I'll Sign!
By late October 1781, France's border blockade policy had quickly reached the ears of the envoys plenipotentiary from every nation. But even so, there was nothing they could do about it.
"Marquis, it's time to face facts. We're a nation that survived only by France's mercy. If France had decided to strike back, we would have been conquered long ago."
They had finally come to grips with reality. Loudon was an incompetent general who had abandoned the alliance to save his own skin, and the Holy Roman Empire had suffered a crushing defeat.
"Envoy, we can't do that. We can't just hand over the entire west bank of the Rhine. It would shatter our trust with the imperial estates."
"Marquis, that trust is already broken—not by us, but by them."
"Still, we can't ignore the sovereignty of those estates."
"With their countries split in two, do you think they'd dare resist us? We just hand over the disobedient estates to France and secure the preservation of the Empire. That's the best outcome we can get right now."
As the envoy said, not a single minor estate in the Holy Roman Empire remained intact. When Louis XVI overcame the economic crisis with his bold policies, they tried to follow France's lead to save their own economies. But they weren't France.
"What? From an informant? Rebellion? Crush them all with the military!"
One estate that tried to mimic the National Intelligence Agency ended up devoured by its own intelligence service, turning the lord into a puppet.
"Shin-vage notes! We guarantee the value equivalent to the weight on the scales for every bronze coin!"
"Who does?!"
"Us! The Free City of Bremen!"
"Eh, Bremen's a bit iffy, isn't it?"
Another estate that aped France's coinage policy saw its economy evaporate.
"Aha! Planting them together boosts yields and restores soil fertility!"
Some estates tried to adopt France's advanced agriculture.
"Wow! Planting beans and potatoes together really increases production. Our marquis is the best!"
"Mixing wheat and barley means we won't starve in winter. Our estate is invincible now."
They got lucky with their first harvest, but
"Marquis, the wheat's all dead from bugs."
pests ruined the wheat crop that year.
"So our marquis's blood was red after all..."
With their staple crops destroyed, peasants stormed the lord's castle and looted the granaries. But the biggest problem was public works.
"I get building canals to widen waterways, but why during planting season?"
France gave jobs to the unemployed and beggars, providing three meals a day plus pay. The estates, however, saw such spending as "unnecessary" and cut corners. No wages, just one lunch per day.
"Dig from here to there. By the end of the month."
They set quotas, driving efficiency into the ground.
"Huh? Who dug this?"
"That? Just got bored and dug deeper down there."
"Whoa, it's a cliff."
They did exactly the quota and then slacked off with lunch. No supervisors or master-apprentice systems meant accidents every few days.
Kaunitz Marquis knew all this too. But that didn't mean he could just hand it all over to France. Not even the Holy Roman Emperor had that authority.
*knock knock*
At that moment, someone knocked on Kaunitz's door.
"Who is it? Come in."
"A messenger from the homeland. William V, the Dutch Governor-General who fled the Battle of Felsberg, has returned to the Netherlands, sparked a civil war with the patriots, and lost. William V has been imprisoned in a tower, and the Netherlands has effectively become a willing puppet state of France."
It was the outcome of the Dutch civil war. Hearing this, Kaunitz Marquis realized there was nowhere left to retreat.
"I'll go sign. We'll cede the entire west bank of the Rhine, all the way to south of Duisburg."
Kaunitz Marquis had no choice but to sign away to French hegemony.
*
November 1, 1781. Versailles Palace, Hall of Mirrors.
Kaunitz Marquis, the Holy Roman Empire's envoy plenipotentiary, signed the peace treaty.
Now all land up to Duisburg was French territory. They kept pushing to make the Rhine the border, so after a few sighs, we took everything south of the Ruhr too. The border got a bit fuzzy, but we settled on roughly up to the Lintendorph Forest as ours.
Hmm. The map looks kinda messy. Still, this should match the original history's Ruhr Valley, right? Can't wait to send prospectors for iron ore.
"Count Hertzberg, you look quite displeased."
Can't blame him. The Duisburg area included the Duchy of Cleves, one of Prussia's enclaves. We left them about half, but we still took a bite.
"It's fine. For the peace of Europe, what wouldn't I do?"
What a load of nonsense.
"Signature confirmed, Your Majesty. Peace has come to Europe."
Hmm. I've always thought Mirabeau has a pleasant voice.
"Peace in Europe. Good. Very good. Marquis Kaunitz, Count Hertzberg—to commemorate this peace, I've scheduled a banquet tonight. Will you join us?"
"It would be an honor."
An honor, indeed. After all, I cleaned up that filthy map for them.
*
The banquet began four hours after the treaty was signed, at night. The envoys had paperwork to send home, and I had to issue preliminary orders for the annexed territories. Truth be told, the preparations weren't ready. Negotiations don't wrap up overnight, so there were plenty of last-minute renegotiations right up to signing. Rather than waste food and effort, the chefs and servants probably figured four rushed hours were better. Or maybe it was tradition? I wouldn't know about Louis XV's era.
"Your Majesty, even simple attire has its charm when dressed up."
My wife, Marie Antoinette, wandered the hall, setting the banquet's tone.
"Indeed. Just as our flag's white field with golden fleur-de-lis doesn't rely on mere flashiness—true emphasis comes from intent."
Surprisingly, Marie and I got along well. With no decent entertainment in the 18th century, our marriage naturally grew close. We'd already had two children.
"Your Majesty, do you see that gentleman over there?"
"Mm."
In any case, my family life was harmonious.
"That's Sir George Germaine, Britain's ambassador."
Britain? Oh right! I'd forgotten. Britain was here for a treaty too.
"How'd it go?"
"It seems you've fully relinquished the American colonies. The Battle of Chesapeake Bay must have been a shock."
"Certainly."
The Battle of Chesapeake Bay—Pierre's brilliant strategy. Even I was stunned when I first heard the report. Who could've guessed total annihilation?
"And the gentleman beside him is... the Sardinian ambassador, Count Andrea."
The Kingdom of Sardinia... Personally, I felt a bit sorry. Who knew an army could lose foreign soil through excessive loyalty? Still, no plans to return it. We took it fair and square, but if the locals welcomed invaders, that was Sardinia's fault.
"We'll have to negotiate with them someday. How much should we demand?"
"Why not take everything we can get?"
IOUs? That's a bit much.
"Taking too much breeds hatred over reflection. We should aim for effective gains within moderation."
"Then how about an alliance or mutual defense pact?"
A mutual defense pact? Solid idea. It eliminates backlash and enables cooperation. With Europe sorted, we could focus on Central and South America, and even Qing China. Silver had dried up in Europe—who knows why—and even royals struggled to get Qing goods. Ally with Britain, delegate internal affairs to bureaucrats, and focus on foreign policy.
"An intriguing proposal. I'll consider it."
But not Sardinia. Britain was an empire worth allying; Sardinia wasn't even that. Bankrupting themselves on public works said it all. For them, fixing borders and some material aid to soothe was enough.
Current priorities: Britain first, Spain second, Prussia third.
"Then, Your Majesty, may I speak with Marquis Kaunitz?"
"Of course. Go ahead."
As Marie left, I mingled with foreign diplomats, enjoying the banquet. "Reincarnation of Louis XIV" and such flattery went in one ear and out the other—lip service.
Not much fun at these banquets.
The 18th century lacked entertainment. Chess or cards would've been better. Living here, I get why people read books back then. Beyond that, nothing much. And even books were archaic classics—zero fun. Sun-scorched odes! Nightingale! Poems and novels bloated with tough vocab and flowery metaphors gave me headaches.
Hmm. This dish looks appetizing.
"Thank you, Count Andrea. I am the head court chef. Shall I summon the sous-chef who prepared it?"
"Please. I have many questions about this dish."
The food was worse. Pepper-and-sauce slop passed as "gourmet." Overloaded with spices to mask the taste.
"...That's all. What did you think? The philosophy behind this dish."
That's why I can't eat it.
By this era's standards, it was edible. To my modern palate, French court cuisine was like playing with food. Salty from salt, green from peppers, spicy from pepper, bitter from nutmeg, sweet from vanilla, and saffron inducing nausea. A spice orgy.
"Impressive. As expected from a great power like France—even the chefs are no joke."
"You flatter me."
"Alas, I'm full. I greatly enjoyed your culinary philosophy. Very French indeed."
Ha. Tsk.