course, that would mean that Austria would be largely interested in keeping Lombardy-Venetia, setting up an eventual conflict with Italian nationalists (for Venice, a fostering of a Venetian identity, coupled with the Venetian language - a Romanic language not entirely connected to Italian - would be a good way to defuse that, Milan would be more of a problem, but prosperity tends to sweep a lot of stuff under the rug).
Re: the Italian provinces, I've been toying with the idea of the government drafting peasants from German, Czech and Hungarian villages and sending them to Lombardy-Venetia to provide labour, inadvertently changing the ethnic makeup of the area.
Another thing, would anyone be interested in little snippets from the future? The main timeline is as yet still in 1816, but sometimes I get seized by ideas that leap very far into the future and serve more to convey a "feeling" than any actual timeline content.
Sorry if this doesn't come across as too coherent.
Oh yeah that's going to work wonderfully I like the way you work sir
Thanks! I'm not trying to find modern-day solutions to 19th-century problems, so I appreciate any input you and others might have!
Feel free! Jumps into the 'future' is always interesting. I like foreshadowing~
Edit: God, a Prague-Pressburg-Vienna line would connect the heartland, Pressburg becoming a rather central hub between Vienna, Prague and Budapest. This should help the city's prosperity when Budapest becomes the centre of Hungary. From Budapest, it's incredibly easy to connect the rest of Hungary by rail. Except Transylvania.
Edit: God, a Prague-Pressburg-Vienna line would connect the heartland, Pressburg becoming a rather central hub between Vienna, Prague and Budapest. This should help the city's prosperity when Budapest becomes the centre of Hungary. From Budapest, it's incredibly easy to connect the rest of Hungary by rail. Except Transylvania.
To use an old analogy. An empire like the Habsburg monarchy is basically just a giant multiethnic tapestry, in order to make sure that no one single piece can unravel it you've got to bind it with other different threads. So ethnically flood away and make that tapestry even more binding.
Exactly.
To use an old analogy. An empire like the Habsburg monarchy is basically just a giant multiethnic tapestry, in order to make sure that no one single piece can unravel it you've got to bind it with other different threads. So ethnically flood away and make that tapestry even more binding.
Yes! Instead of splitting it up into neat uni-ethnic components (and we all know how that turned out) and simplifying it, why not further complicate matters such that it's impossible to be untangled by any one nationality?
Note: jumps into the "future" might not necessarily be the definite future of the timeline. They will, however, all contain tantalizing hints w/ respect to the "future" that I envision for the timeline. But just because I envision it as the future, doesn't mean it's going to come true. I still need all of your input to make it plausible.
T H A N K S F O R T H E S U P P O R T G U Y S ! ! !
29
It's because the exams are over, that's why I'm suddenly enjoying an upsurge in writing inspiration. I'll write as it comes; this snippet below was motivated by my discovery of the 1972 movie Cabaret:
29 March 1935, Etzelburg
The interior of the club was a heady mix of sweet-scented fumes, pungent tobacco of all kinds, and- of course- the stink of men’s sweat. Such was life in wartime. Anton blinked furiously in the dim light and stumbled further in, almost colliding into a major with a thin line of accolades glistening, carefully polished, upon his lapel. The latter gripped him before he face-planted onto the fine Bulgarian rug; the split-second when their faces were inches apart was enough to trigger some basic recognition.
“Oberst Habsburg!” the major exclaimed, just slightly louder than required. Heads turned in the crowd: petite dames wreathed in ermine, their arms wrapped possessively with their pick of the night, spun around and fluttered their eyelids, attempting to curtsey and bow at the same time- all the better to show off more of their cleavage. The numerous officers and soldiers in the cabaret club, conditioned to do so since their conscription (which would have happened either way, regardless of the war), snapped a sharp salute- even the exaggerated features of the man onstage twitched into an almost comical expression of deference, before he seized the opportunity to take the slightly discomfiting sensation of extreme scrutiny away from Anton and shouted,
“Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!”
Anton fended off the last few admirers who approached, seeking to hold a conversation with one of the most powerful men in the Empire, and advanced to a chair at the front seat. The orchestra was striking up a quick, exciting little beat; Karl, Hugo and Orosz and the gang were already looking slightly buzzed.
“Meine damen und herren, und der ehrenhaften Erzherzog Anton-” the Master of Ceremonies bowed elaborately in his direction, and Anton flushed. “-Mesdames et messieurs, ladies and gentlemen! Guten abend, bonsoir...”
Niclas sketched a sloppy salute, as the Master of Ceremonies twirled his stick around, and pushed a glass of wine over. “Good of you to come and join us, Habsburg. Trust the train wasn’t too crowded?”
Anton rolled his eyes. Members of the family always got at least one carriage set aside for them, unless the train was truly intolerably crowded. And members of the public always appreciated a Habsburg showing some consideration for them. “Lots of Brits and Frenchies around tonight, eh?”
“Why d’you think he’s speaking in English and French?” Augustus burped and jerked his head back at specific members of the audience; following his friend’s gaze, Anton pinpointed several thick pockets of servicemen and officers, the former wearing the drab khaki of the English military; the latter sporting the fancy tricorn hats that were all the rage in the most fashionable armed forces on the continent. (Not like they’d be wearing it on the Eastern Front, though.) “Ah.”
“Leave your troubles outside. So- life is disappointing? Forget it! We have no troubles here! Here life is beautiful… The girls are beautiful… Even the orchestra is beautiful…”
Anatol downed another shot of champagne and motioned for another. Anton fumbled with his cigarette and exhaled gustily when it finally caught. “Of course life is beautiful here,” he said, gaze flitting distractedly over the scantily-clad girls assembling onstage to catcalls and applause. “Not like Etzelburg has a chance to be bombed or occupied.”
“Budapest,” Radek corrected him, almost automatically. “And even if it were occupied, not like that would be any fault of yours,” he added, unnecessarily and slightly viciously.
The mood of the table was changing.
“Outside it is winter- but inside here, it’s so hot. Every night we have to battle with the girls to keep them from taking off all their clothes. Who knows- tonight we may lose the battle!”
Pavel coughed wetly into his embroidered napkin. “Well,” he said tentatively, and in a most conciliatory manner, “to be fair, the current conflict was inevitable. We should, all of us, count ourselves as lucky, ja? To be involved in one of the great struggles for mastery of the Continent.” He unfolded a small map from his pocket- one of his favourite props- “we are protected, no? The Swedes can’t cross Oresund if Denmark and Prussia keep up their good work...”
Radek grunted. He never could apologize.
The conversation then shifted. Anton was working up a nice buzz by now, and some of the pretty young things hanging on stiff French arms had worked out that now was an appropriate time to approach, dragging their paramours along with them. So it turned out that their little table had turned into an almost impromptu centre of attention for the club.
“...and the language, you know, it’s just slightly unintelligible since afore I was born, right?” a Prussian officer, his famous helmet covered in sweet-smelling lipstick, complained. “Pandering to der Poles can’t possibly work out for anyone, ja?”
To which a thickly-accented Lithuanian rebutted, his voice laced even thicker with sarcasm, “Ach, I don’t know, it works rather well in our Slavic fringes. You don’t want to pander to the Poles; you want something like Russia, is it?”
The music reached a crescendo. Anton laced his fingers over his stomach and turned to the next girl. It was funny how he was more sociable once there were a few more drinks in him. Beside him, Hugo and Orosz had charged into an increasingly nonsensical argument over the Americans entering the war, their heads wreathed in smoke, adoring women surrounding them. The club buzzed on.
29 March 1935, Etzelburg
The interior of the club was a heady mix of sweet-scented fumes, pungent tobacco of all kinds, and- of course- the stink of men’s sweat. Such was life in wartime. Anton blinked furiously in the dim light and stumbled further in, almost colliding into a major with a thin line of accolades glistening, carefully polished, upon his lapel. The latter gripped him before he face-planted onto the fine Bulgarian rug; the split-second when their faces were inches apart was enough to trigger some basic recognition.
“Oberst Habsburg!” the major exclaimed, just slightly louder than required. Heads turned in the crowd: petite dames wreathed in ermine, their arms wrapped possessively with their pick of the night, spun around and fluttered their eyelids, attempting to curtsey and bow at the same time- all the better to show off more of their cleavage. The numerous officers and soldiers in the cabaret club, conditioned to do so since their conscription (which would have happened either way, regardless of the war), snapped a sharp salute- even the exaggerated features of the man onstage twitched into an almost comical expression of deference, before he seized the opportunity to take the slightly discomfiting sensation of extreme scrutiny away from Anton and shouted,
“Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!”
Anton fended off the last few admirers who approached, seeking to hold a conversation with one of the most powerful men in the Empire, and advanced to a chair at the front seat. The orchestra was striking up a quick, exciting little beat; Karl, Hugo and Orosz and the gang were already looking slightly buzzed.
“Meine damen und herren, und der ehrenhaften Erzherzog Anton-” the Master of Ceremonies bowed elaborately in his direction, and Anton flushed. “-Mesdames et messieurs, ladies and gentlemen! Guten abend, bonsoir...”
Niclas sketched a sloppy salute, as the Master of Ceremonies twirled his stick around, and pushed a glass of wine over. “Good of you to come and join us, Habsburg. Trust the train wasn’t too crowded?”
Anton rolled his eyes. Members of the family always got at least one carriage set aside for them, unless the train was truly intolerably crowded. And members of the public always appreciated a Habsburg showing some consideration for them. “Lots of Brits and Frenchies around tonight, eh?”
“Why d’you think he’s speaking in English and French?” Augustus burped and jerked his head back at specific members of the audience; following his friend’s gaze, Anton pinpointed several thick pockets of servicemen and officers, the former wearing the drab khaki of the English military; the latter sporting the fancy tricorn hats that were all the rage in the most fashionable armed forces on the continent. (Not like they’d be wearing it on the Eastern Front, though.) “Ah.”
“Leave your troubles outside. So- life is disappointing? Forget it! We have no troubles here! Here life is beautiful… The girls are beautiful… Even the orchestra is beautiful…”
Anatol downed another shot of champagne and motioned for another. Anton fumbled with his cigarette and exhaled gustily when it finally caught. “Of course life is beautiful here,” he said, gaze flitting distractedly over the scantily-clad girls assembling onstage to catcalls and applause. “Not like Etzelburg has a chance to be bombed or occupied.”
“Budapest,” Radek corrected him, almost automatically. “And even if it were occupied, not like that would be any fault of yours,” he added, unnecessarily and slightly viciously.
The mood of the table was changing.
“Outside it is winter- but inside here, it’s so hot. Every night we have to battle with the girls to keep them from taking off all their clothes. Who knows- tonight we may lose the battle!”
Pavel coughed wetly into his embroidered napkin. “Well,” he said tentatively, and in a most conciliatory manner, “to be fair, the current conflict was inevitable. We should, all of us, count ourselves as lucky, ja? To be involved in one of the great struggles for mastery of the Continent.” He unfolded a small map from his pocket- one of his favourite props- “we are protected, no? The Swedes can’t cross Oresund if Denmark and Prussia keep up their good work...”
Radek grunted. He never could apologize.
The conversation then shifted. Anton was working up a nice buzz by now, and some of the pretty young things hanging on stiff French arms had worked out that now was an appropriate time to approach, dragging their paramours along with them. So it turned out that their little table had turned into an almost impromptu centre of attention for the club.
“...and the language, you know, it’s just slightly unintelligible since afore I was born, right?” a Prussian officer, his famous helmet covered in sweet-smelling lipstick, complained. “Pandering to der Poles can’t possibly work out for anyone, ja?”
To which a thickly-accented Lithuanian rebutted, his voice laced even thicker with sarcasm, “Ach, I don’t know, it works rather well in our Slavic fringes. You don’t want to pander to the Poles; you want something like Russia, is it?”
The music reached a crescendo. Anton laced his fingers over his stomach and turned to the next girl. It was funny how he was more sociable once there were a few more drinks in him. Beside him, Hugo and Orosz had charged into an increasingly nonsensical argument over the Americans entering the war, their heads wreathed in smoke, adoring women surrounding them. The club buzzed on.
Well imho it's either that or you need to create some sort of Russian style federation that centralizes Imperial authority but at the same time creates autonomous "states" depends really where you want to go. But yeah the gist is to make it incredibly hard to create a single homogenous nation out of the Habsburg empire and you will definitely be getting some pushback from all corners regardless of what choice you take
Neptune, when I finally start on my own timeline, I hope I can write as well as you.
Awesome update; Prussia still exists, there's a big war going on in '35, probably against the Russians and Swedes at least... Brits are wearing tricornes again? And the Preissn are still sticking to their pickelhaube.
I'm really hyped now.
Awesome update; Prussia still exists, there's a big war going on in '35, probably against the Russians and Swedes at least... Brits are wearing tricornes again? And the Preissn are still sticking to their pickelhaube.
I'm really hyped now.
Thanks for the compliment, it means a lot to me.
This is how one hypothetical future for this TL could turn out, though. Of course, the intervening century hasn't even been detailed yet- the war might end by 1935, or begin later than that. But the basic gist of how I intend to develop the timeline is there.
30
In concert with my efforts to get back into the writing groove, presenting another weekly update.
Salomon Rothschild- the Austrian branch of the family
15 March 1816, Vienna
Salomon Rothschild traced his finger over the map, squinting his eyes in the dim light. The breathy calls of birds caressed his ears, followed by the cool spring breeze. The windows in Joseph Ferdinand’s private office- a far cozier nook than his cramped conditions at the Hofburg- had been thrust wide open, and even now the railway planners his brother had contributed from London were making measurements and talking loudly in engineering jargon. Fortunately, the Austrian heir seemed to be at least tangentially following the conversation.
“So,” Salomon said quietly, silencing the conversation, “Vienna to Trieste. Danube, Elbe, Oder, Vistula.” He turned to fix the planners with a steely stare, with a self-confidence borne of belonging to one of the richest non-aristocratic families in Europe. “I asked for railways. Why are you now offering me canals?”
One of the planners adjusted his monocle nervously. Joseph Ferdinand folded his arms and discreetly inverted his pipe out the window, eliciting a scream from below as one of the poor ladies-in-waiting to one of his aunts got an unholy amount of tobacco in her hair. “Uh, Master Rothschild, we decided that, er, it would be better, since canals are far faster than railways, and far, far cheaper. Um- you see, the cost goes down by-” he looked at his compatriots nervously, urging them silently to back him up. Salomon leaned on the desk and folded his arms.
“I think you might be exaggerating a bit, Herr Rothschild.” Joseph waved his hand, as if chasing away a stray fly. “The Danube-Elbe-Oder-Vistula canal is but a pipe dream at this point in time. Vienna to Trieste- now that is the real meat of the matter!” He leaned forward, pince-nez catching the light and redirecting it into Salomon’s eyes. “With such a canal, in the future, we will be able to move goods to the coast far quicker.” He began to pace, dragging his finger through the mountain ranges, scratching the yellowing paper. “Franz Anton von Gerstner in Prague- I mean from Prague, he’s in Vienna right now- he’s gathered a bunch of Bohemian nobles to finance a line from Budweis to Linz.”
Beckoning to Salomon, the Archduke stood over the map, arms folded. “So. Budweis to Linz, and Vienna to Trieste. Of course, Herr Rothschild, you’d rather a canal be built in a year or so; but canals take decades, regrettably.” He sighed quietly; Rothschild had come round to stand beside him, and Joseph poured him a tumbler of claret.
“Therefore… the Vienna-Trieste canal shall be the only one we shall be asking you to assist with.” Joseph cleared his throat. “A few days of discussion, and this is what we’ve agreed on.” In a few sentences, he explained the little black scribbles of technical jargon scrawled across the maps. “Here- Agram to Etzelburg, transporting agricultural goods from the Hungarian plains to the Adriatic. There- a very in-depth network in Lombardy-Venetia, from Mailand to Venetien. It being the richest province in the Empire, I should imagine the goods coming from there should please investors.
“And here, a line from Prague to Pressburg to Vienna. Yes, Herr Rothschild, I know, it won’t speed up the movement of goods, but it will speed up the development of Austria as a whole, and if Austria were to be developed- developed properly- every city bustling and populous, and a network of railroads linking the country in a vast Imperial firmament- well, then, London would have a most reliable and powerful ally on the continent!”
Salomon cleared his throat.
“Well,” he said, rather lamely, following the Archduke’s rather impassioned and impromptu speech, “you are responsible for these projects, so I shall put my trust in you, Archduke Joseph. That adds up to four enterprises, does it not?”
“Four enterprises. If it please you, the Prague-Pressburg-Vienna line could wait. Northern Italy and Agram-Etzelburg would be, I reckon, the projects most likely to bear fruit within a short period of time.”
Salomon nodded firmly. “So it is decided, then. I would, of course, like to remind you, Archduke Joseph, that this is an investment. We expect returns.”
Joseph nodded once, his eyes glittering in the dim evening light. “And so we shall give it to you.”
Salomon Rothschild- the Austrian branch of the family
15 March 1816, Vienna
Salomon Rothschild traced his finger over the map, squinting his eyes in the dim light. The breathy calls of birds caressed his ears, followed by the cool spring breeze. The windows in Joseph Ferdinand’s private office- a far cozier nook than his cramped conditions at the Hofburg- had been thrust wide open, and even now the railway planners his brother had contributed from London were making measurements and talking loudly in engineering jargon. Fortunately, the Austrian heir seemed to be at least tangentially following the conversation.
“So,” Salomon said quietly, silencing the conversation, “Vienna to Trieste. Danube, Elbe, Oder, Vistula.” He turned to fix the planners with a steely stare, with a self-confidence borne of belonging to one of the richest non-aristocratic families in Europe. “I asked for railways. Why are you now offering me canals?”
One of the planners adjusted his monocle nervously. Joseph Ferdinand folded his arms and discreetly inverted his pipe out the window, eliciting a scream from below as one of the poor ladies-in-waiting to one of his aunts got an unholy amount of tobacco in her hair. “Uh, Master Rothschild, we decided that, er, it would be better, since canals are far faster than railways, and far, far cheaper. Um- you see, the cost goes down by-” he looked at his compatriots nervously, urging them silently to back him up. Salomon leaned on the desk and folded his arms.
“I think you might be exaggerating a bit, Herr Rothschild.” Joseph waved his hand, as if chasing away a stray fly. “The Danube-Elbe-Oder-Vistula canal is but a pipe dream at this point in time. Vienna to Trieste- now that is the real meat of the matter!” He leaned forward, pince-nez catching the light and redirecting it into Salomon’s eyes. “With such a canal, in the future, we will be able to move goods to the coast far quicker.” He began to pace, dragging his finger through the mountain ranges, scratching the yellowing paper. “Franz Anton von Gerstner in Prague- I mean from Prague, he’s in Vienna right now- he’s gathered a bunch of Bohemian nobles to finance a line from Budweis to Linz.”
Beckoning to Salomon, the Archduke stood over the map, arms folded. “So. Budweis to Linz, and Vienna to Trieste. Of course, Herr Rothschild, you’d rather a canal be built in a year or so; but canals take decades, regrettably.” He sighed quietly; Rothschild had come round to stand beside him, and Joseph poured him a tumbler of claret.
“Therefore… the Vienna-Trieste canal shall be the only one we shall be asking you to assist with.” Joseph cleared his throat. “A few days of discussion, and this is what we’ve agreed on.” In a few sentences, he explained the little black scribbles of technical jargon scrawled across the maps. “Here- Agram to Etzelburg, transporting agricultural goods from the Hungarian plains to the Adriatic. There- a very in-depth network in Lombardy-Venetia, from Mailand to Venetien. It being the richest province in the Empire, I should imagine the goods coming from there should please investors.
“And here, a line from Prague to Pressburg to Vienna. Yes, Herr Rothschild, I know, it won’t speed up the movement of goods, but it will speed up the development of Austria as a whole, and if Austria were to be developed- developed properly- every city bustling and populous, and a network of railroads linking the country in a vast Imperial firmament- well, then, London would have a most reliable and powerful ally on the continent!”
Salomon cleared his throat.
“Well,” he said, rather lamely, following the Archduke’s rather impassioned and impromptu speech, “you are responsible for these projects, so I shall put my trust in you, Archduke Joseph. That adds up to four enterprises, does it not?”
“Four enterprises. If it please you, the Prague-Pressburg-Vienna line could wait. Northern Italy and Agram-Etzelburg would be, I reckon, the projects most likely to bear fruit within a short period of time.”
Salomon nodded firmly. “So it is decided, then. I would, of course, like to remind you, Archduke Joseph, that this is an investment. We expect returns.”
Joseph nodded once, his eyes glittering in the dim evening light. “And so we shall give it to you.”
I'm afraid not, I'm quite bad with editing maps. Could another reader of this timeline help to do a mockup based on my writing?