Chapter 1317: The Football Frenzy
The Royal Theater was staging a new play, and the actors' performances were exceptionally refined, but Brode couldn't focus on any of it.
Walsh had told him that investing in railways could yield returns as high as 20%, but it was an industry entirely new to him.
After all, the Dutch tulip mania and France's Mississippi Company had both painted similarly alluring prospects, only for those who invested to lose everything in the end.
Investing in the Port of Marseille seemed more secure, but the profits would certainly not be as high as with railways.
Walsh didn't rush him to make a decision; it was, after all, a major matter concerning his entire fortune.
Brode barely slept a wink all night. The next day, before dawn, he heard his servant knocking on his bedroom door.
Rubbing his dark circles, he fumbled for his pocket watch and immediately complained:
"Famick, are you insane? It's not even seven yet!"
"Sir, today is the official start of the games, have you forgotten?"
"The Netherlands' match is at half-past two in the afternoon, you idiot!"
The servant said meekly:
"But Master Walsh said the match is in Reims."
"That's no reason to be so early..." Brode was about to go back to sleep when he suddenly jolted upright. "What did you say, Reims?!"
Reims was a full 140 kilometers from Paris, and he was still in Paris.
"Damn it," he muttered, scrambling into his clothes, grabbing his hat, and complaining, "I should have checked the schedule in advance. What were the French thinking, putting the game so far away?"
As he buttoned his shirt and rushed out of the bedroom, he ran right into Walsh, immediately dragging the latter outside:
"Let's go! Is the carriage ready?"
"No need to rush," Walsh gestured towards the dining room. "Let's eat breakfast first. I had fried fish and pumpkin pie prepared."
"There's no time! It's already past seven, we'll miss the Netherlands' match! God, why is the game in Reims?!"
"Apparently, it's to avoid excessive congestion in Paris," Walsh said, comforting him with a smile. "The train, you forgot about the train. A 4.5-hour ride will get you to Reims. Oh, and your match tickets allow for free travel."
Yes, Joseph had specifically arranged for the matches to be scattered around Paris's outskirts.
This would, firstly, stimulate the economic development of other cities; and secondly, showcase the railway's powerful transport capacity to foreigners.
Walsh and Brode's families had breakfast and arrived at the train station by steam railcar before eight o'clock, only to see a dense crowd already queuing on the platform.
Brode wiped his brow, anxious:
"We'll never get on now."
No sooner had he spoken than a whistle sounded in the distance. Then, a steel vehicle as massive as a house charged into the station with a rhythmic, thunderous 'clatter-clatter' and terrifying momentum.
As the train came to a stop and its doors opened, the crowd on the platform surged into the carriages like a tide. In just over ten minutes, the platform was empty once more.
Walsh then pointed towards the front of the train:
"Michel, let's get on too."
They had purchased season passes, so they were seated in the first-class carriage.
Moments later, Brode sat on the soft, Rococo-style seat, watching the trees outside the window slowly move backward. He felt as if it were all magic.
After finishing lunch and playing cards with the Walshes for a few hours, he heard a steward's gentle voice:
"Esteemed guests, thank you for traveling on this train. Reims station will be arriving shortly. Please collect your personal belongings and prepare to disembark."
As Brode stepped down the escalator and saw the wooden sign for 'Reims Station' before him, all his hesitation vanished instantly. He turned to Walsh and declared:
"I've decided. I want to join you in the railway company. I can probably gather about 33,000 pounds sterling."
"Excellent! You've made an excellent choice."
Reims hadn't yet built a city light rail system, so Brode and his group traveled by carriage for another 40 minutes. By the time they arrived at the stadium, it was not yet two in the afternoon.
By modern standards, this stadium was truly rudimentary—stands made of wooden frames and bricks, open on all four sides with no designated seating, forcing spectators to sit on the steps of the terraces.
Nevertheless, Brode was still awestruck by the magnificent scale of the stadium, which could accommodate over 3,000 people, as he entered.
"It's so big!"
Walsh casually remarked:
"It's nothing special, really. The new Paris district stadium can hold over twenty thousand people. Now *that's* big."
At half-past two, as the second Prince of France personally declared the kick-off, the first match of the World Cup's second group—Netherlands versus Flanders—officially began.
The men in the stands instantly grew excited, waving their flags and roaring encouragement for their teams.
The atmosphere on the field was intensely fiery. Several Dutch nationalists, upon entering the pitch, first bowed to the referee:
"We apologize for the trouble this match will cause you."
"Please bear with us later on; may God bless you."
In the second minute of the game, a Dutch defender executed an aerial sliding tackle, sending the Flemish forward off the field.
Three minutes later, an opposing player broke his ribs with an elbow strike.
The spectators in the stands were ignited, their eyes bloodshot as they screamed:
"Hey! Beat him up!"
"Is the referee blind? That bastard tripped him!"
"Fight back, you idiot!"
The 80-minute match quickly concluded—due to the physical limitations of players in this era, the football association had set the game duration at 80 minutes.
Brode's throat ached from shouting, but he found it incredibly satisfying.
Players from both sides received a total of seven red cards and sixteen yellow cards, engaged in four brawls, and seven players had to be carried off, with nearly every player bruised and battered.
Only the result left Brode slightly displeased—the Netherlands only managed a 1-1 draw.
Well, both sides had focused more on the 'brawling' than on scoring goals.
Brode, holding his freshly bought Paris Cola, walked side-by-side with Walsh out of the stadium, excitedly recounting the recent match:
"Did you see that? Veran's punch was incredible! That Fleming's blood splattered right onto the referee's face!"
Walsh nodded:
"Those Dutch lads are truly fierce. In the second half, that guy was practically sent flying into the air..."
In the VIP box on the south side of the stands, Württemberg's Assistant Minister of Foreign Affairs curled his lip and remarked:
"A match utterly devoid of skill, wouldn't you say?"
The Minister of Interior beside him hadn't paid any attention to the game. He merely nodded vaguely and added:
"We must immediately submit a report to His Majesty, requesting France to build railways in our country."
"Railways?" The Assistant Minister of Foreign Affairs paused, then nodded vigorously. "Precisely, we must build railways. That way, our pine and asphalt can be transported cheaply to France for sale!"
He vividly recalled that just this morning, France's railway system had effortlessly transported over two thousand people from Paris to Reims in just a few hours.
He himself had also traveled by train from Strasbourg to Paris.
The two then returned to their residence in Paris by train. After dinner, they immediately began drafting Württemberg's railway plan late into the night.
Unbeknownst to them, that night, dozens of letters concerning railway construction were sent via Chappe signal towers to governments across Germany and Italy.
No one wanted to be left behind in this transportation revolution.
...
While the Paris World Cup was in full swing, Archbishop Talleyrand was working overtime at the Nassau Palace.
"You see, we are but a small nation," Count Friedrich Wilhelm of Nassau said with a troubled expression. "Therefore, the loss of interest would be very difficult for our country to bear."
Just moments ago, the French Foreign Minister had suggested he divest all his holdings in British national bonds.
Before the war, trade between the North German states and Britain had been very frequent, and coupled with Prussian influence, most of them had purchased some British bonds.
In truth, they believed that the powerful Anti-French Coalition was bound to win, and British national bonds would surely be stable and reliable.
For instance, Nassau had bought 260,000 pounds sterling in British bonds.
Talleyrand smiled: "You should understand that I am actually helping you.
"In three months at most, British national bonds will collapse. At that point, your loss won't just be a bit of interest."
"This... can you tell me your basis for this?"
"I apologize, this is top-secret intelligence, but the information is guaranteed to be reliable."
"But..."
"Tell you what," Talleyrand looked at Wilhelm. "After you sell the British bonds, you can purchase an equivalent amount of French national bonds. I can try to have the Bank of France increase the interest rate a little.
"Of course, it will still be slightly lower than British bonds, but there will be absolutely no risk."
After securing victory in the war, no one would doubt France's ability to repay its debts.
Friedrich Wilhelm finally breathed a sigh of relief. Given France's current influence over North Germany, if he were forced to sell his British bonds, he would likely have no choice but to comply.
"Alright, I accept your suggestion." Then he remembered something. "It's just that with such a large amount sold prematurely, the British will likely find an excuse to refuse."
"No matter. As long as you announce the sale, whatever amount can be traded will suffice."
Thus, Talleyrand and Count Segur, the Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs, visited most of the North German states one after another, presenting them with the same demand.
Ten days later, Talleyrand arrived, dusty from travel, at the royal palace in Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark.
Regent Frederick was a very shrewd man. He frowned and looked at Talleyrand:
"Thank you for the warning, but if British bonds don't have issues in three months..."
Talleyrand waved a hand dismissively:
"I can promise you that if British bonds remain stable by then, our country will invest in building a steam engine repair factory in Kiel."
Frederick was instantly overjoyed.
This deal was too good to pass up!
It was well known that almost half of Europe was now using French steam engines, and currently, all these machines had to be repaired by French technicians.
If Denmark could have a repair factory, it would at least gain the repair market for Northern Europe and areas north of Hesse.
This was no small business!
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