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Chapter 1189: National Debt

"So much!" Joseph sighed. "He's being too irrational."

He knew that when Camelia gestured toward the collar, she meant Charles wanted a gold Glorious Contribution Badge.

This item was a gimmick Joseph had designed specifically to boost the sales of war bonds. Anyone who purchased a significant amount of the national debt would receive a lapel pin shaped like a shield adorned with a fleur-de-lis.

A bronze badge was awarded for a purchase of 30,000 francs, a silver badge for 100,000 francs, and the gold badge required a staggering 300,000 francs.

Joseph himself wore a gold Glorious Contribution Badge on his person.

Under his careful arrangement, everyone from Louis XVI and Queen Mary to Alexandra had recently shown clear favoritism toward nobles wearing these badges.

Just last week, Mirabeau, who possessed two gold badges, was even granted the high honor of dining at the same table as the King. This event sparked a "Contribution Badge rivalry" among the aristocrats at Versailles.

It reached a point where a noble felt embarrassed to even greet someone if they weren't wearing at least a bronze badge. Some, whose family finances were in dire straits, even went as far as to rent badges just so they could attend social gatherings.

Of course, the primary draw was that the returns on the war bonds were quite decent—a 5.6% annual interest rate for three-year bonds and 6.8% for five-year bonds.

Joseph knew that Charles had previously exhausted all his savings to buy bonds, earning himself a silver badge. Perhaps spurred on by other nobles, the boy now set his sights on a gold one.

"Your Highness," Camelia said softly, "you might not realize how much pressure you place on Prince Charles. He is always desperately pushing himself to do better, trying to keep pace with your stride."

Joseph nodded slowly.

Charles was thirteen now, an age where one begins to seek self-worth, and his elder brother naturally became his most direct benchmark. The trouble was, his brother was perhaps a bit too formidable.

"He's already doing well enough. 300,000 francs isn't something he can just..."

As Joseph spoke, he saw Eman approaching with Baron Nospan, a special envoy from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

The maid bowed her head and withdrew. Nospan bowed to Joseph, his expression crestfallen. "Your Highness, I have failed to complete the task you entrusted to me."

"The Poles have generally fallen into a state of frenzy and extreme sensitivity. Everyone, from the deputies to the serfs, is shouting that they would rather eat chaff and bran than stop fighting the Russians to the death."

The Baron's mission to Poland had been part of the Crown Prince's plan: to persuade the Poles not to fight head-on against superior forces when the Russian, Prussian, and Austrian invasion began. Instead, they were meant to concede ground through negotiations while withdrawing their army to avoid pointless attrition. Once the war between France and the coalition of Britain, Prussia, and Austria erupted, they could then launch a concentrated counter-offensive while the two powers were distracted in the West.

But clearly, the Poles had not accepted his advice.

"Although the Prince Regent, Poniatowski, agrees with your plan, he cannot suppress the masses of nobles and deputies," Baron Nospan continued.

Joseph felt a headache brewing.

If the Poles fought until they were wiped out, it would serve no purpose other than giving Prussia and Austria a massive chunk of territory for free.

Perhaps he needed to visit Poland personally, but at this sensitive time, a visit would be tantamount to announcing a Franco-Polish alliance to the world, which might only accelerate Poland's demise.

He suddenly thought of the boy who had just "escaped" in a hurry and nodded inwardly. 'Let him go. As long as he can give the Polish King and Prince Regent firm confidence, they might be willing to take the risk to preserve the Polish army.'

He returned to his study, penned a personal letter, and handed it to Baron Nospan. "Please travel to Warsaw again, this time with Prince Charles..."

Before his departure, Charles managed to scrape together 300,000 francs—he had mortgaged his estates and trust funds. He proudly donned a gold Contribution Badge, having played his part in the 7.7 million francs of national debt sold in Paris.

While the French war bonds were selling briskly at home, they also began to appear in the markets of the North Italian states.

In Genoa, on the street of the Old Port.

Inside a luxurious seaside villa, a salon hosted by Countess Ranieri was in full swing.

Sitting on the west side, Baron Icobelli turned to the people beside him. "What do you think of those French war bonds? They've been making quite a stir lately."

"The interest is mediocre at best. You're better off buying stock in the steam paddleboat companies," a middle-aged man with a double chin replied. "Bernis Company went up by over 7% last year. With dividends included, that's a 10% return."

Another younger noble curled his lip. "The most ridiculous part is that you actually have to 'draw a number' just to buy those French bonds. Someone who didn't know better would think they were offering 20% annual interest."

"Rumors of war are everywhere. The French government must be desperate for funds. I'll bet it won't be long before the interest rate on these bonds has to be raised to over 9%."

The others nodded in agreement. "I wouldn't even consider buying unless it hits at least 9%."

"If I still have to 'draw a lot' then, I'd rather invest in a steam paddleboat."

"I think British bonds are worth considering. I heard the interest is as high as 10%, but they're sold at a discount, so the annual yield is closer to 14%."

"But you can't buy British bonds in Genoa."

"I know some friends. For a mere 1% commission, they can help facilitate the purchase."

Just then, a friend of Baron Icobelli approached with a newspaper in hand, whispering, "Have you seen the news? Over 10 million francs worth of French bonds were sold out this morning!"

Everyone present was stunned for a moment.

It had been less than five days since the French bonds went on sale, and 10 million had already been sold?

"Hmph, it's nothing more than a publicity stunt," Count Ferro, the man with the double chin, said dismissively. "If you don't believe me, go check the banks. I guarantee there are no actual funds moving. The French government probably just took the certificates back and claimed they were sold."

"Exactly, that's likely the case. By the way, Baron Icobelli, you have many connections in the banks. You should look for some inside information."

They were just talking casually, but Icobelli actually went to investigate, and the results left him thoroughly shocked.

A few days later, these nobles met again at a cocktail party—the social circles of their class were small, and they frequently crossed paths.

Then, Icobelli revealed the startling news. "Did you know? Those French bonds were actually bought by real people. The largest portion came from four transactions totaling 6.5 million francs."

"I've confirmed it. The transaction records are clear, and the bonds have been delivered to private holders."

"Are they insane?" Count Ferro blurted out. "They're scrambling to buy even with such low interest rates?"

Naturally, they had no way of knowing that the 6.5 million francs had all come from the French Royal Family. Louis XVI and Queen Mary, following their son's instructions, had not purchased the bonds domestically. Instead, they had sent people all the way to Genoa to buy them.

Just then, Baron Todrick leaned in mysteriously. "Have you heard? The Anglo-Austrian coalition forces have already drawn up a plan to invade Northern Italy. Genoa is very likely to be caught in the flames of war!"