TLIAD: Paix de Napoléon

It seems to me that Charles has a more pragmatic attitude toward marriage than his mother. The Duchess is weighing the suitability of potential brides according to traditional criteria, as if Charles still had a throne. Charles is looking toward having money and resources of his own, and possibly even political power, which would help enable him to maintain his court and advocate his cause more effectively.

On the other hand, I suspect Otoni is right in believing that foreign parliaments and royal families will want no part of the legitimist cause, and even if Charles marries into the Polish or Swedish dynasties, he'll have a hard time escaping the hothouse atmosphere of a court in exile. His courtiers will follow him and continue to drag him down.
 
Great chapter! I really like this association of the tragedy of the Bourbons with the Jacobites.
There is just a nitpick: why Duchess of Otoni? I mean, Otoni was a surname of a family in Brazil, and all them were extreme Republicans, even during the apex of monarchy. The city called Teofilo Otoni received its name to honour one of them, and even if it was named this way during the Empire it would be a bit awkward to make a nobility title from a place linked to Republicanism. :p
 
It seems to me that Charles has a more pragmatic attitude toward marriage than his mother. The Duchess is weighing the suitability of potential brides according to traditional criteria, as if Charles still had a throne. Charles is looking toward having money and resources of his own, and possibly even political power, which would help enable him to maintain his court and advocate his cause more effectively.

On the other hand, I suspect Otoni is right in believing that foreign parliaments and royal families will want no part of the legitimist cause, and even if Charles marries into the Polish or Swedish dynasties, he'll have a hard time escaping the hothouse atmosphere of a court in exile. His courtiers will follow him and continue to drag him down.

Yes, you are quite correct. But his mother is also a realist in the matter, too. The Archduchess is a good match by traditional criteria: good family, ect. But there are also merits owing to their actual situation, such as a suitable dowry, the possibility of an income to defray expenses expected by the first lady of the royalists, ect.

Yes, I'd imagine in Sweden, to give an example, there would be furor over such a marriage akin to the troubles that occurred IOTL when Princess Irene of the Netherlands married Carlos Hugo, Duke of Parma. It caused a political crisis and it was in the 1960s. It'd be a different beast decades before. There is also France to consider: their troops aren't moving across Europe and scaring the Bourbons from hiding place to hiding place, but they'd certainly register a complaint. That alone could be enough to stop things.

Great chapter! I really like this association of the tragedy of the Bourbons with the Jacobites.
There is just a nitpick: why Duchess of Otoni? I mean, Otoni was a surname of a family in Brazil, and all them were extreme Republicans, even during the apex of monarchy. The city called Teofilo Otoni received its name to honour one of them, and even if it was named this way during the Empire it would be a bit awkward to make a nobility title from a place linked to Republicanism. :p

Thank you!

Yikes, that's a bit of a faux pas, isn't it? :p I literally just found a city and gave it to her as a title--I didn't look much further into it, unfortunately. Have edited the chapter: she is now the Duchess of Osório. Still is a bit funny to think of it, though.
 
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Turning again to Mexico, did the economy still experience the upswing of the OTL Porfiriato? And have they built/building the Panama/Nicaragua/whatever-transcontinental canal?
 
1905_wedding_photograph_of_.jpg

Photograph of a Royal Wedding, c. 1905

26.

Mexico City, Province of México, Mexican Empire; 7 Messidor CXIX (June 26th, 1911).
Palacio de Chapultepec...


Roland along with his uncle had managed to escape the orient unscathed. From China, they had naturally continued onto the Land of the Rising Sun, where they had briefly been entertained at the imperial court in Kyoto. It had initially been a lighter experience than that in China, owing to the fact it was a simple visit without the heavy intrigue that had blighted the experience before it. Things had become slightly more complicated when they had arrived in Hawai'i. Roland was met by the French envoy to the islands, who immediately took him aside. It had been that moment that had changed everything forever and he received the fated news that had been relayed via telegram.


Proceed to Acapulco—everything has been properly settled and agreed upon: you shall wed the infanta in place of François. Be diligent. Be good. Escort the Infanta home to France by way of Veracruz. The Imperial Yacht Cléopâtre shall await to bring you home. Both I and your mother look forward to seeing you after these long months away.

— PÈRE L'EMPEREUR


Roland had pressed forward to Mexico with great haste, forced to abandon the leisure of the previous months. Landing in Acapulco, Roland scarcely had time to gather his nerves before the imperial train had arrived to carry them into the capital up to the Palacio de Chapultepec by way of a private station. Their arrival prompted welcomes, and Roland tried to appear cheerful, but it was awfully hard when his intended, his brother's intended really, looked so completely and totally miserable. Roland hardly blamed her—she and his brother had truly been in love. Now he was gone, and Roland was to take his place: not only as the heir, but as the husband as well. Roland didn't know exactly why—his brother's body wasn't even cold, yet he was already stepping into his shoes as the replacement. Frankly speaking, it wasn't a task Roland envied. He had never any wish to be Prince Imperial, and while Euliana was pretty enough, she was never the woman he imagined would be his wife. He was fifteen! He was completely ignorant in women and their coquetry.

Roland was in the private chamber allotted to him upon his arrival. It was comfortable and even a little homey, and it had been where his head had rested since his arrival in Mexico. But not tonight—his wedding night. He and Euliana would instead spend their first night together in the imposing state bedroom of his future brother-in-law, the Prince of Cuba. For the bedding ceremony which would follow the wedding and it's festivities, no stone would be left unturned according to the severe etiquette of the Mexican court inherited from Spain, influenced further by etiquette that had been used at the French court at Versailles. The Patriarch of the West Indies would bless the nuptial bed, while the emperor would be given the honor of handing Roland his night shirt and helping him into bed, with the empress performing those same honors for the infanta. The entire spectacle would be in full view of everyone, for those with right of entry into the chamber based on their birth and position at court would be present. Privacy would only be achieved once the curtains were pulled around the bed, and those who had been admitted all withdrew completely. Still, it wasn't entirely unlikely that someone might be posted at the door outside, if only to make sure things went swimmingly. Roland could only swallow roughly at what was to come. He wasn't completely ignorant. He had been close to his brother, and knew of some of his escapades; sex wasn't completely a foreign topic. But it didn't change the fact that Roland was still a virgin, and the idea of deflowering the infanta—someone whom he had just learned to see as a sister—with a crowd waiting in the wings did not exactly inspire those sort of feelings.

“I feel like a joke, uncle. Look at me!” Roland said, breaking the silence in the chamber. His brows were furrowed as he examined the fabric of the coat he was wearing. It was way too large, and was also hardly flattering on someone with a frame as small as Roland's. It couldn't be helped: the suit had been intended for his brother. Just as he was being put in his place as the bridegroom, so too did he inherit his brothers wedding materials—from his outfit, down to the ring that would be presented to the infanta. The wedding was to be a minor affair in the imperial chapel within the palace; the small details of everything else could be fixed and finalized for the official celebrations in Paris when things were calmer. If they ever became calmer, that is. Stepping into his brother's shoes, scarcely a month since his death was still a little too raw for Roland.

“You look like a joke, too.” Carlos replied gruffly, trying to hold back his laughter.

“I am working as quickly as I can, alteza.” The voice of the court tailor, having been brought in to salvage what was possible of the wedding uniform, spoke with great uncertainty. “I'm not sure I can pull it off, to be honest—“

“Forget about it then!” Carlo roared, having enough volcanic temperament for both himself and his young charge. “We're already running behind, there's nothing you can do.”

“The Prince Imperial can't attend his own wedding in rags...” The tailor responded meekly, cowering at the intimidating presence of Prince Carlo.. He half expected the elder man to rage once again, but the tailor was spared the humiliation.

“He won't be. Go find the Infante Javier—he's about the same size as Roland. He can wear the infante's colonel proprietor uniform of the Allende Infantry. All of the emperor's sons have à la suite military appointments, and one has been promised to Roland, too. It won't be the French uniform François was supposed to get married in... but this isn't François' wedding anymore, either.”

As the tailor scurried from the chamber, Roland couldn't help but look back at his uncle, stifling a small snort. “I never thought you'd be the one dressing me on my wedding day, uncle.”

At this, the elder Bonaparte prince couldn't help but scowl. “I'm not dressing you.” Carlo muttered roughly, his tone harsh. “I am simply providing an alternative to keep this entire situation from becoming worse than it already is.”

Roland was once more lost in the daze of his own thoughts. He stared straight ahead in the mirror, greeted in return by the vision of himself. He made a very poor cut in the uniform of an imperial guard, that much was sure. François had been the soldier in the family. He enjoyed watching drills and reviews of the troops, and in return the common soldiers had loved him as their crown prince. It had been impossible to ignore the acclaim often paid to his brother. It was not a popularity that couldn't be faked—nor was it one Roland thought he would inherit. Roland still remembered the great applause and cheers that had accompanied François during last year's Fête de la Fédération, a revolutionary holiday that had been revived as France's own national day. The next holiday would certainly be a more dour one. Roland did not think he would ever be able to capture the affection of the common man—most especially the working man, as his brother had. François had mastered what his forefather Napoleon II, a master of public relations had wished to instill in all his children and all future princes and princesses of France that while their position in society was hereditary, it had been initially attained through merit. A Bonaparte was not like any other dynasty—it's members had to be sure to always retain the love of the people, through good works and good policies. Roland was not entirely without the common touch so to speak, but it was obvious that he was much more at ease in a politer society. François had truly been a prince of the people—from princes to paupers, to the halls of the salon, or of the factory, François had been entirely loved. Roland's charms were more narrow: the prince of bourgeois university professors, perhaps?

“I don't know if I can do this.” For the first time, Roland was candid in his thoughts. “I—it's... I can't wrap my head around it. François is dead, but the corpse isn't even cold yet! I am the future emperor? Euliana, my sister to-be, will now become my wife? This isn't right, this isn't right at all...”

As the small boy began to turn away from the mirror, he felt the brusque touch of his uncle's hands upon his shoulders. Carlo had always been a stout, well built man, and enjoyed manual labor at his estate in Marly. His hands were evident, the grip that Carlo had on him being far stronger than he would have originally thought. Unable to utter a word straight away, Roland found himself shushed by Carlo.

“You can do this. You have to do this.” Carlo's voice was hardly comforting, but then again Roland knew that his uncle and protector was not exactly known for mincing words.

“But—“ Roland once more attempted to speak, but he was silenced.

“There's no buts. François is gone, Roland. You must now accept the lot you have been given in this life. We are forced to carry on irregardless, and their imperial majesties, the Emperors of France and Mexico understand this very well. The death of the Prince Imperial is tragic, but it underlines now more than ever the need to have friends and allies abroad. The Mexican Bourbons have always had a certain hauteur about them, much like their cousins of the House of Braganza who reign in Brazil. Considering themselves divinely appointed, they have been a beacon of tradition in the Americas. This marriage is only the beginning of a whole new era in Franco-Mexican relations—as friends, and allies. France desperately needs this: we have more similar interests than we have ever before.”

“I understand...” Roland sighed, his protests bringing about no change in his uncle. It was clear that Carlo endorsed the present course of action, or at the very least had been instructed to do so by the French Emperor. Roland had very little time to mount a second offensive, for soon the doors into his chamber were thrown open by the court tailor, who was all smiles. Roland noted that the Mexican uniforms were quite... colorful. The trousers and were red, while the jacket was a splendid dark green—both invoked the colors of the Mexican flag. Both the tunic and undershirt were white, and made from cotton. Everything was topped off with cap dyed in the same red as the trousers, with the Mexican Imperial Eagle as an emblem upon it. The collar of the jacket and as well as a strip running down the trousers were a Spanish yellow, a color attached to the uniforms of princes of the imperial house, while a shade of orange upon the jacket's cuffs and shoulder strap were the regimental colors of the Allende Regiment. Simply put, the uniform was an eyesore, even for Roland.

But Roland didn't dare voice his dislike for the Infante Javier's uniform, taking it kindly when the tailor handed it to him. Disappearing behind a coromandel screen for needed privacy, Roland stripped out of the French uniform intended for his brother, tossing the unneeded costume to the floor as he switched into Mexican uniform. It was a bit of a tight fit—while the Infante Javier was about his size, he was also nearly two years younger. But it still fit better than his brother's uniform, Roland was sure of that much. Stepping out from behind the screen, Roland tried to put on a brave face as the tailor provided a few finishing touches, buttoning up the jacket and ensuring everything was perfect and unscathed. Carlo decided that Roland was ready and they departed his apartments for the imperial chapel.

The chapel at Chapultepec was not close to Roland's apartments—it was built in the time of Carlos, the first Mexican Emperor, and was originally designed to highlight the glories of Mexico. To reach the chapel, one entered the so-called Hall of Martyrs, where art depicted those who fought in the struggle of Mexican Independence. Like many of the public rooms in the palace that were used for state occasions, the chapel was ostentatiously decorated with some of the finest religious art known to all of Mexico. Although first envisioned as a private chapel, it was gradually expanded. As Roland passed through the heavy oak doors, he felt the eyes of everyone upon him. It was as if the whole of Mexico was watching him. He knew that wasn't true, but it felt so. The strictest silence was enforced, and Roland began to walk up the aisle, Carlo at his side. Roland could feel the weight of Carlo's hand upon his shoulder, a supportive gesture—but perhaps one also intended to keep him from running? It was definitely a thought that had crossed his mind, not that Roland would get very far. The uneasiness in his stomach continued to trouble him, and when he reached the front of the chapel, the feeling was only compounded by the sight of Euliana.

The infanta was dressed entirely simply and elegantly. With an extremely high waist, her wedding gown emulated the revival of the empire silouette with the modern touch of décolletage, with the infanta's shoulders and bosom exposed. The dress was made entirely of silk, bleached until it had become a pristine white. Decorative flowers matted the bottom portion of the dress, being the sole foreign aspect of the gown, having been made with Alençon Lace. Diamonds as well as pearls were sewn onto these decorative flowers in unexpected places which added to the flair of the gown. Everything was topped off with the veil and the train of the dress—both made from lace as well. Roland saw that he cut a very poor figure next to Euliana, who was completely decked out in jewel. She wore not only some of the jewels that were part of her wedding plate, but several grand pieces of the Mexican Crown Jewels that her mother had loaned to her. For all the supposed glories Euliana stood to inherit, she looked completely out of it, her eyes sullen and languid, as if she were completely in a daze. Had she been crying? Roland wanted to give her a sign that everything was going to be fine, but he was completely out of his element and had not a single idea of what to do, let alone what to say. Not that he had a chance to speak: the pair stood before the Patriarch of the West Indies, Augustin Guizar y Valencia. At Roland's side was his uncle Carlo, whilst the emperor and empress stood at the side of Euliana. The Patriarchate of the West Indies was in title only; having been created in the 16th century before passing into Mexican hands on independence, and evolving into a position within the imperial household as a Grand Almoner who officiated over the baptism and marriages of princes.

“We are gathered here today to witness the union between these two young people...” The Patriarch began with a greeting to those assembled in the chapel, his tone heavy as he spoke each and every word slowly. “This wedding is not merely a happy celebration of nuptials—it is the solidification of happy ties between the two great nations of France and Mexico. Two empires united in the bliss of matrimony. To this, we pray. Father, when you created mankind, you will that man and wife should be one. Bind Roland Maximilian Joseph Napoléon and Maria Euliana de la Paz Isabel Francisca Luisa Juana in the loving union of marriage; and make their love fruitful. So that they may be the living witnesses to your divine love in the world. We ask you this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.”

Amens echoed throughout the chapel, reverberating. Roland swore he thought Euliana would burst into tears, but he noted instead that she was completely stoic, as if she was attempting her best to hold it all together.

“Roland Maximilian Joseph Napoléon—wilt thou take Maria Euliana de la Paz Isabel Francisca Luisa Juana, here present, for thy lawful wife, according to the rite of our holy Mother the Church?”

Roland nodded his head, swallowing hard. His answer was immediate, although deep down there were reservations. “I will.”

“Maria Euliana de la Paz Isabel Francisca Luisa Juana—wilt thou take Roland Maximilian Joseph Napoléon, here present, for thy lawful husband, according to the rite of our holy Mother the Church?”

There was silence that pervaded the chapel when the patriarch finished his question. It seemed to linger for an unbearably long time, Euliana tilting her head down towards the floor. She did not move, nor did she speak. The Emperor of Mexico seemed gravely irritated at his daughter's last minute disobedience. Held off by the empress, Roland wondered if perhaps this wedding would be solemnized by a forced answer from Euliana. After several minutes, Euliana finally looked up to face the patriarch. Roland could tell that she had been silently crying. The tears were still falling down her face. But she maintained her indifference to the entire situation, finally murmuring so softly and quietly that Roland was certain there was no way the Patriarch of the West Indies, an old man, had heard her.

“I will.”

Roland and Euliana were asked to join their hands together, having obtained their mutual consent. They pledged themselves to each other, both repeating to take one another as their lawful spouse. The Patriarch then formally joined the two together, at which he sprinkled the duo with holy water. This was followed by the exchanging of the rings, which for the time being were simple gold bands. It was expected that when the marriage was solemnized in Paris, that Euliana would receive her actual ring. The ring was blessed as Roland put it upon Euliana's finger, seemingly amazed that the infanta was still managing to hold everything together. The patriarch once more offered a prayer for the duo in Latin, which would serve to protect the pair and lead them into a happy marriage. The ceremony passed with a blur, after which the Nuptial Mass and Nuptial Blessing were performed. The marriage contract was then formally signed by the emperor and the empress, followed by Roland, and lastly by Euliana—whose signature was an illegible scrawl. From there the court adjourned from the chapel for a round of celebrations. The celebrations passed, although Roland did not once speak to Euliana. He tried, wishing he had something to say to her, but the bride immediately adjourned to a small party consisting of her premier lady-in-waiting Marianna and several others belonging into her household. She left Roland alone to receive the congratulations of the courtiers.

Roland did not see Euliana again until later that night. They were gathered for what he had been dreading: the bedding ceremony. The state bedroom of the Prince of Cuba was large and imposing. It was a very old fashioned room. Although it had been hurriedly decorated for the occasion of the wedding, with motifs that showed the union between two eagles, the gaudy baroque grandeur could not be entirely done away with. The state bed itself was opulent, but owing to the hurried nature the wedding, it was seen fit for reasons of economy to not order an entirely new bed: after all, it had never been intended for the infanta to be formally married to the Prince Imperial of France in Mexico. As Roland and Euliana stood on each side of the bed, before them were the members of the court who had the rights of entry. The patriarch once more offered up a prayer, blessing the bed. From there the archaic ritual of the Mexican court took off. Roland was clad only in his undergarment, a union suit that was cut a little shorter owing to the warmer climate in Mexico, whilst Euliana was clad only in her chemise. The emperor and empress stood at the ready, handing off the articles of clothing to the pair. It was a privilege that was highly guarded. Euliana was dressed by her mother in a slip that was simple and white, followed by a cotton robe for extra warmth. The emperor provided for Roland a cotton nightshirt followed by a pair of breeches for bed. As the empress leaned into her daughter to press a kiss to her cheek before helping her into bed, the emperor's voice was low as he whispered into Roland's ear.

“Goodnight, my son. It is time for the show, now. The women of my family can be frigid—but with the right caresses, you will succeed. Now, to work! Do so well that my daughter, now a wife, will be able to soon give you a son.”

Roland settled into bed next to Euliana, the emperor and empress moving to draw the heavy curtains around the bed, masking Roland and his new bride from the rest of the world. The pair sat still as the room began to empty, Roland still trying to understand the ribaldry he heard out of the Mexican Emperor, , who he normally remembered as a very severe and stiff person. With a single click, the door to the chamber was shut. Roland knew not if people would be posted at the door to listen, but given the terrible ritual of the bedding he had just experienced, it would not surprise him. Here he was—a Bonaparte, heir to Napoleon, taking part in the rituals that his forefather had seen keen to smash to the ground. That was hardly his only concern. He turned towards Euliana, the first time he had really been allowed to look at her all day. She seemed drained. Was she tired? Although she looked back at Roland, she didn't speak. He cleared his throat, searching for the words.

“I'm...”

“Don't.” Euliana replied, her tone heavy. “Don't apologize... don't say his name, Roland. We can't exactly change things now.”

“I'm—I'm sorry.” Roland blurted out, noting Euliana's expression didn't change even a little.

“You're sorry.” Euliana repeated, rolling her eyes. “Did you really think those two words were going to change anything?” She snapped, causing Roland to recoil.

“You're not the only person who's lost someone...” Roland was horrible at this, noticing a slight glimmer in Euliana's face. Did she feel something, too? But whatever it was, it faded as quickly as it had came. Roland heard the sound of something opening and immediately gave a little jump. Didn't they have any privacy at all? Euliana let out a soft laugh, placing her hand atop of Roland's.

“It's just Marianna, Roland.”

“Your lady-in-waiting? How?” Roland immediately asked, but he didn't have time to receive an answer as Marianna slipped between the heavy curtains, an oil lamp in hand. She said nothing to Roland, but focused her attentions entirely on Euliana as she produced a hypodermic needle.

“Euliana...” Roland said quietly. “What is this?”

“The only thing that makes life bearable since he is gone.” Was her bitter reply. She slide her robe slightly off, extending her arm out. Roland couldn't watch. He looked away from whatever was happening, and almost as quickly as she had arrived, Marianna vanished. Roland caught a small glimpse between the curtains, watching as Marianna exited the room through a cleverly designed door that was masked as a wall—a hidden entrance that connected to somewhere else within the labyrinthine palace. Roland was intently focused on the clever contraption, but his attention was diverted when he felt Euliana caress him arm. Before he had time to react, she had climbed into his lap. Gone was the stony gaze of before. Like at their wedding, she was completely dazed. What was she being given?

“Euliana!” Roland exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down. “What are you doing?”

Euliana didn't say anything, instead leaning forward to press a kiss against Roland's lips. He was surprised at the turn around, but he shook his head vehemently.

“We don't have to do this.” Roland muttered.

“Of course we do!” Euliana said in turn. “Isn't this what you want?”

Roland shook his head violently. “No! You were François' fiancée... this is wrong!”

Euliana's expressionless face soon changed. She frowned heavily, and everything she was holding in burst forth. Euliana heaved, letting out a strangled sob that was most definitely audible. Roland had no idea what to do. He reached his hand out towards hers, but Euliana reacted quickly, tugging her hand away from Roland. She climbed off of the other, the tears freely flowing as she did so. She had told him not to mention his brother's name, and he had went and done it. He hadn't imagined his wedding night ever in his life. The announcement that he would marry Euliana had never changed that—he knew it wouldn't ever go well, that much was sure. But this was something else: it was a complete and total disaster. He did his best to attempt to console her, but it only pushed Euliana further from Roland. Euliana eventually calmed down, but she never entirely stopped crying. Situating herself firmly on her side of the bed, she turned away from Roland. He did the same, a great gap existing in the middle of the bed as they sought to get as far as they could from each other.

“Goodnight...” Roland mumbled awkwardly after some time, Euliana's crying still audible. She said nothing in return, and Roland did his best to try and sleep.

But it didn't come until the early hours when Euliana finally ceased her tears and drifted into an easy sleep.
 
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Looks like Euliana is destined to follow in the footsteps of Catherine de Medicis and Marie Antoinette for suffering from an unconsummated wedding night. Could be interesting when the French get wind of that, considering how they went to town with MA's non-consummation.
 
How did they make it through all that ceremony? Blessed fifteen times before bedtime, poor people.
 
Out of interest, when Carlos went to become emperador of Mexico, did he become Emperor of the entire Spanish New World colonies (possibly with the Spanish East Indies included?) or did his younger brother, Francisco, his cousins, Pedro Carlos and Luis Maria de Borbon, and his uncle, the Infante Antonio (married in 1795 to his niece, who died in childbirth with a stillborn daughter in 1797/98, although initially he'd been considered as a possible husband for one of the OTL king of Etruria's sisters, but when Luigi took Luisetta as a wife instead of the originally offered Amelia, her parents married her to her uncle instead) get something too? Antonio I could see simply for the reason that he was as anti-French as anything, so they might wanna get him out of Spain if its getting a French queen.
 
Out of interest, when Carlos went to become emperador of Mexico, did he become Emperor of the entire Spanish New World colonies (possibly with the Spanish East Indies included?) or did his younger brother, Francisco, his cousins, Pedro Carlos and Luis Maria de Borbon, and his uncle, the Infante Antonio (married in 1795 to his niece, who died in childbirth with a stillborn daughter in 1797/98, although initially he'd been considered as a possible husband for one of the OTL king of Etruria's sisters, but when Luigi took Luisetta as a wife instead of the originally offered Amelia, her parents married her to her uncle instead) get something too? Antonio I could see simply for the reason that he was as anti-French as anything, so they might wanna get him out of Spain if its getting a French queen.

No, only Mexico and the Central American provinces (essentially the Viceroyalty of New Spain), along with the remnants of the Spanish West Indies (Cuba and Puerto Rico). The Spanish East Indies are Mexican too, but they're ruled as colonies and were gained much more recently.

Mexico and Brazil are the only monarchies in the western hemisphere, their separation from their respective metropoles having similarities in that they were revolts against liberalizing tendencies back home. The remainder of the Spanish colonies that went their own way adopted republican or pseudo-republican government. Possibly one of them settled in Mexico and were recognized as a branch of the imperial family with succession rights, though.
 
Could I ask about the European situation between 1815 and 1911? I've recently been looking over GreyWolf's Grand Duchy of Salonika idea, and was wondering if Europe might come out looking a bit like that (particularly the Balkans)?
 
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