xymnovel Chapter 283 Vienna's "Advice"
Chapter 283 Vienna's "Advice"
Chapter 283 Vienna's "Advice"
The following evening, at the Austro-Hungarian Embassy.
Unlike the Greek delegation's "Aegean enclave," which was forcibly converted and filled with blue and white colors and the scent of olive oil, this is pure, authentic Vienna.
The giant crystal chandelier in the dome cast its light, dappling patterns on the gleaming Persian carpet like scattered stars. On the walls hung original works by Rubens and Titian, their paintings depicting voluptuous goddesses and robust heroes, their gazes a mixture of pity and arrogance as they looked down upon the mortals who entered this realm. In the air, the faint strains of a live Strauss waltz played by a classical orchestra, each note exuding the grandeur and melancholy of the old empire.
Count Carnoki personally stood at the door to greet Constantine, his face radiating a warmth far exceeding diplomatic protocol. He grasped Constantine's hand tightly, as if he were holding the hand of a long-lost nephew.
"Welcome, welcome, my dear prince."
There were only the two of them in the restaurant where the dinner was held.
On the long dining table, a snow-white linen tablecloth was laid out, and the silver cutlery gleamed in the candlelight. Waitstaffs, wearing white gloves, moved with the silent grace of cats, presenting the two with exquisitely crafted dishes.
Each dish is paired with a special vintage wine.
Count Carnoki was very talkative. He started with the anecdote of Emperor Charles V, who said, "I speak Spanish in my empire, Italian in my court, French in front of my mistress, and German in front of my horse." He then talked about the rare butterfly specimens from the Americas in the Habsburg family collection, and his own "personality cult" of Socrates and Plato.
He never mentioned any political topics.
Like a highly skilled animal trainer, he used the grandeur accumulated over centuries by the empire and this overwhelming sense of cultural superiority to try to plant a seed of "awe" in the heart of this young Balkan monarch.
Constantine quietly played the role of a perfect listener.
He could accurately name the mythological figures in Rubens' paintings, respond aptly to the Latin proverbs quoted by Carnouchi, and even add a harmless detail or two to the romantic affairs of a certain Habsburg grand duke.
He behaved like a young nobleman from a top royal family who was used to such scenes, rather than a prince from the "land of beggars in Europe".
The post-dinner cigar time was moved to the study.
The light here was dimmer, and the huge floor-to-ceiling windows were covered by deep red velvet curtains. The bookshelves were filled with hardcover books with gold-embossed covers, and in the center of the room hung a huge, newly drawn map of the Balkans.
Count Carnogi gestured for Constantine to sit on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace, and personally cut and lit his cigar.
A wisp of blue smoke rose up.
Carnot stood up and walked to the huge map. He didn't turn around, but simply pointed to a point on the map with his cigar.
Thessaloniki.
He let out a long sigh, his voice filled with complex emotions.
"What a beautiful and prosperous port. In its heyday, it was one of the most dazzling jewels of the Byzantine Empire."
Constantine didn't speak, but quietly smoked his cigar and watched the count's retreating figure.
The fox is finally about to show its tail.
Count Carnoki paused slightly in front of the map. He turned around, the glow of his cigar illuminating his unfathomable eyes.
"But, Your Highness, do you know?"
His voice was lowered considerably, as if he were telling an ancient, forgotten secret.
"In the fourteenth century, there was an extremely powerful Serbian emperor in the Balkans, Stefan Dušan. He conquered Macedonia, Epirus, and all of northern Greece. He eventually established his capital here."
He lit his cigar heavily in Thessaloniki's spot.
"And he crowned himself, calling himself 'Emperor of the Serbs and Greeks.'"
He gazed at Constantine, speaking each word slowly and clearly.
"History always repeats itself, Your Highness. And ambition is hereditary."
He deliberately emphasized the pronunciation of the word "ambition".
He took two steps forward, getting closer to the sofa. A shadow fell over it.
"Those friends in Belgrade, their eyes have never truly left the mouth of the Aegean Sea. Now, because of a common enemy, they are your friends, your allies."
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"But what about tomorrow?"
His voice carried a hint of cold questioning.
"What happened after the Ottomans disappeared? Was a powerful Serbia that unified all the Yugoslavs a blessing or a curse for Greece?"
He paused, giving Constantine time to think. Then, in a compassionate tone, as if entirely for the sake of Greece, he said, "Vienna is deeply concerned about this."
Seeing that the atmosphere had been set in motion, Count Carnoki finally pulled out his poisoned apple from his pocket, an apple carefully wrapped in imperial glory and historical fear.
"Your Highness, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and the Habsburg dynasty I represent, have no intention of being enemies with the heroic Kingdom of Greece."
He walked back to the map and gently ran his hand over the areas of Epirus and Crete.
"As long as the Kingdom of Greece can maintain a cautious and safe distance from the unrealistic overexpansion of certain individuals in Belgrade in its future Balkan policy," and even, on certain issues that are in our common interest, adopt a—understandable—tacit acceptance of Vienna's position.
He turned around, a generous, fatherly smile on his face.
"Therefore, I personally, and the Empire I represent, would be very pleased to provide the Kingdom of Greece with strong, even decisive, support at this conference on the issues of sovereignty over the southern region of Epirus and Crete, which are of concern to all of you present here."
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He opened his arms like a priest about to bestow a blessing.
"This is goodwill from Vienna, Your Highness. It is also the most sincere advice from an elder."
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