Chapter 52
Chapter 52
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 052
Chapter Title: The Polish Crisis (3)
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August's face finally drained of color as the full gravity of the situation sank in.
Did he really come here harboring some foolish hope that war with France could be avoided?
It hit him anew just how right the old adage was: a foolish king was far worse than a tyrant.
"Your Highness... is war with France truly inevitable? If we could avoid it, Austria would suffer far less attrition..."
"Your Highness, if you were king of France, would you kick away this golden opportunity? Any king who did would go down in history as a monumental fool."
No matter how indecisive Louis XV might be, his prime minister, Cardinal Fleury, was no idiot.
What's more, I'd planted more than a few ambitious ideas in Louis's head myself, so the chances were high he'd stir things up to bolster his own power.
"War... war with France..."
"I trust you understand now? What Your Highness is asking is for our country to go to war with France just to put you on Poland's throne. So you can see why my demands aren't the least bit excessive."
"Er... y-yes, of course."
Who in their right mind would rush into war with one of Europe's mightiest powers for the sake of a total stranger?
"On top of that, our country is tangled in so many diplomatic messes right now that we haven't even been able to prepare properly for war. If we scramble to get ready now, the losses would be unimaginable..."
"Ah, I hadn't considered that. I've been so overwhelmed since my father fell ill..."
Yeah, right. Total bullshit.
The truth was, we'd been preparing for nearly five years.
But only a tiny handful knew that.
As far as the world was concerned, Austria had only just learned of the crisis and was scraping together every last resource for a desperate defense to safeguard the Empire's stability.
So claiming compensation on that scale was perfectly justified.
This wasn't exploitation or oppression by any stretch.
A stake in the business? When we're talking war with France, and we're letting them off this easy? The other electors would be in awe of our mercy.
"Truth be told, we'd prefer Saxony hold onto Poland and maintain the status quo. So if Your Highness agrees, I'll take responsibility and try to persuade Brandenburg and Russia."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Though keep in mind those two will demand their own concessions."
"As long as it's not too outrageous..."
"Then let's talk it over first, and I'll share the results with Your Highness. In the meantime, stay in Vienna and rest your weary body and mind."
In my past life, Saxony had dangled approval of the Pragmatic Sanction to lure us in.
But I'd already secured that approval in exchange for handing over a hefty chunk of the mirror glass industry's profits to them, leaving them with nothing more to offer.
And soon enough, I'd claw most of those profits back anyway, so Saxony would end up with zilch. Still, they'd definitely keep their Polish crown.
The more I looked at it, the more this deal checked every box: environment, society, governance—all perfect.
They called this ESG in the modern world, didn't they?
So I'd suffered plenty to nurture the mirror glass industry... no, for the Empire.
From here on out, leave it to me.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Exactly one year prior.
Russia's Peter II had died young, paving the way for Anna Ivanovna to ascend as the empire's second empress.
Before her coronation, she'd promised to submit to the Supreme Privy Council's control. But the moment she took the throne, she flipped the script entirely.
She dissolved the Privy Council, restored the Senate, unleashed secret police for a reign of terror, and built up the military to expand Russia's influence abroad.
For her, August II's declining health was a golden chance to get a foothold in Poland.
Proof came swiftly: no sooner had my letter proposing talks reached the Russian court than Empress Anna dispatched her closest confidant, Count Andrei Ivanovich Osterman, to Vienna.
Prussia's Crown Prince Frederick, the Holy Roman Empire's next emperor candidate—me, Franz Stefan—and the empress's right-hand man, Andrei.
With the three nations' representatives seated across a wide table, their royal crests loomed prominently behind each one.
"Curiously enough, all three kingdoms' flags feature black eagles."
My opening line, tossed out to lighten the mood, drew a nod and a chuckle from Andrei.
"Indeed. Austria and Russia have double-headed black eagles, and Prussia's is a black eagle too."
Frederick then eyed the Polish map on the table and dropped a loaded remark.
"Meanwhile, our discussion's subject, the Polish royal crest, is a white eagle. Quite the coincidence."
He wasn't wrong. The current lineup had three black eagles encircling and ready to tear into one white eagle perched atop the lilies.
We all knew the others had ulterior motives, so talks moved briskly.
"First off, I assume we're all agreed that France driving a stake into Poland is unacceptable."
"Naturally."
"Propping up Stanislaus is blatant French overreach."
Europe's time-honored tradition in two steps, going back centuries.
Step one: knock down the frontrunner.
Step two: figure out what comes next.
If asked to name Europe's single strongest power right now, seven out of ten would say France.
Britain was rising fast, but it was still young as a unified state. The Holy Roman Empire wasn't unified at all.
So letting the already top dog swallow Poland too? Absolutely not.
Up to here, Russia and Austria's interests aligned neatly.
The snag came next.
"I've heard Saxony's Elector August is in Vienna. Any separate talks with him?"
"Yes. He basically said he'd pay whatever it takes if we help him out. So I wanted to discuss terms with you two."
"For us, anyone but Saxony's elector on Poland's throne would be preferable..."
Of course. Russia would rather slot in some weaker prince or noble they could manipulate more easily.
If they're willing to go to war but end up with the status quo, dissatisfaction was inevitable.
But I had a killer move to quash those doubts in one go.
"Russia's concerns are entirely valid. But hear me out, and I'm sure you'll back my view."
"Oh? What advantage could there be to crowning August king of Poland?"
"Among those qualified for Poland's throne, he's by far the most uniquely incompetent."
"......"
Silence fell for about three seconds.
"Pfft!"
Frederick turned away, bursting into laughter, while Ambassador Andrei twitched his lips and rubbed his chin.
"An argument that persuasive... it's been a while. Did you come to that conclusion after recent talks?"
"Yes. He'll be in Vienna a while anyway, so meet him if you like—I'll make the introduction."
"If it's true, no need to push someone else. Assuming it's true, of course."
"If Poland becomes a battlefield, Russian troops will hit it first. Everyone knows Poland's fate will be in your hands once things kick off."
In reality, if it came to blows, Austria would clash directly with France.
Russia marching to Western Europe to fight them? Not feasible. We'd each play our parts.
If Russia figured they could jerk August around just fine, they'd have no reason to refuse.
As expected, Andrei glanced at Frederick after a moment's thought.
"What are Brandenburg's plans?"
"We'll act in our interest. Right now, that means joining you here."
He didn't say it outright, but the hint of Prussia getting a cut brought a satisfied smile to Andrei's face.
Alliances born of mutual gain were trustworthy, at least short-term.
"Then next time, invite August too? Should greet Poland's future king ahead of time, no?"
"No objections."
"Agreed."
In the waning days of 1731, winter settled over Hofburg Palace.
Three black eagles spread their wings to hunt the white eagle perched on the lilies.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Vienna's calm air grew heavy, and naturally, French and British diplomats began bustling in and out of the palace.
Reports poured in of France's heightened activity especially.
No matter how battered their intelligence network was, the French weren't blind.
They hadn't missed August's visit or my meeting with the Russian empress's inner circle.
Just as the Three Black Eagles Treaty draft emerged, a puffed-up Count Polignac stormed in to see me, looking like a blowfish.
"What in the world do you think you're doing?"
"Pardon? Doing about what?"
"We know everything. If Austria allies with Russia, we'll collide head-on. Didn't Your Highness always vow to remain France's good friend?"
"I did. And I still mean it. But Poland's a separate issue. We must distinguish public duty from private ties."
France claimed it was for their in-laws; we, for the Empire's stability.
Bending here wouldn't be friendliness—it'd be submission.
That said, failing to get results would doom Polignac to dismissal.
With all the upbeat reports he'd sent home, dodging blame wouldn't be easy.
"...As Your Highness said, France and Austria fighting benefits no one. Why not negotiate? His Majesty says if you sell Lorraine to France now, we'll drop the Polish matter."
"I see. A reasonable compromise."
"Exactly! So..."
"But sadly impossible. With my father still holding the seat, how could I sell Lorraine to France? Are you suggesting I usurp it?"
"N-no! Not that—convince him..."
Convince? Go to a duke with his lands and say, "Daddy, can't you sell to France?"
Polignac's done for. He knows what Louis wants but can't let go.
"Count, from my view, His Majesty's offer sounds like forcing a choice with impossible terms. If I may be bold, aren't you building a pretext for war?"
"...Didn't Your Highness seek French royal aid? Flip the perspective: when you ascend as emperor, French influence over Poland's throne..."
"Would get me labeled a Bourbon spy handing the Empire to France—and chased out. Count, I didn't break trust first."
I'd genuinely wanted friendship, but Louis insisted on devouring Poland for national gain.
A man longing for his spiritual homeland, France, now trembled with betrayal and steeled himself.
How heartbreaking.
"So... if we each yield a step, we can rebuild trust."
"Seems the answer's set. More talk needed?"
"...Your Highness knows France is strong."
I wanted to quote that modern saying, but it'd be too rude.
Can't use strong words. Makes you look weak.
"The Empire's no pushover. Thank you for your time, Count. Safe travels back to Paris."
His head's on the block now—no more Vienna for him.
To my farewell, he sighed deeply and asked weakly,
"Win or lose, Lorraine falls first. No regrets?"
"Too many already. Can't afford more."
After nights uncounted in regret-fueled vigils to return here.
Too precious now to dwell on the past.
So I'll charge ahead without pause.
From here, history's my story to write.