Chapter 406: Franco-British Negotiations, the Super Annoying Talleyrand
"Ha! I thought we wouldn't meet until after Christmas Mass." Talleyrand leaned on his cane, gesturing towards the side of the corridor, a wide smile on his face. "This way, my old friend."
Marquis Wellesley followed in silence, secretly cursing to himself. 'If not for Cornwallis's clumsy performance on the battlefield, I wouldn't have had to rush to Paris just to endure these damn Frenchmen's taunts!'
He walked a little further when a sudden sense of unease struck him, prompting him to glance around.
"Your Grace, have you taken a wrong turn? This doesn't seem to be the way to the Hall of Peace."
According to French custom, important negotiations at Versailles were typically held in the Hall of Peace.
Talleyrand tilted his head, offering an apologetic expression:
"Unfortunately, Marquis, the Hall of Peace is about to host the signing ceremony between the Paris Gas Industry Company and Paris City Hall for the gas streetlights installation project.
"Ah, you see, the gas company reserved it long ago. We can just as easily hold our talks elsewhere."
Wellesley barely managed to bite back a curse. 'Was this damned cripple implying that he, the esteemed Foreign Secretary of the mighty British Empire, was inferior to some gas company?'
"Oh, by the way, Marquis, Paris will be holding the inaugural gas streetlight ceremony on the 15th of next month. I sincerely invite you to attend. It will truly be an unmissable event."
"I'll consider it," the Briton muttered through gritted teeth, his face clouded.
Soon, the French and British diplomatic staff took their seats in a small reception room.
Talleyrand seemed very interested in the topic of gas streetlights, speaking effusively about their advantages:
"These things are just so fascinating. Oh, by the way, you'd never guess which city will be the third to light its night sky with gas streetlights after Paris and Lyon?"
"..."
"It's Tunis City!" the cripple announced triumphantly. "Surprising, isn't it? Well, with the threat of the Algiers bandits no longer a concern, many investors have recognized the region's development prospects. The Duke of Tunisia himself is even coming to Paris to sign the contract with the gas industry company."
"Cough—" Marquis Wellesley had to brusquely interrupt Talleyrand's continued rambling about gas streetlights. "Your Grace, you know the purpose of my visit. It is time for our two nations to clarify some misunderstandings.
"While the 'bandits' of Algiers brought disaster to Tunisia, the Mysore brigands in the Far East have also caused considerable losses for the British East India Company.
"I believe we should cooperate to jointly confront these bandit forces."
Talleyrand smiled, waving his hand dismissively:
"I appreciate your kind offer, but our armies have already thoroughly chastised the people of Algiers and Morocco. Northwestern Tunisia is now largely free of trouble.
"By the way, how are things going for the East India Company?"
Wellesley sighed inwardly. 'Why are the Moroccans as foolish as Cornwallis! This time, some interests will surely have to be sacrificed to salvage the situation in India—in fact, the British Parliament had already authorized him to make significant concessions.'
He chose not to engage the cripple's taunt, changing the subject instead:
"Your Grace, my country will condemn the Tripoli bandits and support your nation in taking necessary countermeasures against them."
Poor Benjior was thus labeled a "bandit force" by him. The implication was an acceptance of France extending its influence to Tripoli.
"A very wise decision!" Talleyrand smiled and nodded. "However, the Algiers bandits have also caused severe damage to our Tunisia. Did you know that Her Majesty the Queen has decided to declare war on Algiers? I believe Britain should also express its support for this action."
Wellesley immediately replied, "No, that's not appropriate..."
Tripoli was one thing—its land was fertile. But he absolutely could not accept Algiers, an area nearly twice the size of Tunisia, falling under French influence.
Talleyrand interrupted him directly:
"As far as I know, Carnatic lost half its territory in Tiruchirappalli two months ago. Perhaps we can wait and see; maybe Mysore will suddenly be inspired by God and withdraw its troops."
Wellesley took a deep breath, then threatened:
"Your Grace, I hear your nation's merchant ships have been frequently traveling to the Pacific recently. Perhaps they will require the British Royal Navy to ensure their shipping lanes remain clear."
Talleyrand naturally understood that this was a threat to attack French merchant ships. They were the fleet transporting wool from New Zealand. However, he merely shrugged indifferently.
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I have heard that Russian fleets have suddenly developed an interest in Pacific trade."
Indeed, the Gemini Company's ships were all flying Russian flags, and most of their sailors were Russian.
Wellesley paused, then said coldly:
"Those ports in the Pacific are equally unsafe."
This was a threat to directly attack trade hubs. Although Britain wasn't yet certain who the Franco-Russian merchant ships were trading with, the strength of the Royal Fleet meant they would undoubtedly find out if they chose to look.
"I'm not concerned," Talleyrand shrugged. "Pirates are welcome to try their luck."
The Crown Prince had told him that the Maori people on the New Zealand islands needed no French protection. Britain would have to commit at least half its national military strength and spend over five years to even have a chance of conquering the area. Such a massive expenditure was something Britain absolutely could not accept.
Wellesley probed repeatedly, confirming that the cripple wasn't bluffing. He couldn't help but inwardly lament, 'My hand is all but played out.'
He suddenly rose to his feet, gritting his teeth:
"Your Grace, if you continue to be so aggressive, then all you will achieve is war!"
Talleyrand watched his flustered and exasperated expression, knowing he had nearly reached the bottom line, and immediately waved his hand, signaling:
"Relax, my dear Marquis, at the very least, we must punish the Moroccan bandits entrenched in Annaba. After that, perhaps the Mysore army attacking Carnatic will truly be inspired by God."
Wellesley fumed inwardly. 'That damned cripple, they're Muslims! God won't listen to them!'
Nevertheless, he slowly settled back into his chair. "If it's limited solely to Annaba, perhaps we can discuss it..."
At 5 PM, Wellesley returned to London, one hand clutching his aching stomach, the other holding the preliminary draft of the "Non-Interference Treaty." With a grim face, he handed the document to Parliament for review and signing, but in his mind, he was already contemplating what he would do after resigning as Foreign Secretary.
Yes, after inheriting the Duke of Leeds' mess, he had been full of confidence, believing he could turn things around. Yet, he discovered he had lost even more severely than his predecessor.
Last year, the Duke of Leeds had resigned due to an inappropriate North African strategy, and he, too, would inevitably follow suit.
"Perhaps I could go to India and tell Cornwallis how to solve the problems there," he muttered softly.
He had gradually fallen into a passive position after Mysore's military intervention, so he absolutely had to reclaim what was lost from Mysore.
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