Habsburg Resurgence

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...so I lied.

Actually, I've decided to try something new- I don't think I've done this before- what do you guys want for the next update?

111212051623-vienna-hofburg-ball-horizontal-large-gallery.jpg

Not sure if this is a photograph or a painting...

31 October 1817, Vienna

The roof of the Hofburg was desolate; icy winter had descended on Vienna. Joseph coughed wetly into his leather field-marshal’s gloves, squinting into the distance; a few snowflakes had landed on his nose and on the lenses of his pince-nez; he blinked, hard. Good god, the city walls were an eyesore. The Ottomans were in no shape to prosecute another siege of Vienna; what were the walls still doing, in that case?

He turned and descended the steps. Music was playing in the hall below, the nobility taking turns in twirling each other across the warm, exquisitely crafted floor. Joseph dragged his knuckle over the leg brace that had been his constant since young and grimaced. Down he went, sneezing as a particularly dusty draft came from below; he rounded a corner and found a little troupe of noblewomen, cooing over his nephew. “Isn’t he a beautiful child?” one of them whispered to her lady-in-waiting, sweet-smelling perfume drifting off her exposed shoulders.

The child in question was wearing a little navy-blue tricorn hat, stumping in a nearly straight line around the desolate hall, his tutors watching approvingly. A little handkerchief poked out of his pocket; Joseph smiled faintly as it came into focus. It was good to see that his gift was seeing some sort of use.

“Oh!” someone gasped, and Joseph found himself surrounded by eager, eligible young ladies. “Your highness,” one cooed, and the women curtseyed wonderfully. Joseph muttered something complimentary, jerking his head down. He had never really liked court functions. “Are you- liking Franz?” He had to cut the word “Napoleon” from his sentence abruptly- god forbid the scion of the House of Habsburg be seen uttering that word!

“Oh, yes,” another girl said, breathlessly. “He’s such a charming little boy!” And the son of the man who would have ended your brothers, husbands and sons on the battlefield, if it had meant that he could carry on his dominance of Europe, Joseph thought. Aloud, he said, “Well, it is good to know that you are enjoying his company; I must go now,” and lurched away. His father would want to see him at the main event.

En route to the Ceremonial Hall, Joseph was accosted by his brothers. “Leopold, Franz,” he began, but was grabbed roughly by the armpits and hoisted just a little bit above the ground. Leopold’s breath smelled of alcohol; Franz’s breath smelled of perfume. “Man of the hour,” Leopold hiccupped; there was a tricorn hat askew on his curls. “Father sent us to find you. It’s exciting in there.”

Franz nodded dopily; there was a slightly glazed look to his face. Joseph twisted his lips. Both his brothers were quite a bit taller than him, and stronger besides; he looked down at his legs, dangling uselessly. Resignedly, he settled down for the ride.

Normally, when the Habsburgs held a ball, the nobility was expected to be on their best behaviour. However, it was All Hallows’ Eve, and two days after the Emperor had wedded his fourth bride. There was a strangely festive mood to the palace; candles burning in every room, a sense of something happening. Leopold rummaged in his pocket and retrieved a soul cake, which he offered to Joseph.

Joseph stared at the soul cake.

“Isn’t this meant for the dead?” he asked.

Leopold looked at it quizzically. “Yes,” he replied slowly, “I supposed it is.” Then he shrugged and stuffed it into his mouth.

They finally emerged into a stifling mess of people, all clad in their best outfits, but now slightly askew and having what appeared to be a very good time. Leopold and Franz put Joseph down, none too gently, and disappeared into the crowd. Not for the last time, Joseph reflexively attempted to stand on tiptoes, to see above the crowd, but failed. He’d never been tall, anyway.

He stuck by the walls, picking a few delicacies from the tables arranged by the side. The musicians arranged before the dancers were playing a bawdy tune detailing what newlyweds got up to; the conductor was burying his face into the bodice of a giggling maiden. His uncle, Ferdinand from Tuscany, was gazing longingly at his father’s new wife, eyelids drooping.

Joseph picked his way through the crowd some more; a little bit more; until he reached the podium and ascended slowly. “Father,” he greeted the Emperor, sliding into his seat. “I apologize for my absence.”

“Go down there and dance,” the Emperor advised genially, with such warmth that Joseph was briefly disconcerted yet strangely gratified. “You’ve been doing enough thinking for the both of us for the past year or so; go down there and enjoy your youth. It’s not going to be there forever, you know.”

“Father? Are you alright?”

“Oh, he’s all right,” his stepmother told him, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. Joseph leaned into it, almost unconsciously; he found Charlotte Augusta of Bavaria to be a far more maternal figure than the woman who had come before her. For the past month, while he had been checking up on the linguists at the university, she had often tagged along, and she enjoyed bringing him out for long walks around the city walls. In fact, Joseph would have said that he liked her more than his own mother; but that was probably the buzz from the alcohol talking.

“He’s all right,” his stepmother told Joseph, and smiled. “I’ve been telling your father about what we got up to the previous week. I hope it makes him more appreciative of you.” She sighed, and gave him a small hug, which jolted Joseph awake and made his eyes dart across the Ceremonial Hall and the nobles within it, wary of such public displays of affection.

Then he relaxed and leaned into his mother’s embrace.
 
I've been reading about Metternich lately and learnt a great deal about this era and it reminded me of this TL. I also learnt that Emperor Franz was incredibly loving to his wife- err, wives, since he did outlive four of them...

Makes me wonder if Joseph Ferdinand will marry Maria Anna like OTL Ferdinand. She was incredibly loyal abd loving to him despite his worsening and later-incapacitating seizures.

Plus, she was quite the looker according to Metternich. Always important. :biggrin:
 
Covered briefly some time back that she will indeed wed him. Do you have any other suggestions, though?
I'll have to re-read, then.

Nah. She's pretty much a perfect match politically as well for what that's worth in this era as Sardinia becomes more and more hostile.
 
Argh, I keep meaning to get back into this... does anyone have any ideas for a next update? Anything you'd like to see?
 
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Hmm... could always have Ferdi travel a little bit. He still has a few years before taking the throne.

Maybe Italy? Could try to make amends with Maria Luisa.
 
Argh, I keep meaning to get back into this... does anyone have any ideas for a next update? Anything you'd like to see?

How about doing an overview of the events that have taken place in Europe and what the various crowned heads of Europe think about the changes the current Emperor is implementing in Austria, as well as doing a summary of global political events would be good enough to break the current writer's block and provide you an impetus to continue this superb TL.
 
How about doing an overview of the events that have taken place in Europe and what the various crowned heads of Europe think about the changes the current Emperor is implementing in Austria, as well as doing a summary of global political events would be good enough to break the current writer's block and provide you an impetus to continue this superb TL.
This sounds good.
 
Loving this TL so far. Keep up the good work! (Again, sorry about the coincidence with the naming of my TL. I thought I had checked to see if the name was used on another TL, but that must've been a false memory.)
 
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So on the Google Doc where I store my writing it says it was last edited on Feb 27. I'm going to try and post what I've got on there first. Maybe try to bang out a bit more. In the meantime, just now I banged out something of a synopsis. An example of academic writing, I suppose.

CHIMERA NATION: A HISTORY OF THE VIENNESE SCHOOL

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Preface ...... Reaction and Reform
Chapter 1 ...... Franz the Fool
Chapter 2 ...... Nationalism after Napoleon
Chapter 3 ...... Enter Kolbe: German Austria
Chapter 4 ...... Széchenyi and the Hungarian Class Struggle
Chapter 5 ...... Loyal Prague: Bohemia's Ambivalent Regime
Chapter 6 ...... Illegitimate Occupation: The Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia
Chapter 7 ...... Tripartite Poland
Chapter 8 ...... The Rothschilds and Austrian Industry
Chapter 9 ...... 'To be Austrian': Austrian Linguistics under Joseph Ferdinand
[...]
Chapter 12 .... Breaking the Jewish Industrial Monopoly
[...]
Chapter 24 .... Enter the Croats
Chapter 25 .... The Great War
Epilogue ...... Joseph III, Emperor of Austria, King of Bohemia, Hungary, Galicia-Lodomeria and Lombardy-Venetia

Preface : Reaction and Reform

[...]

In its initial conception, the Ministry of Nations- known popularly as the Viennese School of National Ideology- was a venerable enterprise from the start. Comprised of nobles, literati and academics from across the Empire, another key shared trait of the group was their complete and utter obedience to Joseph Ferdinand. It might be said, in fact, that this was the first instance of Joseph Ferdinand's unique style of ruling. [...]

[...]

This book will attempt, to the best of its ability, to concisely and succinctly summarize the efforts of many historians both more learned and erudite than the author himself, as well as provide a critical assessment of the accomplishments of the Viennese School in the Austrian Empire. [...]

[...]

An interesting thing to note about the Viennese School is that it was arguably the most consequential event to take place in the history of Austria up to this point. Even today, archivists are locating more examples of the sheer variety of enterprises in which members of the Viennese School had some sort of interest. Extending from the industrialization of Austria to the construction of the Suez Canal, it surely strains belief to contemplate to what extent the members of the Viennese School were able to co-ordinate their activities so as to ensure maximum benefit to Austria. In fact, of course, this is a falsehood; the Viennese School was so large- practically little more than a shared ideology of loyalty to the then-monarch and commitment to overall progress irregardless of language or culture- that it seems impossible that it would not have had the degree of penetration as it had.

The Viennese School was the first serious attempt at gradual reform of any European political system on the Continent, and also the most successful. A common-sense explanation for this would be the presence of leading governing figures like István Széchenyi and Anton Kolowrat, but one factor that few scholars of the Viennese School and indeed Austria in general take into consideration was the fact that the Imperial system was both extremely centralized and utterly without leadership or vision [...]

The impact of the Viennese School, of course, is immeasurable. However, what can be generally agreed is that its work in balancing the disparate 'nations' within the Austrian Empire- Germans (which already had a common political entity of sorts to look up to), Czechs (of whom the Czech National Revival was already commencing), Croats (whose national identity was sponsored by Joseph Ferdinand in order to bring the Magyars to the table), Hungarians and especially the Italians (who hearkened back to Rome and Napoleon's Italian Kingdom)- and eventually welding millions of linguistically, culturally and physically distinct peasants and bourgeoisie into a relatively united and loyal force.

[...]

Dr Charlotte Adeline Hitler
Vienna 2016

-----


8 November 1818, Vienna

Juraj Matija Šporer, Aleksa Vancuš and Aleksa Praunsperger waited patiently, sweat dripping from their brows. In the depths of winter, the Hofburg Palace was silent and quiet; before them, Joseph Ferdinand perused economic reports from Transylvania, where British investors had recently set up mining companies and were currently using the profits from their sales to build a more stable road network.

He had decided to make them wait; Šporer, who was studying medicine and philosophy at the University of Vienna, had heard stories about the linguistic exertions being employed in a certain corner of the university; he’d subsequently stumbled on the Archduke himself reviewing the progress of the past few months.

And now, there they were.

Joseph Ferdinand finally set the reports down; he removed his pince-nez and sat back in his chair, straining the old wood with a groan. “So,” he said, quietly. “Herr Šporer. I have heard quite a few stories from my father, and he is not particularly pleased.”

Juraj shifted in his seat. His two friends- seated to either side of him- carefully avoided looking at the Archduke. Though they were both taller than the hunched, slightly pathetic figure, all three of them were- subconsciously, perhaps- making an effort to shrink in on themselves, present a smaller target. The Archduke consulted a slip of paper and tossed it in front of them- it contained a list of names: Maksimilijan Vrhovac, Antun Vranić, Ivan Nepomuk Labaš, Ivan Gusić, Ivan Birling, Stjepan Korolija, Tomaš Mikloušić.

“Your father, Herr Šporer,” Joseph Ferdinand narrated, “of Bribir. Mayor of Karlovac- appointed by Napoleon. Revolutionary taint, perhaps?”

Šporer licked his dry lips.

“And now. An attempt at nationalism! Oh, how terrifying.” Joseph Ferdinand made a dismissive sound, and rose abruptly to lurch over to the cabinet. Three pairs of wide eyes followed him as he retrieved four crystal glasses from the glass-fronted cabinet, as well as a glistening bottle of claret. “The Empires rejuvenated by the Congress of Vienna utterly refuse to face up to reality. Nationalism is here. Even more- nationalism is here to stay.” He gestured at the map behind his desk, spindly fingers gripping his crystal tumbler tightly as amber liquid splashed into it. “Look at that map. See that? There? Here- the Czechs. There- Lombardians, Venetians- long-awaited components of the so-called Italian state. Hungarians, of course- of which you are very acquainted, I think. Croatia, Serbia. Poland, Ruthenia.”

He delivered the tumblers into the men’s hands. They stared up at him, mildly confused.

“Drink. You’re among friends. What,” Joseph Ferdinand barked out a single contemptuous snort, “did you think I’d call you here to reprimand you?”

The three men exchanged glances.

“No,” Joseph Ferdinand continued, sitting heavily in his chair once again, “I want to help you. Allow me to cut straight to the heart of the matter.” He retrieved another sheaf of paper and planted it in front of them. The title: Proposal for the Establishment of a Viennese Newspaper Oglasnik Ilirski. The sheaf of paper bore their signatures.

Joseph Ferdinand gestured at it. “You submitted this proposal some months back; my father has not given his grudging approval, but you were going to publish it anyway. Weren’t you?”

Abashed, Šporer nodded his head mutely.

“Then you have my approval. I have reached an… accord with my father. Of sorts.” Joseph Ferdinand glanced away. “You do understand, of course, that there will be a complete lack of interest in a periodical published in your native language, yes?”

The three men exchanged glances.

“Well, I am telling you that there is little demand for that. Therefore, I am proposing an alternate solution.” Joseph Ferdinand plucked the scrap of paper with the list of names up and waved it in the air. “These intellectuals- are from Croatia, much like yourself. I trust that you have met them- after all, there are quite a few Croats in Vienna.”

The three men nodded.

“For God’s sake, say something.”

“...yes, Archduke Joseph.”

“Right, then. Did they tell you what they’re doing over here?”

“...languages. They are attempting to craft a pan-Slavic language.”

“That is correct. They are attempting to craft a language intelligible to men in Bohemia, in Galicia-Lodomeria, in Croatia, in Slavonia, in the Slovak-speaking lands of northern Hungary. They are crafting a far, far larger user-base than your piddling native domorodnom language.” Joseph Ferdinand ignored the barely restrained inhalations of outrage and barrelled on. “This is what I propose. Now, I’ve read your writings on the Illyrian movement; I am aware of its existence, even insofar as it is limited only to Vienna. I am going to support it- but you are going to have to accommodate me as well.”

“...what do we have to do?”

“Publish your magazine in the pan-Slavic language that we have created. Austro-Slavic. We already have leading Bohemian and Croatian intellectuals onboard with this plan; I can secure for you… something of a network.” Joseph Ferdinand waggled his hand. “Even if Vienna has little interest in a pan-Slavic language, doubtless you will find enthusiastic proponents in Bohemia and Croatia.”

“And we will have to abandon domorodnom?”

“If you wish, you could publish a periodical in that language- but I will not help with the distribution thereof. I am doing this for you,” Joseph Ferdinand emphasized. “I am giving you a way to make more money from the publication of this newspaper- this magazine. The proceeds from there, you can use to gamble on your domorodnom periodical. But I will have this pan-Slavic newspaper.”

He rose to his feet. “So. Are we in agreement?”
 
Austroslavic language, hmm? That is quite the ambitious undertaking. Considering that the Czechs still have their National Revival, its success might be limited, but I can see it working in Illyria- err, Croatia, Slavonia and Dalmatia, which might limit Serb-yugoslavism.

Then again, there's no mention of the southern slavs in the future Emperor's titles. Oversight or has Austria ceded Dalmatia to Hungary, whom united to Triune Kingdom de jure under the Holy Crown?

So happy to see another update.
 
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I wouldn't quite say that it's returned- just that I've finally gotten around to reformatting and clearing up the backlog that I'd held in reserve on the doc.

21 March 1819, Buda

Viktor sniffed loudly in the confines of the ill-smelling wagon. The horse whinnied from in front, distantly, and the rickety wooden wheels jolted over a stone on the road. Viktor yelped; a few other men squealed, like pigs, as a splinter jabbed into their flesh. The Széchenyi man in front snorted softly; he was dressed in rich cloth, and his thighs were wrapped tightly with white fabric. Viktor regarded the man with cold eyes. For a long time Viktor had never even countenanced the fact that he could rise above the position of a servant of the Count. Nor, for that matter, had he wanted to. Life was good in the small settlement where he lived.

Now this, this was an exciting thing: he was going to Buda. To Etzelburg, as the Széchenyi man put it. (Etzelburg? Now what sort of a name was that?) Buda was the sort of place that not even the Count spoke of, on the rare times that he descended from his mansion to talk to them. Yet it was not familiar, and that was more than enough to instill a sort of rising trepidation in Viktor. And even more, he had to leave his wife and children. That was a worrying thing too. Viktor, and Viktor’s father, and his father’s father, had never left Széchenyi land. Never. Viktor had the worrying sense of being cut loose.

Now little thatched roofs loomed over the horizon, visible through the thick trees. Adorján nudged him on the shoulder; Viktor leaned towards his friend’s mouth. Adorján had never been a very loud person. As he coughed and spat out over the muddy roads, phlegm spouting from an invisible spot in his beard, Viktor kept one wary eye on the little streams of steam rising over the treetops.

“I hear the Count printed certificates for us,” Adorján finally said, leaning back on the uneven wall of the wagon. He looked vaguely pleased that he had been able to compose such a sentence; Viktor was happy for him. The men in the wagon grunted, sneezed and scratched their itchy, pest-infested clothing. Viktor folded his arms and gazed out at the non-existent scenery.

Finally they were there. The Széchenyi man leapt nimbly from his perch, leaving space for the labourers to exit. Viktor was first, descending cautiously, looking around at the grubby buildings. Buda was not a very ugly city. It was like entering a town full of little Széchenyi manors. As the last of the labourers emerged, a wrinkled grandfather who was in his forty-fifth year, the Széchenyi man conjured up a sheaf of papers and began to distribute them.

“Viktor! Benedek! Adorján!” The cries drifted above the rooftops; a cool wind ruffled their hair. The sun was falling below the treeline. Viktor squinted at the piece of parchment. “What is this?” he asked the Széchenyi man.

“Certificates,” the Széchenyi man replied, still doling them out- there were at least fifty men gathered on the outskirts of Buda now, stamping their feet and rubbing their callused hands. “It was agreed by the Count that all tenants would be awarded certificates describing and defining their obligations and duties.”

“But what does it say?”

“Never you mind,” the Széchenyi man replied, sounding slightly irritated. “Go learn German or something.” And he lifted himself onto the saddle in one deft motion; cracked his whip; and the horse cantered out of the town limits, the wagon bouncing along merrily. It was growing dark now; and the men had begun to cluster together unconsciously. A wolf howled from some unseen alcove in the dark, thick trees; the flow of water past the banks of Buda became somehow overwhelming. It was a primal fear, a visceral terror of the woods and the horror that lurked just out of sight.

“Come in,” someone called, and the men turned to see a row of city-dwellers, waving from their neat little houses. “There’s plenty of room, and you will all freeze to death outside! Come in, come in!”

Hesitantly, Viktor advanced towards them, his certificate clutched in his hand.

“Come in, come in!” the jolly innkeeper exclaimed, clapping him on the back as he took his first cautious steps into the warm interior of the house. “You’re the lads here to build the railroads, no?”
 
Nice to see the new updates.

I hadn't seen Joseph Ferdinand supporting Austro-Slavic in the manner he have done. I think it have a element of pure genius. JF are creating the foundation for the structures he can use, when he becomes emperor. Also instead of trying a top-down model of Austro-Slavism, instead he seeks to take over the nationalist grassroot movement, it's pretty much a 19th century exampe of astroturfing. This have several benefits, first of all he push the nationalist grassroot activists into working toward strengthening the empire rather than weakening it, his support also ensure that even if OTL national movements get some support, the activists and their activity will be split between Austro-Slavic pan-Slavists and the general nationalist movements. So pretty much he move the conflicts from between nationalists and traditionalists (and the central government) to between different nationalist movement among the Slavs in the empire. Next by creating Austria's own pan-Slavic movement, he weaken the general pan-Slavic movement, which weaken Russian influence in Austria and potential Balkans. Also even if he fails in creating Austro-Slavic movement, he will still have created a useful language to use in administration and army and he will have discredited pan-Slavism.
 
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From the memoirs of István Széchenyi:

All his life, the Emperor Joseph was concerned with two things: industry and nationalism. Everything else flowed from that. From the moment he set foot in Vienna, he was arguing for these two cardinal missions. It would do his successors credit to focus on these things as well.

Figure-1-Nagycenk-and-its-surroundings-on-the-first-military-survey-1780-1784-IV5-At.png

Bottom right: The Széchenyi lands in Nagycenk

15 November 1819, Nagycenk

István Széchenyi planted a hand on his hip and reached for his hip-flask.

The forest, already far-off, was receding further. In the depths of winter, the Széchenyi lands were blanketed in a field of white; crushing silence, an almost oppressive silence. Labouring men stretched as far as the eye could see, the muscles in their back flexing as they cut down trees. Behind them, their wives, daughters and sons sowed new seeds, operating the newest plows imported from Britain- in some cases, the plows had been manufactured in Zagreb, in Pest, in Pressburg. To his left, Archduke Joseph Ferdinand leaned heavily on his cane, lips tightly pressed together, eyes scrunched up against the summer sun.

“Have you read the census?”

“I have.” Joseph glanced at his friend. “Why?”

“Did you take a look at the lesser nobles?”

“I did.”

“See anything odd?”

“They’re congregating in the cities. For education, I’d expect.” Joseph squinted at the blazing torches planted every few feet across the field, providing warmth to tired labourers, and the dinky military band that had been brought in from Vienna on his orders. “I say good for them. It’s time they shared some portion of the bounty.”

Joseph lurched forward; István followed, leafing through a small booklet that he stowed about his person. “The past few decades have been a time of great economic development. But- see- it’s only benefitted the greater nobility. You know, those at Esterházy Palace in ‘18? Well, those great nobles- those magnates- they own most of the land in Hungary.”

Joseph made an indifferent noise. “I’m not seeing your point.”

Kolbe, Dobrovský, Hanka and Jungmann had completed their survey of the German language and constructed a fairly stable pan-Slavic language, which, after much champagne, they had dubbed “Austro-Slavic”. (Granted, it might not be instituted at all, but- better to have an ideal to aspire to than nothing at all.) István didn’t really see the point, but Joseph was becoming more melancholy and unresponsive these days, so he’d made sure to congratulate his friend on the development. He continued to narrate the worrying trend that had revealed itself.

“The lesser nobles- those with nothing more than a few fancy country houses to their names- have gone into debt. By the hundreds.” Joseph made a sound of vicious frustration at that. “The lesser nobility flourished during Napoleon- but only through spending themselves into debt to develop their meagre parcels of land. Napoleon dies- there’s no more need for grain or wool- no more soldiers to feed, no more troops to clothe. So- collapse. Recession. Peace is poverty.”

“We’re recovering, aren’t we?” Joseph cast his gaze into the distance. The Vienna-Trieste route was making good progress; perhaps, by the time he was old and fat, the first boat would come sailing up the canal. Budweis to Linz. Zágráb to Budapest. Milánó to Velence. Three ‘railways’, each of them due to be completed some time in the next decade, which was advancing swiftly. But, to move away from things yet to come, there was positive news coming in from individual manufacturing plants across the Empire. Then what was Joseph’s issue? István shook off his fugue and continued.

“The magnates have recourse to vast sums of money. Not so for the lesser nobles. Now, they have to work. Ah, such humiliation! Such resentment! They impart these dark and terrible emotions to their sons, who go to earn diplomas in universities and gymnasiums. But there are too many bureaucrats, too many professional lawyers and accountants and teachers. So you have educated men, trained in philosophy, jobless, resentful, wandering the streets. They feel humiliated. And there are many of them.”

“Ah...” Joseph trudged on, leg leaving a pale streak through the slush. Their shadows stretched long across the snow; one of the dishevelled soldiers in the distance removed his instrument from his mouth to down a mug of ale. The daughters of the serfs strode purposefully across the icy ground, passing corked bottles from one hand to another, supplying their fathers and brothers and husbands with liquid warmth.

“They are like cornered dogs, you see? At least, that’s how they see themselves. They need status. They need money. They need to feel pride again. Therefore- resurrection of an old Hungarian dream, reestablishing the primacy of Hungary among the Habsburg lands. You have talk in pubs and coffee-houses of subduing Transylvania and Croatia, of crushing emergent Slovakia.”

Joseph muttered angrily to himself. “So, do you have ideas?”

István shrugged. “I thought you’d have some.”

“I’ll think about it.”

They were silent for a while. István could hold it in no longer. “Well, what on earth is wrong with you?” he burst out.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ve been listless, dull-eyed, for the duration of your stay. I hope my company isn’t so tiresome.”

“It’s not you.” Joseph toyed with the sleeve of his coat. “You know the Croatian language publication I sponsored the other day? I obtained consent from my father by agreeing to marry a girl.”

Marry a girl! Well, of all the things- “I don’t suppose you think you’ll have to be faithful,” István joked, disbelievingly.

“Well- no,” Joseph conceded, grinning, “but she’s a bit young for me.”

“How old?”

“Sixteen.”

“Your father’s married younger.”

Joseph shot him a look.

“I mean your uncles. Your uncles.”

“Ach, it’s just melancholia. Marriage is a most important event, you know?”

“You read too many romance periodicals,” István declared cheerfully, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “A man before and after marriage is the same man, just that he has a permanent bed-warmer. Let these worries trouble you no longer! Enjoy life! We are not our fathers, and that counts for something, surely.”
 
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