Chapter 648: Old Enemies Reunite
Two Italian-speaking officers rushed into Keim's tent, newspapers in hand, forgetting even to salute, and exclaimed angrily: "General, these damned reporters actually..."
"We absolutely cannot let this slide! General, let's go settle accounts with the French!"
This sentence jolted General Keim, filling him with a surge of immense strength. Yes, if he could lead his troops to surround those few thousand French soldiers and thoroughly humiliate them, tomorrow's newspaper headlines would certainly be sensational.
As for invading Modena, heh, wasn't it entirely up to him to come and go as he pleased in such a small country?
General Keim suddenly stood up, a command of "Mobilize and attack" almost on his lips, but then it suddenly lodged in his throat.
He recalled seeing the dolphin and fleur-de-lis on the French military flag yesterday, indicating it was the French Royal Guard Legion.
He had experienced the Battle of Liegnitz and had personally witnessed how the French Guards Corps, numbering less than ten thousand, had slashed through a Prussian army several times their size, pinning them firmly west of the Austrian defense line.
And among his 30,000-strong army, only 4,000 were elite Royal German Legion, the rest being Bohemian Guards and Hungarian Frontier Infantry Regiments. This was why the sudden sound of cannons would throw the Austrian army into disarray—the latter two were recruited locally, and their combat quality was quite mediocre.
General Keim slowly sat back down in his chair.
With a grim face, he waved at the two officers: "That was just an accident. Issue the order: from this moment on, no one is to mention this matter again."
However, the newspaper offices in various Italian states seemed eager to seize upon this matter.
In just two or three days, from Sardinia to the Two Sicilies, major newspapers reprinted the news from the "Genoa Commercial News." Of course, Count Saigul was behind this, funding its spread.
All over Italy, people were discussing how "the Austrian army was frightened out of their wits by a few thousand French soldiers on the Parma border." The rumors even became wilder, soon turning into "the Austrian army ran all the way back to Tuscany, leaving cannons and flintlock muskets strewn across the ground," and "the people of Tersucco even picked up General Keim's carved chamber pot."
The military exercise, originally intended to showcase the powerful combat strength of the Austrian army, ultimately only served to make a mockery of them.
...
Versailles Palace.
At the entrance of the Hall of Peace, Count Rheinfels straightened his collar, brimming with determination, ready to continue his "battle" with Bailly.
The situation in Italy was very favorable, and he believed the French would soon make concessions.
Just then, his aide jogged over and handed him a letter: "My Lord, it just arrived from the envoy in Parma."
Count Rheinfels ripped open the letter, and the smile on his face instantly vanished.
The letter first briefly stated the humiliating incident involving Keim's legion, and then mentioned that Parma and the Two Sicilies both indicated they would reconsider adjusting the proposed tariffs on France. Meanwhile, Tuscany announced the additional tariff rates on France—furs and porcelain would see an 18% increase, while other goods would only increase by a maximum of 3%.
The Austrian Foreign Minister forcefully crumpled the letter into a ball. Furs? Porcelain? These items were not even on France's export list. And the most important goods like wine, textiles, and furniture only saw a 1.5% increase—what was the point of that?!
These small nations were highly pragmatic; when two giants argued, they naturally wouldn't offend the one with more muscle.
The only one insisting on raising tariffs was Venice, a vassal state of Austria.
But Count Rheinfels knew that France would never abandon the enormous Austrian market for the sake of a mere Venice.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the Hall of Peace.
Indeed, today Bailly, contrary to his previous delays and evasions, adamantly stated that the Rhine-Seine Treaty must be respected, and France would not consider any adjustments to it.
...
Half a month later. Prague, Austria.
Franz II emerged from St. Vitus Cathedral, his face showing none of the solemnity and majesty befitting a newly crowned King of Bohemia. Instead, he gnashed his teeth, constantly muttering something.
"Volterre, that good-for-nothing... damn Frenchmen..."
Volterre was Count Rheinfels' surname.
Franz II remembered that just yesterday he had been eagerly discussing with his ministers "unifying the Holy Roman Empire" and "making the Empire once again the master of Europe," yet in reality, he couldn't even get France to make trade concessions.
He suddenly turned and snapped at his attendant: "Send that foolish Keim to oversee the warehouse in Maros!"
"As Your Majesty commands."
After venting his anger, Franz II quickly sank back into deep worry.
If the current trade landscape could not be changed, the Austrian market would surely be steadily dominated by France, and Austria's trade revenue would continue to plummet.
Even if he possessed ambitions as grand as Emperor Otto the Great, without sufficient gold to support them, they would forever remain nothing more than a pipe dream.
He then recalled the Austrian army's abysmal performance in Italy this time.
Clearly, the army desperately needed a large-scale reform. Those kings who earned eternal fame all possessed an invincible, powerful army, and he should be no exception.
And military reform also required a substantial amount of funding.
Money, it had become a towering, insurmountable peak before him.
Franz II returned dejectedly to Prague Imperial Palace, only to see Bathurst, the British Ambassador to Austria, waiting at the entrance.
The latter saluted him with a hand over his chest, first uttering a string of customary congratulations on the coronation, then continued:
"Your Majesty, a distinguished guest wishes to meet with you. I believe this will be very important for both of you."
Franz II asked in surprise: "Please tell me his name."
"His Majesty, King William II of Prussia."
"What does he want?" Franz II frowned. Prussia and Austria had been locked in a bloody conflict in Silesia just a year ago. Now, for the King of Prussia to suddenly want to see him, it was highly unusual.
But the British brokering the meeting made him approach it with prudence.
The next day at noon.
A black carriage stopped in the Prague Imperial Palace square. The attendant pulled open the carriage door, and William II stepped out, giving a distant, slight bow to the Holy Roman Emperor:
"Your Imperial Majesty, I had originally intended to attend your coronation ceremony, but as you know, the treacherous mud of Lusatia has delayed my arrival until now."
Franz II coolly observed his old adversary from Prussia, then displayed a standard diplomatic smile:
"Welcome, Your Majesty, whether early or late, your presence demonstrates your respectful attitude as a Prince-Elector. Oh, please, come in."
William II ignored the implicit dismissal of his status in the Emperor's words, followed him into the palace, exchanged a few lukewarm pleasantries, and then cleared his throat, saying:
"Ah, I've heard some news; it seems Austria's financial situation hasn't been too optimistic lately."
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