... if only the Great Men of Europe had been henpecked and whipped and the relationships between the Great Ladies of Europe, the real powers behind the thrones, had resembled nothing so much as the most dysfunctional sorority house in history...
"The July Crisis—Sorority Edition"
Europe, Summer 1914. The men think they are in charge. They are not.
It began, as these things often do, with a single dramatic incident.
Archduke Franz Ferdinand had been shot, yes. But what truly destabilized Europe was the telegram his widow sent to her friends.
Within hours, Europe’s queens, grand duchesses, tsarinas, and empresses were aflame with gossip, outrage, and accusations of “insufficient sympathy,” “boundary violations,” and “people not staying in their lanes.”
The men, meanwhile, were doing what they always did in such situations:
Trying to look important, and quietly praying their wives would not call them into the room.
Austria-Hungary’s Countess Sophie: Ready to Burn Bridges
Countess Sophie erupted first.
Her message to the other great ladies was unmistakable:
“Serbia is officially dead to me.
And if anyone tries to stop me, YOU will be dead to me too.”
Vienna’s official estates trembled.
The ministers tried to caution the Emperor, only to hear the Empress clearing her throat behind him.
“No, no,” Franz Joseph stammered. “My dear says we must be firm. Very firm. War-level firm. Or at least… strongly worded ultimatum firm?”
The Empress nodded.
And so Austria composed an ultimatum with all the tact of a woman who had been personally insulted at a garden party.
Germany’s Empress Auguste Viktoria: The Loyal Enabler
When Austria turned to Germany for support, Kaiser Wilhelm prepared to give a calm speech about “regional stability.”
His wife interrupted before he finished the first sentence.
“You WILL support Sophie, Wilhelm.
She is our friend.
You are NOT going to embarrass me in front of the ladies by hesitating.”
The Kaiser wilted instantly.
“Full support,” he squeaked to his general staff.
“Unconditional. Irrevocable. No backsies.”
The generals nodded gravely.
They, too, were married.
France’s Madame Poincaré: Grievance Archivist-in-Chief
When the news reached Paris, Madame Poincaré already had a scrapbook filled with every perceived German slight of the last 40 years.
She snapped it open, pointed to a random page—
("Look at this! They marched through Metz without even asking!")
—and declared:
“If Germany supports Austria, then we support Serbia.
Not because we like Serbia,
but because Germany is being dramatic again.”
President Poincaré tried to object.
His wife stared him down.
He changed his mind.
Russia’s Tsarina Alexandra: Loyal to Serbia for Reasons No One Understands
The Tsar had hoped that—just this once—Russia could remain calm.
No such luck.
Alexandra swept into his study, holding telegrams from half a dozen Balkan royals.
“Nicholas, Serbia needs us.
Those poor boys are being BULLIED.”
Nicholas blinked.
“Are… are we talking about the assassins?”
His wife glared.
He ordered partial mobilization within the hour.
Britain’s Queen Mary: The Absolute Monarch of Shade
Across the Channel, Queen Mary listened as the Foreign Office presented a clear, rational plan to avoid entanglement, maintain peace, and give no automatic guarantees.
When they finished, she rose, smoothing her dress.
“Gentlemen, France is being mistreated, Germany is acting out, Russia is overwrought, and Austria is behaving like a common aunt from the countryside.
Obviously, we must prepare for everything.”
Prime Minister Asquith opened his mouth.
She handed him her teacup.
“Do as I say.”
He left immediately for the War Office.
By Mid-July: Alliances Flip Hourly
The great powers changed positions so frequently that diplomats began wearing chalkboards around their necks:
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Monday morning: France & Russia are furious at Germany
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Monday afternoon: France is furious at Russia
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Monday evening: Russia is furious at France
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Tuesday: Austria is furious at literally everyone
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Wednesday: Britain has declared all parties “deeply disappointing”
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Thursday: Germany is in trouble for something Wilhelm’s uncle said in 1898
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Friday: Serbia is crying in the bathroom
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Saturday: Belgium is hiding behind Luxembourg, terrified someone will notice her
The men tried to hold conferences.
They tried maps.
They tried speeches.
But every time they neared agreement, one imperial consort would discover:
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a tone in someone’s telegram,
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an attitude in someone’s ambassador,
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or a look in someone’s royal portrait.
And the alliances would reshuffle again.
By August 1st: No One is Speaking to Anyone
Europe entered August the way a dysfunctional sorority enters finals week:
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everyone crying,
-
everyone angry,
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no one remembering what started the fight,
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and everyone convinced it is definitely someone else’s fault.
The men finally produced a formal diplomatic declaration asking their wives to please let them know if war was happening.
None of the ladies responded.
But overnight, every nation’s army began mobilizing simultaneously—
not because of treaties,
not because of plans,
but because all the generals received messages signed:
“Fine.
Do what you want.
I don’t even care anymore.”
And that was how the Great Powers began to stumble towards war:
Not because of nationalism.
Not because of militarism.
Not because of alliances.
But because no one wanted to be the first husband to walk back into the sitting room and tell his wife he had disappointed her.
“The July Crisis—Aborted Mobilization and the Retreat to the Gun Room”
A continent mobilizes… then demobilizes… then remobilizes… then simply lies down.
I. Mobilization Begins—Sort Of
By late July, every Great Power had begun mobilizing, though “mobilizing” may be too generous a term.
Austria-Hungary tried to move troops toward Serbia, but the Archduchesses were still arguing about whether the ultimatum had been too mean, not mean enough, or “like something a desperate woman would send at 1 in the morning after too much Tokaji.”
Germany issued sweeping mobilization orders, only for Empress Auguste Viktoria to override them twelve hours later because she had received a catty letter from Alexandra of Russia, and under no circumstances was she allowing Wilhelm to “look overeager.”
France mobilized, but on the second day Madame Poincaré froze troop movements because she was angry about a French ambassador’s tone toward the British Foreign Office’s secretary’s niece.
Russia mobilized, but Alexandra halted the trains because she heard Austria’s Sophie had called her “dramatic,” which triggered three hours of palace pacing and six pages of passive-aggressive telegrams.
Britain, always composed, announced “precautionary measures short of war,” only for Queen Mary to revoke them after learning the French ambassador’s wife was wearing her preferred tiara design to a charity ball.
Belgium hid under the dining room table.
II. Catfights on a Continental Scale
The women exchanged telegrams hourly.
These were not diplomatic messages.
These were:
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accusations
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insinuations
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re-litigations of 30-year-old snubs
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critiques of table manners
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unexpected references to long-deceased relatives
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accusations of “copying my alliance pattern”
The official transcripts would have required new categories in the national archives:
“Diplomatic, Hostile, and Deeply Personal.”
Ministers attempted conferences, but each time the women learned one husband had agreed with another husband, they immediately overturned the agreement on the grounds of “loyalty issues.”
At one point the Tsar and Kaiser nearly reached a peaceful resolution—until Alexandra discovered that Wilhelm’s wife had written “LOL” in the margin of her last letter.
Russia remobilized within the hour.
Germany demobilized out of spite.
France remobilized to impress Britain.
Austria mobilized, demobilized, then mobilized again because Sophie genuinely forgot which stage they were in.
Britain mobilized, then unmobilized, because Queen Mary said the whole continent was behaving "like unsupervised debutantes."
III. The Men’s Breaking Point
By the final week of July, every man in power understood a simple truth:
There would be no war without their wives' permissions—and the women weren’t speaking to anyone, including their own husbands.
In Berlin, Vienna, Petrograd, Paris, and London, the great statesmen sat in their offices, staring at maps, signatures, mobilization orders, telegrams, and alliance treaties that changed meaning every six hours.
Eventually, in each capital, a senior minister uttered some version of:
“Gentlemen… I don’t think we’re in charge of this.”
IV. Retreat to the Gun Room
And so, in the greatest act of male solidarity since the Crusades, the entire ruling class of Europe slunk quietly out of the drawing rooms and into their private sanctuaries.
In London, they gathered in the Admiralty’s gun room, where the air was thick with cigar smoke, pipe smoke, and defeated sighs.
In Berlin, the Kaiser found his generals already seated around a sturdy walnut table, brandy in hand, muttering things like:
“Just let them sort it out,”
and
“If we keep very quiet, perhaps they’ll forget about us.”
In Petersburg, the Tsar sagged into a leather chair as his ministers poured him three fingers of Armenian cognac and handed him a deck of cards.
In Vienna, even aged Franz Joseph joined in, too tired to pretend he had any control left.
Across Europe, the men all gave the same soft, defeated toast:
“May they settle it themselves… and may none of us be asked for an opinion.”
They lit cigars.
They dealt whist.
They poured more brandy.
For the first time in weeks, they felt safe.
V. The Women Continue the War of Words
Meanwhile, upstairs, in palaces and embassies across the continent, the ladies continued their diplomatic warfare with renewed fury:
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France accused Russia of being too emotional.
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Russia accused France of being too proud.
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Austria accused Serbia of playing victim.
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Serbia accused Austria of being a bully.
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Germany accused absolutely everyone of gossiping about Germany.
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Britain accused all of them of being uncouth and provincial.
No armies moved.
No bullets fired.
But the judging, the side-eye, and the monogrammed stationary burned hotter than any artillery barrage.
VI. And So Europe Was Saved From War—By Exhaustion
By August’s end, the mobilization orders had been written, canceled, rewritten, rescinded, revised, reissued, and finally shredded.
The men remained content in their smoky gun rooms, shields of oak and brandy insulating them from every incoming shrill telegram.
The women eventually tired, too—falling into smaller, more manageable group chats, forming alliances that lasted just long enough to complain about the alliances that broke down yesterday.
Europe settled into a new kind of balance:
Not a balance of power,
but a balance of pettiness.
And so the Great War never happened.
Because the entire continent was simply too exhausted to remember what they were fighting about.
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| "In the state she's in, I'd rather face British Maxim guns than go back into the drawing room and talk to my wife." |
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