Chapter 100
Chapter 100
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 100
Chapter Title: Coronation
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France screamed unconditional surrender and capitulated exactly 47 days after the war broke out.
It had been six weeks and five days—a razor-thin margin before hitting the seven-week mark.
Thus, France, having penned a new myth for the ages, was now reduced to meekly awaiting Austria's disposition.
Even Britain and the Netherlands, who had been watching nervously, tried broaching the subject with a tentative, "Hey... want to make peace?" But this time, Austria had every justification to play hardball.
"Nah, we're not interested. Last time, we tried saving face for you lot, and what did we get? A knife in the back."
Paris had already fallen, and marching on Chartres—where Louis XV had fled—was child's play if they set their minds to it.
Even if Britain or the Netherlands jumped in, they couldn't protect the French royal family.
Any further pressure from the Empire, and Louis XV would have no choice but to cross the Channel and seek asylum in Britain for real.
Besides, Austria's land forces were formidable, but they hadn't instilled true fear in Britain yet.
An overwhelming army that crushed France in six weeks? Fair enough. But that army couldn't cross the sea—what was there to worry about?
Britain, with its dominant navy gleefully exploiting colonies everywhere, operated in spheres that barely overlapped with Austria's to begin with.
Unlike France, which directly competed with them in the New World and India.
—France bears the greater fault for violating the Treaty of Lorraine, and Austria's anger is understandable.
So Britain opted to sit back and observe for now.
A roundabout way of saying they wouldn't intervene as long as Austria didn't go too overboard.
The tricky part was defining "too much"—countless nations had crossed that line and brought disaster upon themselves.
Even the outbreak of World War II was partly blamed on the half-hearted Treaty of Versailles after World War I.
"Let me say this upfront: I have no intention of completely crushing France."
Fontainebleau, the royal hunting lodge about 50 kilometers southeast of Paris—a historic site often used for diplomatic receptions. There, I sat across from Fleury, delivering what was essentially a notification dressed up as negotiations.
The reason I hadn't entered Paris, already occupied by Moritz and Josef, was simple.
This was no ordinary visitor; it was the Holy Roman Emperor himself. Everything had to be perfectly prepared in advance.
Of course, Fleury—who had no idea why the Emperor had come all this way—remained visibly tense.
"...Your Majesty the Emperor arrived not alone, but with the Archbishop and a host of other electors in tow—an immense procession. We interpreted this as a de facto declaration of France's conquest."
"Conquest? I mentioned this when I met His Majesty before. Even if Austria occupies all of France, truly conquering the nation itself is impossible. No reason to bother with such inefficiency."
"Then might I ask why Your Majesty himself has come all the way here?"
"I'll explain that in due time."
With the Archbishop and electors in attendance, couldn't they imagine a coronation?
Or maybe not. Perhaps I'd been too conditioned by 21st-century norms.
Versailles hadn't yet earned its reputation as the prime venue for traditional German coronations.
They probably just figured it was a victory parade at most.
"I won't keep you long, Your Eminence; I know this weighs heavily on you. You must have some idea of what you'll need to yield."
"...Hoho, straight to the point."
"This is me being considerate. You're no longer a young man; keeping you seated here indefinitely is torture. I'm not that heartless."
This wasn't empty flattery. For an octogenarian, traveling 50 kilometers from Paris in this era was grueling labor in itself.
Forcing him into hours-long talks in a chair could send him straight to the Lord's side tomorrow, God forbid.
That would spark rumors of how inhumanely Austria had treated him, driving the poor man to death with outrageous demands.
Honestly, when I heard Fleury had been left in Paris, I couldn't help but admire Louis XV's ruthlessness anew.
Was it right to use a man who'd been like a mentor since childhood as a meat shield, forcing him to shoulder the king's filth right up to the bitter end?
Sympathy aside, negotiations were negotiations—the terms we'd present remained unchanged.
"First, Alsace... no, Elsass, I suppose. Elsass will become permanent Imperial territory. I trust there's no objection."
"...Yes."
With this, the Empire secured both a treasure trove of resources vital for the impending Industrial Revolution and a permanent bridgehead for invading France anytime.
"Next, France must sign a pledge of non-interference in Imperial elections. Violation will incur a 50 million livre indemnity."
"We'll ensure no such unfortunate incidents occur again."
"Furthermore, for 25 years, no tariffs on logistics from Lorraine to Paris and Le Havre. The Ostend Company must also be actively supported in entering French India, with taxes fixed at a single sou."
"...A single sou?"
I'd considered total tax exemption but settled on 1% out of a last shred of conscience.
They knew full well the gulf between zero and one.
"Your traded goods differ anyway, so no losses. And long-term, this benefits both nations—I'd stake my name on it."
"...Why is that?"
"You'll understand when you sign the treaty. For now, hear out all our demands."
We hadn't even gotten to the meaty parts; constant interruptions would just drag out the explanations.
"For reparations, we'd like to establish a joint Vienna-Paris payment bank. About 40% can be settled via bonds from banks we lead."
"What's that supposed—"
This gave our capitalists, led by the Wertheimers, a lever into the French bond market.
Not unprecedented; Britain had done something similar in the Treaty of Utrecht to easily manipulate foreign finances.
"Also, we demand joint docking rights at the Black Sea free port we secured with Britain last time."
Inspired by that very British treaty... good lord, Britain again?
"Most of that is acceptable. But establishing a joint bank for reparations—how do you plan to set the amount?"
"Ten-year repayment: 350 million livres."
"...Three—three hundred fifty million! That's absurd—"
"Still, over ten years, it's less annually than 200 million over five."
"Repaying 35 million livres a year for ten years means handing over about 20% of our annual revenue to Austria every year! This is..."
They couldn't accept it. Even I thought 350 million over ten was a bit steep.
We could crush them flat, but as I said, I had no desire to render France irreparable.
Not out of pity—France needed to stay robust for reasons that mattered.
"Truth be told, this isn't my preference; it's His Majesty's and the Privy Council's will. We half-heartedly looked the other way after Lorraine, and they stabbed us in the back. Plenty argue we should neuter them so thoroughly they never even dream of war again."
"...But Your Highness just said—"
"Of course I believe France mustn't collapse. So give me justification to defy those terms."
"Justification?"
"Something to make His Majesty and the Council swallow a drastic reparations cut with a smile. That's precisely why he came here himself. I'll give you a choice, Your Eminence."
350 million over ten years wasn't impossible given France's productive capacity.
But it'd turn Europe's superpower into a whimpering invalid—and that wasn't my vision.
If France crumbled, who'd cheer loudest? Not Austria, but Britain, their direct rival.
Bluntly, with this lead, we could stomp France anytime they turned hostile again.
But with Britain intact, Austria could only ever be Europe's top thug, no matter how we rampaged.
To expand outward required ships, and toppling Britain anytime soon was a pipe dream.
Unlike France, which we'd thrashed, Britain had emerged unscathed, just like in the original history.
So we needed France or Russia to wear Britain down—and delay Britain catching on as long as possible.
Crippling France here meant no one to grab Britain's ankles in North America or India.
"Here's my proposal: Hold a victory parade in Paris to celebrate our triumph, followed by His Majesty crowning me King of Germany at Versailles."
"......What? A p-parade? A coronation... at Versailles?!"
His expression screamed his brain rejecting the words his ears heard.
I got it. Utterly absurd, right?
But he'd soon realize this stemmed from my magnanimous wish for France's survival.
"A victory parade and coronation. In Paris and Versailles."
"Impossible...!"
"In a way, this benefits France too."
"......"
No need for that "what nonsense is this?" look; I'd explain.
"I said it earlier: We need justification not to crush France flat. Bundling a parade and coronation gives us a plausible excuse, doesn't it? In exchange, reparations drop to 200 million over ten years."
"...200 million over ten?"
200 million was still enormous, but slashing from 350 made it a steal.
Lend them some capital, and it'd halve again. How could they refuse?
"Fewer reparations benefits us, you say?"
"I'll add a clause limiting standing army restrictions to the European continent."
"...Meaning...?"
"Exactly. Outside Europe, deploy as you please. Now you see why Ostend's Indian venture benefits us both."
France, stripped bare by Austria and saddled with reparations, lacked the solo strength to check Britain.
So we'd naturally step into India and lend a hand.
"You know full well that continuing like this leaves Britain dominant in the New World and India. Tied down by ten years of reparations and army limits, France gets nothing."
"...Hoho, so that's it? France is done for anyway, so why kill us outright when you can use us to counter Britain?"
"No. Coexistence and co-prosperity. We've never invaded France first—both times, we were the clear victims."
"Can't argue with that."
In sum, our final demands: Cede Elsass, Ostend Company's entry into French India, various tariff privileges, and 200 million livres over ten years.
Hefty, but recoverable for France.
And the coronation provided ironclad cover against suspicions of hidden agendas.
Not even Britain could imagine occupying Versailles for a King of Germany ceremony.
They'd assume France's humiliation forged an eternal grudge against Austria.
"Your call: Descend into Europe's sick man, or seize a chance to pivot overseas while ceding continental dominance? Entirely up to France."
"...Understood. I'll persuade His Majesty."
In the end, Fleury voiced the answer that had been scripted from the start.
His ready agreement spared any blushes—perfect.
Thus, the Paris victory parade and Versailles coronation were greenlit with France's full complicity.
An unparalleled humiliation, yet pragmatically hard to rage against—a bizarre reality.
Fleury, staggering back to Chartres like a man possessed, awaited Louis XV.