Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 043
Chapter Title: 18th-Century Diplomacy
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The Soissons Congress of 1728 unfolded much like it had in original history, but with a few notable deviations.
To start with, the list of plenipotentiaries representing each nation had changed slightly.
Britain, Spain, and the Netherlands were exactly as I remembered, but France had sent none other than Prime Minister Cardinal Fleury himself.
It was probably the strong will of Louis XV, determined to elevate France's prestige through this summit, that made it happen.
But the biggest shift was Austria appointing Undersecretary Bartenstein as its representative.
No one could have imagined the same delegation showing up so soon after the Prussia talks.
In fact, Undersecretary Bartenstein seemed utterly resigned to the grueling march from Berlin straight to France, letting out a hollow chuckle. Kaunitz, who was traveling with me, looked utterly baffled by the whole situation.
"Am I really tagging along as your attendant again? Is this... really okay?"
"Of course. Things played out exactly as you predicted back in Berlin, didn't they? And this congress will be completely different from that one, so you'll get some proper schooling in diplomacy."
The Treaty of Berlin had been billed as negotiations, but let's be real—it was more like a scripted political show with the outcome already set.
What mattered weren't the treaty's terms, but my secret deal with Friedrich Wilhelm I and the otherworldly filial piety scheme involving the Frederick siblings.
This time, though, it was different.
"The nations gathering in Soissons are Britain, France, Austria, Spain, and the Netherlands. Everyone except us is deeply entangled in Atlantic trade. Even we're not exactly outsiders anymore. It's going to be a real spectacle—watching them squirm to hold onto every last scrap they have."
"That's the art of diplomacy—coordinating all those clashing interests,"
"Pretty much. Funny thing is, if there's just one opponent, both sides can stay rational. But add even one more person, and it all goes to hell."
From what I've heard, trilateral talks feel four or five times tougher than bilateral ones.
And with five nations involved this time?
Expecting any clear resolution from this mess is a fool's game. Better to just sit back and enjoy the chaos.
"If it's just going to end in deadlock, is there really anything to learn?"
"No, Kaunitz. What did you take away from watching the Berlin Treaty get signed?"
"I realized the real action happens behind the scenes, far more than in the treaty itself or the process. The surface-level show can be a far cry from the truth—I felt that in my bones."
"Exactly. You can't learn that in a classroom. Real knowledge comes from the field. Same deal here. Even if the congress doesn't produce a tidy conclusion, do you think every nation walks away empty-handed?"
When five heavy hitters from Europe's power players gather, some will inevitably cut side deals or spark entirely new rivalries.
Politics is a living beast, the saying goes—even in the modern era. International diplomacy? That's a monster on steroids.
And sure enough, Kaunitz—future top diplomat of Europe—grasped my intent perfectly.
"Understood. I'll focus less on the debates themselves and more on each nation's stance and motives."
"Good. Just don't get too disillusioned."
Aspiring diplomats can't help but romanticize envoys representing their nation abroad.
His Majesty's plenipotentiary.
Sounds impressive, right?
But once you see them foaming at the mouth in heated arguments, the glamour fades fast.
This wasn't just a hunch—it was destiny.
Even now, en route to Soissons, they hadn't settled the basic matter of entry order into the hall.
It was a pathetic sight that drew a wry, bitter laugh.
Time to savor the spicy tang of 18th-century international diplomacy again.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ -Austria's plenipotentiaries: François Étienne and Undersecretary Bartenstein
-Presumed that François and Charles VI were swayed by British Ambassador Robinson's persuasion
"What in the world is going on? This is so far from what we heard just weeks ago—my head is spinning."
"Your Majesty... it seems the British pulled some trick."
"Didn't François flatly declare he had no intention of coming to Soissons?"
The ministers attending the Versailles foreign affairs council dared not lift their heads.
The situation had veered wildly off script.
Why the hell was that François Étienne heading to Soissons?
If the court was allowing it, then why had they credited Bartenstein during the Berlin Treaty?
Yet with Bartenstein also appointed plenipotentiary this time, the whole picture was baffling.
"Has Cardinal Fleury already arrived in Soissons?"
"Yes, sire. He's coordinating on-site preparations."
"This is weighing heavier than expected. Oddly, our intelligence analysis and predictions on Austria keep missing the mark. The handling feels amateurish—downright grating."
"M-my apologies!"
"The Vienna Cabinet Noir hasn't been fully rebuilt yet... I'll press them to hurry."
Louis XV had been uneasy ever since taking personal control, with constant discordant notes.
At first, he wondered if they were testing him due to his youth, but that seemed unlikely now.
So either his side was incompetent, their foes too capable—or both.
"If Britain's ambassador swayed the Habsburg court, there might be a secret pact between Britain and Austria. Have we intel on that?"
"We... regret to say no, sire."
"Predictions failing left and right. No contingency plans even now. I'm starting to question if I should be seeking your counsel at all. Your thoughts?"
"We'll make up for this disgrace! Have faith in us!"
Louis XV clicked his tongue and looked away from the ministers.
Clinging to these useless leeches was making him increasingly convinced he should handle things himself.
Gazing at the map on the table, he muttered offhandedly.
"Paris to Soissons should take a comfortable three days."
"...Pardon?"
"Your Majesty, what do you mean by that...?"
"I've left the talks to Cardinal Fleury, so I'll hold off until they start. Then, at an opportune moment, I'll head to Soissons myself and meet the envoys."
The ministers' jaws dropped.
"Y-Your Majesty! Even so, with all the foreign delegations and their guards present... for you to go there yourself..."
"It could escalate dangerously."
"So what? I'm still young. A boy-king making a bold move—hardly a scandal."
An older monarch acting impulsively would stir endless fuss, but Louis XV was turning eighteen.
At that age, it wouldn't even register as noteworthy.
Similar age, potential rival for Holy Roman Emperor someday.
A man who moved in ways utterly unpredictable by intelligence or ministers.
Louis XV found himself intensely curious about this François Étienne.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Soissons, about 100 km northeast of Paris, was a quiet town even by 18th-century standards.
Yet it boasted a fine episcopal palace suited for grand congresses and ceremonies, and it was relatively accessible from Britain, the Netherlands, and Austria.
Selecting Soissons as the venue made perfect sense.
"Welcome, Your Highness Franz."
"We bid you welcome to Soissons! France pledges to spare no effort ensuring the safety and comfort of our esteemed guests from afar!"
"That said, with escort troops from multiple nations, we ask your special attention to prevent any armed clashes. Please understand our forces are stationed in the city to avert incidents."
"Got it. Thanks for your hard work."
The man who appeared to be the guard captain bowed politely, though tension etched his eyes.
Any injury here would balloon into an international crisis—who wouldn't be on edge?
I hadn't thought much of it in my past life, but after modern military service, my soldier's instincts ran deep.
Best to cooperate as much as possible.
I'd love to lay low until the congress, but I doubted the others would.
Sure enough, the grand circus I foresaw kicked off that very evening.
"We absolutely cannot proceed to the congress under these conditions!"
"Pot calling the kettle black! Same for us!"
"Now, now, everyone, please calm down..."
"Calm? We'll boycott the hall until this is resolved!"
Typically, large summits feature pre-congress huddles where plenipotentiaries iron out basics.
Formal banquets, salon chats—the formats vary.
This time, the preliminary meeting was in host France's representative, Cardinal Fleury's, reception room—and it devolved into nerve-fraying brinkmanship from the jump.
Why the frenzy? Simple.
"Why must the British Empire enter after Spain? I represent His Majesty the King of Great Britain. Second, at latest third, is only fitting."
"I too am Spain's plenipotentiary, representing our king. Third at minimum. Britain's fourth—why the fuss?"
"We object as well. Here stands not mere imperial proxy, but His Highness Franz—a member of the imperial house-to-be. Even as host, France cannot deny the emperor's representative first entry."
"Seating arrangements are problematic too. France monopolizing the head seat is unacceptable!"
Entry order into the hall and proper seating.
You couldn't dismiss foreign envoys as petty for bickering over this.
After all, the one fiercely pushing for my first entry was none other than my companion, Undersecretary Bartenstein.
And the reams of arguments backing him came from our own secretaries.
Kaunitz gaped, half-dazed, at the titans of diplomacy he'd idolized locked in this high-stakes formality farce.
Even modern diplomacy values protocol, but watching months drag on with vein-popping debates over this? It felt... stifling.
Of course, in this era, entry order was deadly serious.
National prestige hinged on who entered first and sat where.
Thus, warring Britain and Spain refused to trail each other.
"Baron Walpole, we understand Britain's position. But second is unrealistic, as you know."
"Must France be first? Cardinal Fleury, if I may—by custom, as Baron Bartenstein says, the Holy Roman Emperor ranks above all kings."
"On that point..."
At this stage, it was chaos—friends and foes blurring in indiscriminate fire.
As Britain's plenipotentiary Baron Walpole noted, this era had established protocol hierarchies.
First: the Holy Roman Emperor, paramount among kings.
Next: France's king, highest Catholic monarch; then Spain and the English royal house; Dutch republic last, sans king.
One might call Britain's gripes unreasonable, but not quite.
France, as host with Fleury attending, claimed top spot.
My arrival—emperor's future son-in-law—threw that off.
Britain stressed they weren't old England but unified Great Britain, Hanover elector too.
Hence, over a month in, no entry order—and even after arriving in Soissons, the envoys clashed over it.
The Dutch army general's proxy, Zico van Gosselinga, eyed the deadlock wearily and proposed mediation.
"Why not enter together? Precedent exists."
"Out of the question. As hosts, how can we share entry?"
"Agreed. His Highness, proxy to the Holy Roman Emperor, cannot enter jointly with others."
The Dutch upstart eyeing parity with France's king and emperor's proxy? Veto.
"Then a round table with no head? That's been done."
"Opposed. France spared no effort hosting. We deserve our due as principals."
No to this, no to that.
As the envoys battled for national honor like it was life-or-death, Kaunitz whispered just to me.
"...They really hashed this out for months?"
"Told you. Don't get too disillusioned."
Yeah, it strains belief—but reality out-absurds fiction every time.
As endless debate dragged, Cardinal Fleury's gaze flicked my way. He spoke slowly.
"Your Highness, you've come far. What are your thoughts?"
"Me?"
"Yes. Do you fully align with Undersecretary Bartenstein?"
No need for me to contradict him—why probe?
Blame you for messing it up; clean it with me if you've got conscience.
Or probing me, frustrated by my silence, seeking an opening.
Either way, no falling for it. Time for a response befitting Holy Roman Empire's, Habsburg's future son-in-law.
"Cardinal, I am Duke of Lorraine-to-be, Holy Roman Emperor's prospective son-in-law, betrothed to Archduchess Maria Theresa, proxy to the Roman Emperor, member of the Austrian Privy Council, financial committee advisor—and His Majesty deemed me worthy of this role, sending me thus. Undersecretary Bartenstein merely upholds my rightful honors..."
Get it? Respect me.
Want host perks despite trolls? Carry with skill, don't freeload.
Seek alliance? Offer terms first.
With Britain, Spain, now Austria kicking up dust.
This congress might collapse pre-start—boycott by three powers.
Fleury's face drained to ashen as time ticked.