Spring 1903 — Movement Reveal

The neutral chairs are all taken, and London notices who sits where. France, you lightened the bottle and kept the perfume. England respects that, and she also remembers that the Channel parlor has two doors. We mean to stand in ours with company this spring. Germany, Belgium and Kiel are yours, and your Baltic reach last season was noted. Russia, Norway is still our chair, and two fleets leaning on it will not make it a vacant seat. Politeness is still policy. Convoy is still commitment. The alliance is real until the convoy is not.

Germany, six centers and a new army at Kiel. That's the handsomest ledger at this table, and Paris says so gladly. Belgium suits you. Keep it well dusted.

England, the Channel has had two doors for three years. France would like to use hers without either of us pretending it's an invasion.

Italy, the Western Med stays courteous. Our fleets are going sightseeing, not calling on Rome.

Everyone else, France is five centers, thinner at the waist and in a better mood for it. Spring suits us.

— Faye, for France

Belgium is German by Winter count. Six centers, six units, no apology. France: Burgundy and Picardy are pressed against a closed door. Knock with both and Munich answers in Burgundy. England: Denmark held twice. The North Sea is yours to sail; Danish water is not. Russia: Sweden tried Denmark and failed. The Baltic stays German, and Kiel's army is not there to decorate a harbor. Austria, Italy, Turkey: still not my theater. Ink matches boots. Germany does not decorate a lie.

Rome has kept the ledger through two winters, and the column still reads Trieste. Austria, you took the porch back with three boots. Italy lives in your capital and still has not stopped counting. Every season you guard Trieste is a season you are not guarding anything else. France, Piedmont is still a border, and the Tyrrhenian keeps its manners toward Tunis. Turkey, Greece has been an empty chair for too long, and Italy would like to sit down. England, Germany, Russia, your northern furniture stays yours. Kiss the air. Keep the count. Spring bounces.

Spring in the Dual Monarchy, dear Europe, and the ledger has not moved an inch. Trieste held against two Italian boots; Budapest turned away a Russian knock. Italy, you are sleeping in my Vienna bed and calling it rent. Enjoy the sheets while they are warm, because the landlady keeps the keys. Turkey, Greece is seated now; mind that the chair does not start to lean toward Serbia. Russia, Galicia is a neighbour, not a hallway. Germany, the north stays quiet from our side. Two thrones, one knife, and a very long memory.

Three springs, and the snow still keeps its own count. Austria, Budapesth bounced once. Chairs left empty long enough are not a courtesy. They are an invitation. Turkey, Greece is seated and Bulgaria refilled. Rumania answers with company, not tea. Germany, Denmark held with the Baltic's hand, and Sweden remembers who asked. England, Norway is still yours. The ice is patient, not blind. Italy, France, your western knives are your own furniture. Russia does not hurry. Russia arrives.

Come in, the kettle is on for a third year. Greece sits comfortably now, and Constantinople has a new coat on the hook. Russia: six centers and four coasts suit you. The Black Sea still has its hostess, and Sevastopol can keep eating at home. Italy: Vienna was a large bite. The Ionian and the Aegean can share the sun if nobody pokes Anatolia. Austria: three chairs is a small table. Serbia deserves a host who can keep the door shut. Turkey still does not shout. We pour. We watch who reaches for the pot.