Chapter 119
Chapter 119
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 119
Chapter Title: The International Peace Conference (1)
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"Long time no see, Baron. They say kids grow up fast, and now you're starting to look like a real man. Give it a little more time, and you'll surpass even my height."
"Haha, I'm delighted to see you too, Mr. President."
June 1907.
Having arrived in The Hague, Netherlands, to attend the Second International Peace Conference, I shook hands vigorously with Theodore Roosevelt, whom I hadn't seen since the Venezuela Crisis.
"That said, I did say I wanted to meet you again, but I never imagined it would be here in The Hague. Was the journey uncomfortable?"
"The Netherlands is right next to Germany. You must have had it worse, Mr. President."
Roosevelt smiled as if grateful for the words and turned his gaze to the beautiful scenery of The Hague.
"By the way, it seems you've become quite the celebrity in the meantime. I hear they're calling you the successor to Bismarck in diplomatic circles these days."
"Is that so?"
"Haha, you didn't know?"
I was hearing it for the first time right then.
Considering my actions, it wasn't incomprehensible for such a nickname to stick, though.
"Of course, the French are mocking you as the 'Yellow Bismarck,' but still."
"Whoa, that's a bit much."
I knew what the name Bismarck meant to France, but even I thought 'Yellow Bismarck' was a harsh moniker.
They could at least call me 'Black Bismarck' based on my hair and eye color.
"Anyway, this conference is shaping up to be a rough one in many ways. Word is, the Russian Empire is sending their prime minister in person."
"Stolypin?"
"Yes, that fellow's quite the name in these circles, not unlike yourself. Especially the reds—they're dying to take him out."
Not just the communists; the nobles were equally desperate to get rid of Stolypin.
He'd ruffled the tsar and nobles with sweeping reforms from above, and below, he'd hanged every revolutionary who cried out, stringing them up on his necktie.
If Maria Feodorovna, the dowager empress and mother of Nicholas II—who had come to desperately feel the need for reform in the Russian Empire after her husband's death—hadn't protected Stolypin, he would have been ousted long ago, just like Witte.
'That said, I don't recall hearing that Stolypin attended the Second Peace Conference...'
Was this another piece of history altered by my presence?
I had no idea what thoughts brought him to The Hague, but a man was a man—I'd need to stay cautious.
"On top of that, Britain seems intent on pushing for naval arms limitations at this conference. No doubt to check France. Ever since the Anglo-German Agreement, France has been expanding its armaments at a startling pace, even by my standards."
"Yes, I've heard. But I doubt it'll go anywhere."
Would France ever pretend to listen to Britain?
They'd surely ignore it out the other ear and flip them the bird with glee.
"A so-called 'international peace' conference, and everyone's just itching for a fight."
"Still, we have to keep striving for peace. For the sake of our descendants, at least."
"Well said."
Yet Theodore Roosevelt himself, who said as much, had formed the Rough Riders to fight in the Spanish-American War and was advocating U.S. entry into World War I—hardly a man of peace.
Moreover, many international treaties signed at the Peace Conference were tossed aside like scrap paper once World War I broke out.
Convention on declarations of war?
Germany ignored it and invaded Belgium.
Ban on chemical weapons?
Starting with Germany, every nation gleefully gassed away.
'Damn, Germany broke them all first.'
It wasn't for nothing they were branded a rogue nation.
The gas issue got swept under the rug since the Allies used it too (why Fritz Haber never faced war crimes charges), but the rest—we couldn't afford the reputational hit of breaching them first, win or lose.
'At the very least, this time we need to show the world we're respecting international law as much as possible.'
That way, we could paint the enemy as the villains and prove our own righteousness to the globe.
Thanks to my butterfly effect, Leopold II—who was facing even fiercer criticism than in the original history—was someone I'd frequently invoked during the Herero War. Morality was, after all, the simplest and most potent weapon.
"Things are going to be noisy for a while."
"That's conferences for you."
"True. Laws are like sausages—best not to see how they're made."
"Sausages? An amusing metaphor."
Roosevelt chuckled softly as he murmured that.
This was known as one of Bismarck's quotes, but it was actually a similar remark by an American lawyer long ago, distorted in the 1930s into something Bismarck supposedly said.
'I wonder if it'll go down in history as my words here.'
"By the way, how long do you plan to stay in The Hague?"
"Regrettably, just long enough to see the conference open, then back home. The economy's been shaky lately. Oh, nearly forgot—I had news for you. We struck oil in Maracaibo, Venezuela, not long ago."
"Really?"
The word "oil" reminded me of the deal I'd struck with Roosevelt during the Venezuela Crisis.
Back then, I'd tempted America by proposing we split Venezuela's oil rights with Germany, and he'd agreed.
"Not as good quality as Texas crude, but oil is oil. Its value only climbs with each passing year. If the 19th century was the age of coal, the 20th will be the age of oil."
I nodded as if to affirm Theodore Roosevelt's prophetic words.
Soon enough, the whole world would scramble for oil, just as he said.
Germany too—with the automobile boom underway and World War preparations demanding exponentially more oil for planes, tanks, and trucks—we needed to secure ample supplies before the competition heated up.
"Once the talks end and I'm back home, I'll have to bring it up with the chancellor. No—might as well push for a German state-owned oil company while we're at it."
America had Standard Oil dominating the market, and Britain had countered with Royal Dutch Shell in a joint venture with the Dutch this April. But the German Empire, with little oil ties, had no real oil company to speak of.
With the Anglo-German Agreement yielding some Middle East concessions anyway, now was the time to establish a state oil firm and lock down not just Venezuelan fields but Middle Eastern ones too.
As Roosevelt said, the 20th century was oil's era, and more was always better.
A few days later, June 15, 1907.
As the Second International Peace Conference commenced, diplomats from 44 nations across Europe, America, and Asia gathered at Paleis Huis ten Bosch, one of the Dutch royal residences in The Hague.
"...Thus, for the peace of Europe, Britain proposes naval arms limitations."
"Ha! Britain preaching peace—what a cruel joke. Everyone knows this 'proposal' is just a blatant ploy to check France!"
Yet the Peace Conference atmosphere soured almost immediately, devolving into a Britain-France slugfest far from peaceful.
"They come to talk peace and all they do is fight."
Watching from afar, well away from the British and French delegations, Russian Prime Minister Stolypin shook his head with a sneer.
He then walked over to the boy who was observing the spat with bored detachment.
"Germany's staying out of that squabble?"
"Britain and France's fight isn't unrelated to the German Empire, but honestly, it's just pointless bickering. Personally, I'd rather not waste energy jumping into it."
"The delegates would love to see their faces if they heard that. Aren't you the one who sparked it all, Baron Hans Choi?"
"By that logic, the Russian Empire has no ground to stand on either, Prime Minister Pyotr Arkadyevich Stolypin."
Stolypin lifted a corner of his mouth and eyed Hans with keen interest.
"You recognized me right away."
"How could I not? You're the most famous man in the Russian Empire."
Hans said as much, but truthfully, Stolypin's gleaming bald head made him impossible to miss.
Not that Hans, hailing from a land of Eastern propriety, would voice it.
"Famous as you? The boy who saved the kaiser—or these days, Bismarck's successor? Anyway, Witte sends his regards."
"How is former Prime Minister Witte?"
"Well. Still active as a state councilor. Better than his premiership days, even."
"I've heard the rumors. Must have been tough."
"It's par for the course as Russia's prime minister."
Stolypin couldn't hide his bitter smile as he spoke.
The tsar was Nicholas II, the nobles straight out of a bad novel—hopeless archetypes—and below, revolutionaries rampaging. That was the Russian Empire.
To top it off, Nicholas II was lately favoring some fraud monk named Rasputin, compounding Stolypin's headaches and fatigue in real time.
Deep down, he yearned to step down like Witte.
But for Russia, he had to endure.
"That said, you didn't come to The Hague to vent to me. What's your aim?"
"Do I need an agenda to meet people? Such a cold fellow."
"......"
Hans looked up at him with a sour expression at Stolypin's half-joking remark.
Germans lacked humor, it seemed—this boy was no exception.
"Hahaha, don't make that face. I come bearing bread and salt, not a sword."
"You're empty-handed."
"It's a figure of speech. Though Germany and Russia's ties aren't great now, just as you and Witte collaborated, maintaining some cordiality for peace between our nations isn't a bad idea."
"That's true, but......"
Hans trailed off skeptically.
Stolypin hadn't expected much anyway, so no offense taken.
"No need to answer now. Take your time—we've got plenty."
Stolypin returned to his seat after saying that.
But Hans gazed at his back with pitying eyes and sighed.
Hans knew.
Plenty of time? He had precious little left.
Stolypin would be assassinated in 1911, four years hence.
If Hans thought he'd live long, he might have shown interest—but with his death, any secret talks would evaporate instantly. It was all too obvious, so Hans couldn't muster a positive response.
Saving him carried far too much risk besides.
"This might be the last time I see Stolypin's face."
Hans muttered that, turning back to the British and French delegates, now on the verge of fists flying.
Thus ended the brief encounter between one who knew the future and one who pressed on blindly.
"Baron Choi Hansu!"
As today's fruitless session ended and I left Paleis Huis ten Bosch for my hotel, a familiar voice called out, waving.
"Mr. Yi Sang-seol?"
It was Yi Sang-seol, whom I'd met in the Korean Empire years ago.
Seeing the welcome face lifted my lips unwittingly—then dropped them.
'Why is Yi Sang-seol in The Hague?'
Last I'd heard, he was in America.
Why was he here now?
History snapping back made me uneasy somehow.
"It's been ages, Baron. I heard you became an aide. You've grown so much since last time—you're unrecognizable!"
"Thank you. I never expected to see you here in The Hague either. Surely you didn't come to the Netherlands for the Peace Conference?"
"Haha, no need to worry—I didn't come to attend."
Phew, good—he wasn't planning some Hague envoy stunt.
That would have put me in a tough spot.
"Since I'm in The Hague, I wanted to catch up with you after all this time—and introduce some people you'd want to meet."
"People to introduce to me?"
"Yes. I think you'll like them."
Hm, had a feeling I knew who they might be. Just a hunch?
"I've got time. The conference won't wrap in a day or two."
"Thank you. My hotel's nearby—let's head there."
I nodded and followed Yi Sang-seol.
Upon arrival, he told me to wait in the cafeteria and went inside to fetch them.
"One Americano, please."
"Americano? Ah, Café Choi. Just a moment."
As I ordered coffee while waiting, the server smiled and replied.
They called it Café Choi in Greece, and apparently the Netherlands too—seemed Americano had stuck as Café Choi across Europe.
Embarrassing, but good was good.
Americano or Café Choi—what did it matter?
It was watered-down espresso either way.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Baron."
"No problem. These folks behind you are the ones who wanted to meet me?"
"That's right."
I gestured to the two standing behind Yi Sang-seol, who nodded and began introductions.
"First, this is An Chang-ho, an American student."
"An Chang-ho, known as Do-san. I've long heard of your fame since my time in America. A pleasure to meet you."
An Chang-ho!
I nearly yelped at the arrival of the independence heavyweight no Korean could forget.
Come to think of it, An Chang-ho had studied in America from 1902 to 1907.
Likely befriended Yi Sang-seol, whose path had diverged to America.
Anyway, bigger fish than expected—I turned expectantly to the young man behind him.
"And this one..."
Yi Sang-seol hesitated, trailing off as if something troubled him.
He seemed uneasy about the man.
"Heh, Sang-seol, it'll be dawn at this rate."
"S-sorry."
As Yi dragged on, the impatient man stepped forward.
"Name's Yi Kang. Call me 'hyung' if you like. Hahaha!"
"Yi Kang...?"
The familiar name rang a bell, and I cocked my head.
Then it hit me, and my jaw dropped.
"...Your Highness Prince Ui?"
"Ah, you can call me that too."
Prince Ui replied nonchalantly, but I couldn't laugh.
Why was hyung here of all places?