The Bread is Cold
December 24, 1781. Christmas Eve. The Eden Treaty had been signed. Its formal title was the "Treaty for Permanent Prosperity through National Division of Labor between France and the Great British Empire," but that was neither here nor there. In essence, it was a five-year renewable agreement under which France would import Britain's excess agricultural produce, and Britain would import France's excess manufactured goods, all at zero or minimal tariffs.
This treaty wouldn't deliver a fatal blow to French industry as a whole.
"Minister of Public Works, when will the Lorraine steelworks be completed?"
It had been destroyed in the previous war, after all. It had already taken its hit, so there wasn't much more pain to feel.
"Construction began in September 1781, but delays are mounting. What was projected at twenty months has now stretched to twenty-four."
That means it'll really be twenty-seven months, then.
"Why is that? Are the workers slacking off?"
"It's the foundation work. We've had to redo sections repeatedly due to leveling issues, and even poured concrete has to be broken up and repoured because of air pockets. Too much effort is going into the base."
Aha. The foundation, huh.
"No signs of corruption. Shall I push them?"
"No. Foundations are a safety matter. This building has to last a hundred, two hundred years—better make it solid. Any other requests from the site?"
"Nothing urgent. At most, they're asking to increase the water ratio in the concrete mix to enable wet-mixing methods."
A 10:1 aggregate-to-water ratio should be plenty, no?
"Deny it. If they cut corners and the building collapses, it's their lives on the line."
"I'll relay that, Your Majesty."
I wasn't clueless about construction, but I didn't just sit idle either. I visited the academy now and then, assigning research projects to professors and reviewing graduating students' designs. A water-to-cement ratio of 0.7 was more than sufficient, after all.
Thus, with the Lorraine steelworks still years from completion, importing manufactured goods from Britain wasn't exactly a raw deal. Village blacksmiths and other traditional artisans grumbled, sure, but what could be done? You couldn't skip building railroads just to protect the carriage trade. It was destruction for the sake of creation, as they say.
"How's the absorption of the unemployed going?"
"Most have relocated to Lorraine, or else to Nice and Savoy in the southeast. They figured British goods wouldn't reach that far."
"Isn't Nice a port city?"
It was pitiful, but I couldn't micromanage every last one of them. To avoid controversy, best to do nothing at all.
"Ignore them for now."
The world changes; adapt or perish. I'd given them their chance.
"Any other business?"
"I'll report from the Interior Ministry. With Christmas approaching, the bourgeois are tossing out bread left and right."
"Bûche de Noël, you mean."
No fresh cream was a shame, but it was still the best thing I'd eaten in France.
"The problem is they're making too much. They're not handing it out—they're literally throwing it away. Even street beggars are eating cake instead of bread."
"Hm."
If you saw it as a problem, it was one... but on Christmas? Did we really need to clamp down so hard?
"Your Majesty, giving away too much for free makes the people lazy. This isn't a famine or destitute paupers we're talking about—ordinary folk getting unlimited bûche de Noël, a luxury dish, will corrupt the lower classes' tastes, sapping their work ethic. Better they never taste it at all."
That was normal thinking in the 18th century, I suppose. Even in the 21st, a few held such views, though they rarely voiced them aloud.
"It's a dilemma."
A real one. Problematic if you framed it that way; not if you didn't. Regular bread? No issue. But bûche de Noël was peak luxury right now. Brush it off, and you set a precedent for extravagance, breeding wastefulness. For the sake of posterity, a firm decision was needed.
But... but still.
"Blocking Christmas charity seems too stingy, doesn't it?"
Competition had made it overly lavish, true, but at its core, this free bûche de Noël giveaway was private charity. Cracking down could set a precedent for miserliness. And on Christmas, of all times—in the form of alms, no less. No good answer here.
"Whatever the case, a decision must be made."
Still, decide we must.
"Frame it not as blocking charity, but as tackling waste. Investigate discarded bread; if the thrower is caught, make them clean it up. If not, the distributors handle it themselves."
People were always the problem.
December 25, 1781. Austria.
The Empire was a sinking ship. Not capsizing dramatically on rocks, but rotting through from old timber, slowly taking on water.
The Emperor's prestige had plummeted; the Empire's stature was a shadow of its former self. While France and her allies ascended together, Austria—outside the French orbit—tilted ever downward. The Holy Roman Empire was a empire in name only, its principalities peeling away from the framework to survive.
Joseph II sought to reclaim lost authority with sweeping reforms: serf emancipation, religious tolerance, monastery abolitions. But the timing was off. Unlike when Louis XVI had crushed entrenched interests in France, the stars weren't aligned.
Back then, the promissory note scam had cut their funding, halted salaries had weakened private armies, and the Estates-General loyalty test had swung public opinion his way. Now, though, the Hundred Days War had flooded Europe with cash—French bonds and interest—reviving the economy and restoring vested powers to full strength.
"Isn't granting heretics too much tolerance?"
Thus, religious tolerance provoked conservative backlash.
"Serfs are the lord's property!"
Serf emancipation drew immediate noble outrage.
"France is just too strong; we're no pushovers."
Monastery closures riled the Papacy.
This empire-wide backlash convinced nobles and powerbrokers already doubting Joseph II's phantom authority.
"With the Emperor's incompetence laid bare, the Bishopric of Bamberg declares independence to safeguard Church assets and the Catholic soul from an inept ruler mired in political games."
It started with plucky microstates. Bishoprics, counties, free cities—French-scale city-states—proclaimed independence.
"We, the Margraviate of Ansbach-Bayreuth, declare ourselves from this moment an independent sovereign nation, no longer an imperial fief!"
Soon, bigger players followed. They'd been waiting for the little ones to break free.
"So you're a sovereign state now?"
Margraviates annexed counties; counties swallowed free cities.
"To protect noble patrimony and the people's livelihood, the Duchy of Bavaria declares independence."
But margraviates had overlooked that duchies had been waiting for their independence too.
Three months. Central Europe's fractured map coalesced into a handful of blocs.
With the feeding frenzy over, Prussia—who'd been quietly expanding—spoke first.
"The age of chaos seems past. Antagonizing each other only costs more than it gains—what say we cooperate?"
Bavaria, Hohenzollern, Hanover, Saxony, Hamburg, and others—now roughly matched after the mergers—began collaborating.
"Prussia leads in size and power here. Objections?"
"Hesse cannot accept Prussian hegemony."
Some still nursed merger grudges—but
"Objections?"
None remained.
"Start by abolishing salt tariffs. Salt tax repeal wins hearts cheaply and effectively. If it works, next preserved meats, then raw materials. You've all seen the Eden Treaty. This is the era of free trade."
Prussia swiftly formed a tariff union by scrapping rock salt duties, expanding influence. Bavaria—the runner-up, half Prussia's size—backed it fiercely. Others grumbled at Prussian leadership but welcomed salt tariff relief. Long gouged by pricey Alpine salt from Austria, the "North German Customs Union" even fostered loose anti-Austrian solidarity.
"How, mere months after ascending, has the Empire disintegrated? Too ashamed to live, too ashamed to face my ancestors in death!"
Austria could only watch the Empire's dissolution unfold.
In response, Joseph II rolled the dice on one final gambit to turn it all around.
"No choice now. We head south."
Another sinking empire. Austria declared war on the Ottoman Empire.