Chapter 26
Chapter 26
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 026
Chapter Title: War and Finance (2)
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In 1726, the year the world's first platinum jewelry set Europe's upper crust ablaze with desire...
That scorching heat had frozen over as solidly as the winter chill, locked in a frigid war of nerves between two nations.
Gibraltar—the gateway linking the Mediterranean to the Atlantic.
During the War of the Spanish Succession, the British Empire had slyly seized it and dug in deep. To Spain, it was a thorn protruding right into their mouth.
A land they must reclaim someday. Up until then, most believed they actually could.
No one was ignorant of the British Empire's power surpassing Spain's, but Gibraltar bordered Spain directly.
They could encircle it so tightly not even an ant could pass, starve them out, and then push in once the enemy's strength waned.
Geographically, Spain held the first-strike advantage, so all of Europe watched with bated breath, wondering when they would move.
And soon enough...
Rumors spread far and wide of massive arms purchases from across Europe.
"...War? This damn continent is always at war?"
"Ha... fucking life... insurance premiums are gonna spike again."
"Should I stock up on easy-to-supply goods instead of trade items? Beeswax and fabrics first..."
If Britain and Spain truly went to war, the main theater would likely be the seas, not the continent. Merchants reacted most sensitively, first and foremost.
Then another rumor piled on.
-Spain has demanded cooperation from its ally, Austria, as well.
The frenzy spread uncontrollably.
"Is Austria really getting dragged in?"
"No way... If so, France might jump in too, making it just like the last war, right?"
"Ah... fuck if I know! Let's just buy up military supplies first. At least we won't lose money."
Merchants quickly racked their brains, snapping up items to minimize losses.
"Is it true Austria might join?"
"Unlikely, but not impossible. Supplies for war are flying off the shelves in Amsterdam and other ports the moment they arrive. Everyone's predicting a massive conflict."
"...This is insane. Colonial trade will take a huge hit... How do we secure the merchant ships? The risk is too high."
"Raise premiums, obviously. At least five times the usual rate."
Amsterdam, the heart of European finance, sensed the looming great war and responded swiftly.
Insurance rates typically doubled or quadrupled during wars, but the players here were Britain and Spain.
Maritime trade giants, both. Whispers everywhere hinted at the unprecedented scale.
"I'd say up to seven times the rate."
"Seven times is excessive. At that point, merchants might just halt trade altogether."
"Not if you factor in a prolonged war. What do those English pirate bastards do best? Plunder passing merchantmen and requisition supplies by force."
As long as stockpiles held, fine—but if the war dragged on, Britain would obviously raid every visible ship in sight.
This wasn't speculation; it was inevitable. No one argued.
"With all those captures inevitable, premiums must match. Merchants aren't new to this; they know."
Indeed, transoceanic trade always carried the risk of total ruin.
Thus, for merchants, insurance wasn't optional—it was essential.
Better to pay high premiums than lose everything to a British or Spanish warship.
Amsterdam's insurance veterans, honed over generations, calculated precise rates with meticulous care.
Conditions could lower them slightly, but insurance then wasn't dominated by single firms—rather, a network of underwriters and brokers spread the risk.
Everywhere you went, rates were much the same.
Then, one day, a peculiar outfit appeared in Amsterdam and Antwerp.
[Wertheimer Trade Insurance]
Run by the Holy Roman magnate Wertheimer, this trade insurance firm touted rates far below the competition.
"We've concluded 3.5 times the base rate is plenty. We won't charge a penny more—rest assured!"
"No way... For real? But isn't this a scam? Cheap is great, but worthless if you can't claim."
"No worries. The renowned Mr. Wertheimer himself guarantees payouts. For skeptics, he'll be at headquarters personally starting tomorrow."
"3.5 times? That's nearly half everywhere else..."
Anyone else, and it'd scream scam. But a Jewish tycoon of Wertheimer's fame from the Holy Roman Empire? No fear of default.
"Fine, let's hear the pitch..."
Merchants, spines bending under soaring premiums, flocked to Wertheimer's firm one by one.
Amsterdam and London experts, naturally, dismissed it as folly.
"That greedy Jew's trying insurance now, huh."
"Probably eating losses to grab market share. What now?"
"Let 'em be. War drags on, and they'll bankrupt fast."
"Wolf Wertheimer, right? Not even a Court Jew. Now I see why the Habsburgs pushed Oppenheimer instead. Running business like a gambler— no wonder he fails. Father had the knack; son doesn't. Heh heh."
A money-grubbing Jew acting like one.
The experts watched him lure hordes of clients with mocking eyes.
How sweet would be the tears of blood from that Jew when war intensified.
They merely savored the moth's doomed frenzy.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ As war tension gripped Europe, Spain and Britain could no longer sit idle.
Spain immediately reaffirmed its alliance with Austria via its Vienna envoy. Britain did likewise with Prussia via the Hanover Treaty.
Britain and Prussia's mutual defense pact warned: Attack Britain, and Prussia joins.
But Britain, ever traditional in its odious ways, wasn't content with mere balance.
Britain promptly ordered its Vienna ambassador, Robinson, to block Austrian involvement. He obeyed faithfully.
The result?
Charles VI clutched his throbbing head and summoned me and Theresia.
"You've heard. The situation is gravely amiss."
Discussing grave diplomacy with a mere prospective son-in-law was absurd.
But he'd called me because of the papers in his hand.
"Franz, events are unfolding exactly as in your recent report. Astonishing."
"As I said, I didn't write it alone. I invested heavily, compiling inferences from experts across fields and analyzing from there. All I did was spend the money."
"Then you spent it wisely."
It matched what I'd given Wolf, but claiming sole authorship would've raised suspicions.
So I'd framed it as founding a think tank with vast funds, producing research papers.
Charles VI had been skeptical at first, but with events matching my script, belief dawned.
"England cites prior maritime treaties, offers future Polish succession aid if no direct Spanish support. France's Fleury sent a letter urging restraint to avoid escalation."
"As my report noted, it's not bad for us. We can't antagonize England for sea trade safety, and joining yields little gain."
Plainly, even if Spain retook Gibraltar, they couldn't hold it.
Britain pounds them seriously, and it's lost again next war—with whines to us.
"So we moderately ignore Spain's demands here...?"
In my past life, that's what happened, souring Holy Roman-Spanish ties noticeably post-1727.
But not now. Spain and Dutch cooperation was vital until our sea routes stabilized.
"Straddle both, seek understanding from each."
"...Ideal, but not easy."
True. Two-timing diplomacy sounds good but often leaves you a bat in the storm.
I turned to Theresia, listening quietly under "lesson" pretense.
"Theresia, follow so far?"
"Yes! England and Spain both want our ear, but we can't please both, right?"
"Exactly. So what's best?"
"Uh... umm..."
She laser-stared the report, then shook her head.
"Sorry, I don't know."
"Good. Admitting ignorance is impressive."
Not mere quitting—she'd tried her utmost.
But the answer lay in sleight-of-hand, not diplomacy—beyond a child's reach.
Still, for future empire rule, she needed awareness of such intrigues.
"Your Majesty, first, a secret pact with Ambassador Robinson. We've heard and understand them. But as allies, we must sell Spain supplies. No direct troops, however."
Spain's Gibraltar failure was tactical, not supply shortage.
Selling arms wouldn't topple it—odds near zero.
"Those English pirates won't buy it."
"Offer them a deal. Sell Spain impractical weapons, but give England what they crave. I've imported massive cinchona bark with Bavaria's Elector."
"Cinchona—the fever cure...?"
"Yes. Selling direct violates our Spanish treaty, but bridging via Bavaria's fine. England can't refuse."
South American colonies demanded malaria countermeasures, but Britain struggled to secure cinchona.
Offering it? They'd overlook a few weapons to Spain.
"Fulfill alliance duty to Spain, show goodwill to England without souring ties... Yes, no better way."
"See? I told you! Franz-nim is the smartest, coolest in the world!"
"Heh... Never imagined benefiting from a son-in-law at my age. Summoning you to Vienna lately ranks among my reign's top decisions."
"No, Your Majesty. Without your trust, I'd have done nothing alone."
Already like family, we laughed warmly, plotting specifics.
And a month later...
Britain gladly accepted our secret proposal.
-Provided they inspect cinchona quality with their experts.
Robinson cautiously added a condition, which we accepted readily.
If they hadn't, we'd have offered. True to the odious kingdom's rep—paranoid, but good.
For future trust, we sell genuine medicine—who fakes it?
Ours guaranteed quality—rest easy.
Regrettably, though, cinchona worked on malaria, not yellow fever.
Early symptoms hard to distinguish, so they dosed it as a cure-all—mere medical ignorance.
And Britain's massive casualties, South American withdrawal in the Spanish war?
Yellow fever, naturally.