The Great War of the Quartet (The Imperial Timeline Book 1) (35 page)

“That poor bastard Szabados was out smoking in the corridor,” Leo said, put off by Renate’s silence when she went to the stove to heat up dinner.

“Was he now?” Renate said while she lifted the lid off the large, ominous pot left on the stove—God how he hated the grueling stews she cooked to make the best of the rations!

“Has there been any excitement around here today?” he asked, feeling like he should perhaps exchange a few brief words before having a smoke in the living room.

He usually enjoyed a nice cigarette when he returned home, but it seemed appropriate to talk to Renate, and inviting her to speak on whatever topic she wished seemed like a decent idea.

“I ran into Ilse Miklós when I did the laundry today,” she said.

“Miklós?” he thoughtfully asked, trying to think whom Renate might be talking about.

“The Liebl girl,” Renate said, turning her head to look over at him. “Matilda Liebl’s daughter?” she added when he gave no indication that he knew who that was.

“Liebl?” he mumbled, trying to figure out who it was.

“The city councilor with a skirt,” she said.

Renate didn’t bother with politics, but she would have assumed that the one woman city councilor was rather memorable. It was just something that stuck to the mind, especially since she was somewhat well-known thanks to the newspapers. Also, it was particularly easy to remember Mrs. Liebl since the young Mrs. Miklós lived on the floor below them, and Mrs. Miklós was a very attractive young woman in more ways than one.

“Well, what about her?” he asked. “This Mrs. Miklós woman.”

“She’s a very nice woman,” Renate said, shrugging her shoulders. “She said hello to Erika and Frieda.”

She was annoyed that he didn’t remember her since his precious Erika was so smitten by her. Renate could see why, and if she had been younger herself she might have been impressed by her. Apparently she was a student who was enthusiastic about things Renate didn’t understand. Physics of any kind seemed uninteresting and dull, and she didn’t care about whatever Dr. and Mrs. Miklós were studying. Even Erika couldn’t even pretend to be very interested in this or that particle or whatever it was they studied. Mrs. Miklós was a nice woman because of her personality, not for being Dr. Miklós’s assistant.

“And…?” Leo disinterestedly asked, assuming that there was some point to Renate running into some woman.

“Nothing really,” Renate said casually as she went over to the pantry.

She retrieved a bottle of beer, and after getting a glass she poured it up while Leo stood dumbfounded. What was the point? Was Renate simply saying that she had met a woman when she did the laundry? That was what she thought was interesting about today? Women sure had it easy. There were at least dozens of annoying little things during the day he could share with her if she would be interested in offering a sympathetic ear.

After Renate handed him the glass he left the kitchen for the adjacent living room. He went over to turn on the radio, the clock on the wall indicating that it would soon be time for the news bulletin. The radio had been a good investment, and it allowed him to listen to ORF in the comfort of his home. Although there were countless broadcasts from near and far if you tinkered with the shortwave, he stuck to the appropriate ORF, the national state broadcasting station. He settled down in his comfortable armchair while he listened with disinterest to the program preceding the news bulletin and reached for a cigarette from the wooden box on the table. Erika was good enough to roll cigarettes for him and keep both the box and his metal case stocked so that he did not have to bother with tedious rolling. Where Renate was lazy, Erika was a diligent young woman who didn’t shirk from work, and she spent most of her free time reading when she wasn’t doing things around the house like rolling cigarettes or doing the laundry. Things that Renate should be doing.

“Good evening, this is the 20:00 news bulletin from Austrian Broadcasting…”

Finally!

“…Confederate forces have continued their gallant fighting against the French in the Piedmont region of Italy. The enemy has tried to reclaim lost territory along the Po River north of the city of Alessandria, but their efforts have been continuously thwarted by the bravery and ingenuity of the command of the allied Army Group Lombardy. The Confederate commander, General Freiherr von Steinmann-Karlowy, and all the valiant soldiers and officers of the army group have performed admirably in the face of the French armies…”

Good, good
.

“…The Russian armies have abandoned Lemberg, and the inhabitants are once again free under the protection of the Imperial-Royal Army and its German allies. The population has suffered greatly under the brutal Russian occupation, but the people were filled with exuberance when the black and gold could yet again fly over the rooftops…”

“Did you hear that, dear?” he called over to Renate.

“What?” Renate called back while doing whatever women did to make food appear.

Leo was amazed at how they did their thing to create food, but he had no interest in discovering all the little secrets to it.

“About Lemberg.”

He had actually heard about it during the day, but the radio broadcast reminded him of the pleasant news that the city had been liberated. Again. Lemberg had been captured and recaptured so many times that it was a sort of running farce which the worst humorists would lampoon in cartoons for less than admirable publications. The German Siegfried Breschinski had lost some of his appeal to Leo—and Leo was certainly not the only one—when he had published an essay using the war over Lemberg to promote a rather despicable anti-Austrian streak which did not suit an intellectual. Frankly, Leo had begun to loathe the apparent chauvinism of many German writers who worked from their end to depict Austrians as unintelligent, incompetent, or in some other way deficient next to the supposed German supermen.

“Oh, I heard about that. Erika could hardly contain herself, bless her,” Renate said from the kitchen.

He suspected it was her subtle sarcasm at work. Erika was certainly hardworking and cared a great deal about the war—that was why she had volunteered for the Women’s Support Corps as soon as it had been set up—but she was as excitable as a mother superior and was unlikely to be jumping with joy over news like that.

The continuous fight for Lemberg had become a national barometer of sorts. When the Russians held the city and its surroundings it seemed like the enemy had the upper hand, but when the Austrian—or German—armies were in control it seemed like the war was nearing its ultimate victory. A good patriot, Leo never thought that there was any real possibility of anything but victory, so whenever Austria was in dire straits he envisioned the war would just last a bit longer. He was much, much too young to think about the humiliating defeat against Prussia nearly eighty years ago that had resulted in Prussia becoming the German Empire—excluding the German territories of Austria but joining Austria’s good post-Napoleonic allies like Bavaria, Karlsbad, and Saxony into itself. The old power struggle over the German nation between Prussia and Austria was largely forgotten, and the Prussians celebrated the preceding victory over France as the real battle for a united Germany while the Austrians were happy about the great leaps both countries had taken since—at least after the two enemies were reconciled in their common cause to keep Russia at bay.

The Confederation was a relatively recent constitutional incarnation of the ancient Habsburg realms after the confused years between the abolition of the Holy Roman Empire from the outside and then the abolition of the Austrian Empire from the inside. The Confederation had been founded in part as a response to the crisis after the defeat against Prussia, but more importantly it had been caused by the internal turmoil and to resolve socio-political and economic desires of local elites as well as ordinary people across the Austrian Empire. From the adoption of the 1864 Constitution, the Confederation of Realms and Kingdoms Represented in the Imperial Council had become one of the European continent’s largest industrial nations even before Leo’s birth, surpassed only by Germany, Russia, and England in terms of total industrial output. The great advances of industry and science had only been seriously halted by the outbreak of war, but Leo was confident that once the Russians had been beaten, Austria would continue to grow and become second only to Germany—even a patriot had to accept that Germany was nearly insurmountable at the top among Europe’s industrialized nations. It was bound to be Austria’s destiny to be the number two in Europe, but Britain remained a far bigger industrial power by capita, so the country had a long way to go yet. Russia had been outgrowing everyone in recent decades, but since Russia had far more than three times the population of Austria that was a particularly steep hill to climb in terms of total industrial production.

After listening to the whole program briefly summarizing the news, the most significant change in the war since yesterday seemed to be Lemberg, although the Italian front was more directly interesting and had managed to lead the report. There had been news coming in about unrest in Italy as a consequence of that country’s serious military defeats, and Leo prayed that the Ities would see reason and surrender soon. Apparently there had been some quite violent clashes in southern Italy between anti-war Ities and the authorities, and it was hardly surprising. They were surely beaten already, and without the French propping up Italy with attacks that diverted resources to Piedmont rather than Tuscany and down southwards, there was no doubt in his mind that Italy would be out on her ears. All the southern nations; Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Greece were surely gravely aware of how foolish they had been to hope for spoils when the combined might of Austria, Germany, Bulgaria, and even the puny little yellow people were arrayed against them.

“Will you have your dinner now?” Renate asked, standing by the dinner table and looking at him just as he was taking another cigarette from the box.

“Yes, yes, fine,” he sighed, putting the cigarette back.

Now was not the time for a victory smoke.

It was odd to be back in her old room again
after spending a year away from it. Her bed, her old teddy, her desk, her wardrobe… Nadia felt like it must have been longer, and the sudden announcement that they would pack and return to Sofia had still not sunk in quite yet. The car ride had lasted for about two and a half hours, and it was astonishing how different the city was to the isolated place on the mountain where the lodge had been built. She was awakened early by a maid, and when she had gone into her wardrobe to pick out clothes for the day, she had felt like she was an archeologist excavating the remains of some ancient culture. The dresses, blouses, aprons, vests, shoes, hats, bodices, her Scout uniform, her skirts… Everything was so familiar, yet it was still like she was wading through a culture she knew ever so well, but was not quite her own. She hadn’t been a child when she left, and since she could get into her nice black dress with golden embroideries, she obviously hadn’t changed that much.

She sat down on her bed again and just soaked in the feel of her room. How long had this been her bedroom before the exile? Six years? Seven? She was so very happy to be back home in her own waters where she had spent most of her time since she and Evgenia got their own separate rooms and left their shared nursery behind. It wasn’t just the morning sun outside the window; her bookcase was full of all the books she hadn’t brought with her, and she would be able to interact seriously with both Doctor Phillips and Professor Leibholtz by discussing things of importance. In one letter this past fall Doctor Phillips had questioned her understanding of Hegelian idealism, and she would have to read up and see for herself whether Doctor Phillips was right. She hated being wrong, and she had been keen on settling the matter as soon as possible, and last night when she had gone through their correspondence she had been reminded of that unresolved question. Doctor Phillips was such a brilliant man, and she was really trying to understand all aspects of post Kantian philosophy since Hegel in particular had been such a great influence even into modern times by affecting the most diverse thinkers from the godless socialists to the godless nihilists.

Doctor Phillips had assured her that she wasn’t stupid for finding Kant to be the father of the far more complex thinking that would later be developed by other thinkers. After Kant, everyone had to take him into consideration, and Hegel too was up there in the great pantheon. She envied the Greeks who had had it easy to learn, think, and argue; it was really the German genius that had developed reason to new heights far beyond the Ancient Greek philosophers. Despite her love affair with 19th century German philosophy, she did try to keep up with the contemporary thinkers who expanded the vistas—sometimes in quite bad directions but often in thought-provoking ways—like Nietzsche, Wittgenstein, Heidegger, and Felix. She had thought about writing a letter to Eduard Felix after some small curiosities she couldn’t quite square in his big book, but she wasn’t sure about writing to people she didn’t know. She would have liked to be able to invite people like Professor Heidegger or Professor Felix to lecture her in person, but she hadn’t even attended an actual philosophy lecture in her life and knew it primarily through conversation with Doctor Phillips, Elena, and her awfully nice and smart governess who had first opened the door to thinking hard. Everything she knew about philosophy she knew from her readings and tutoring rather than proper lectures. It wasn’t fair that she wasn’t allowed to at least go to lectures; she could even stand if there weren’t any spare seats. If Daddy could go to as many university lectures as he pleased when he was a young university student she should at least be allowed just to go once in a while; especially if some famous Austrian or German professor came to visit King Frants University.

When she was called to breakfast she met with her mother,
Evgenia, her aunts Elena and Miroslava, and her cousins Milena and Lyudmila for a splendid little meal. She had met everybody last night when they came back to the palace, but this was supposed to be the new normal, right? Everybody having a nice family breakfast together. Sort of like how things had been before her mother decided to run off with them to the hunting lodge.

Milena had become a pretty woman since Nadia last saw her, and she was happy to hear that she had been betrothed to
her frequent correspondent the Crown Prince of Austria. Of all the cousins, Milena had always been the prettiest one, which was probably a bit of a chance occurrence since her mother was not exceptionally beautiful. Mom was a lot prettier than Miroslava.

The most striking
visual difference from last Nadia saw her close family was indeed her oldest aunt, the mother of Radoslava, Milena, and Lyudmila. Miroslava—or Viktoria—looked more like a nun than her old self, and although she had always appeared a little odd, this was the first time Nadia had seen her with her head covered with a scarf when it wasn’t for some special occasion like church or some other public affair when it was perfectly natural to wear one. She wasn’t just wearing a folk dress with a headscarf, she was also wearing a big, prominent crucifix around her neck. It was a stark contrast to Milena and Lyudmila who looked like fashionable young ladies—the way Nadia had seen most of her relatives in private. They could pass just as easily for Germans or Englishwomen from their appearance.

“It’s very good for character,” Miroslava said
when the topic of the hospital came up, thinking that it was high time her spoiled sister-in-law came from her childish exile.

“Yes,” Maria mumbled, still upset about the humiliating way she had been ordered to not only return, but to do the same silly things Viktoria and her girls had been doing for more than a year.

“Those men are heroes,” Miroslava added, hoping that her immature sister-in-law would finally grow up.

It was sad to see a woman of forty-two
behave like a four-year-old girl rather than like a woman. If she could do anything to help alleviate the suffering of the patriotic soldiers, then she should be content to do that, as a Christian. As women they might not be able to fight, but that didn’t mean that they should spend this national emergency with their heads in the sand like Mariya Pavlova had been doing. Just as her dear husband was doing what he could to serve the country, Miroslava wanted to do what she could, and if it raised the men’s morale, then she was happy do anything she could to help out.

What was she supposed to say to that? Maria wasn’t evil or stupid; she understood that the war was a patriotic cause. However, she was not a Bulgar
, and she did not want to get involved with them. It annoyed her that her sons were so far away from her even here in the city, but her father-in-law had insisted that since Boris would likely be king, he should be more similar to Bulgarians than to Germans, and Boris was staying with other officers at a military dormitory rather than at home, just like Alexander was attended a boarding school rather than return home every afternoon.

She didn’t understand that way of thinking
, that bizarre obsession that had overtaken both her father-in-law and Peter. A king was not the friend of the ordinary people—he was their sovereign and beloved leader. What difference would it make if they did not speak the same language? Surely the country would suffer if the government and army were run by the average peasant rather than men thought and behaved in a way appropriate for those institutions. The idea that the king should be an “ordinary man” was bizarre. A good king should be a greater man than a virtually illiterate peasant. If the king really wanted Boris to be a
Bulgarian
king, then why had he been tutored by intellectuals, military officers, and courtiers rather than just average country bumpkins?
Real
Bulgarians…

Nevertheless, she could reluctantly accept that her sons were lost to her, but they wouldn’t take her girls too. She would keep Nadia and Helene, no matter what. She hadn’t told Peter explicitly, but she really would take them home to Schwerin if he would let his father try to take them like they had taken Boris and Alexander from her.

Lyudmila kept quiet, but she was happy that her cousins had come back. She did not have anything against them, but it was unfair that they had been allowed to do what they wanted in the Rila Mountains while she had had to work. She would have liked not working at the hospital, and Mom’s inability to understand how depressing it was angered her to no end. The ward she worked in was horrible, and she wanted nothing more than to not having to go there ever again. Milena didn’t help much; she was just as full of herself as Mom. Lyudmila wasn’t stupid; she knew that she
ought
to work, but it was not the work itself she hated. If Mom wanted her to “make a difference” then why couldn’t she just send her to a dirty factory instead? That was bound to be a lot less ugly. Oil could only ever look like blood in newsreels.