Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

As Emperor Franz II flipped open the financial report, his brow immediately furrowed.

He looked up at Baron Tugut. “Our debt has reached 110 million florins?”

According to Austrian propaganda, the total debt was only a little more than 70 million florins. Although Franz II had been able to understand the real data when he was the Crown Prince, he had never been too concerned about it.

Baron Tugut nodded helplessly. “I’m afraid that’s the case, Your Majesty. You know, the reforms of Emperor Joseph II were met with resistance from the nobles… ahem, which made our finances a bit strained. Then we poured a significant amount of military expenses into the Silesian Wars, followed by the Serbian rebellion last year…”

Franz II replied irritably, “And then our trade faced competition from the French.”

“Indeed. Last year our trade revenue decreased by more than 7 million florins.”

Franz II, looking at the long string of zeros following the debt figure in the report, suddenly felt a bit insecure. “With our nation’s deplorable financial situation, shouldn’t we avoid being too assertive abroad? I mean, if we really have to go to war, our military expenses might not be sustainable.”

Baron Tugut remembered the Emperor’s domineering presence at the meeting just moments ago and couldn’t help but shake his head inwardly.

He took a deep breath and said:

“Your Majesty, the French financial situation is even worse. They have debts of 800 million florins.”

Franz immediately showed a confident smile again. “You’re right, which is why we mustn’t show weakness to the French!”

Baron Tugut took the opportunity to say: “Your Majesty, our country has been experimenting with banknotes for several years now. If we could fully promote them, it would greatly improve our financial situation.”

“Banknotes? Hmm, I know, the British and the French are doing that,” Franz II waved his hand dismissively, “I’ll be preoccupied with the coronation these next few months, we can discuss this after the coronation.”

He flipped to the third page of the financial report and suddenly said with some surprise: “Why was so much of the military expenses for quelling the Serbian rebellion paid to the Poles?”

The expenses for suppressing the rebellion totaled 9 million florins, of which over 6.5 million were spent on the Polish.

Baron Tugut explained: “Your Majesty, as you know, the Hungarian nobility doesn’t care much about Slavonia. Therefore, the Polish Army, led by General Kosciuszko, was actually the main force in suppressing the rebels.”

He cleared his throat: “Ahem, actually, we still owe 1.5 million florins in unpaid soldier salaries.”

“For the Polish soldiers?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Franz II appeared somewhat displeased: “Send these Poles back. Call in the Royal German Legion to Slavonia to suppress the rebellion.”

Baron Tugut was taken aback. Moving troops from Vienna to suppress the rebellion would cost far more than hiring the Polish Army in the first place. But then he immediately considered that the rebellion had already been contained to a very small area and should soon be resolved, so he bowed and said: “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll convey Your Majesty’s order to the military committee.”

Franz II continued: “As for those soldiers’ salaries, we have always protected Poland from being swallowed by Russia, so it’s their duty to help us suppress the rebellion.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Tugut didn’t see any problem with this. After all, what could a small debt matter to a weak nation like Poland?

…

Southern Netherlands, Walloon Region.

Several horse-drawn carriages covered with black cloth stopped on the northern outskirts of Mons.

The coachman glanced at the setting sun and was about to instruct the people inside the carriages to unload the goods when suddenly a series of whistle sounds erupted around them.

From the dilapidated farmhouses and bushes, more than thirty police officers surged out, completely blocking all escape routes.

The coachman and the dozen or so people who came down from the carriages exchanged glances, quickly drawing flintlock guns from inside the carriages and hiding behind them to shoot at the police officers.

But these police officers were obviously well trained; they showed no signs of panic. Instead, they gathered together and, under the command of their superior officer, fired several volleys in unison.

Wood shavings flew from the carriages as a small half of the people on them were instantly killed.

The police then charged forward with their bayonet-fitted guns.

The battle was over in a matter of minutes. Apart from three individuals who knelt and surrendered, everyone on the carriages was killed.

A police officer stepped forward to lift the black cloth from the carriage, revealing neatly packed wooden boxes inside. A few of the boxes had been pierced by bullets, exposing the black flintlock guns within.

Soon after, two officers reported to the commanding officer, “Sir, there are a total of 120 British Brown Bess flintlock guns. No gunpowder or bullets were found.”

The officer’s heart skipped a beat; it was a relief there was no gunpowder, otherwise the shooting could have easily triggered an explosion.

He waved his hand, “Take them back for interrogation; we must also find the ammunition.”

At the same time, in a small town to the north and south of Ghent, the police raided a secret meeting place, arresting over forty individuals who were plotting to stage an armed uprising.

Outside Namur City, the police intercepted an armed squadron of over eighty people attempting to sneak into the city. After a fierce battle, all were either killed or arrested.

Similar situations unfolded throughout the Walloon Region, where numerous armed militants equipped with flintlock guns attempted to create chaos but were entirely wiped out by the formidable Walloon Region police.

Southern Netherlands.

Middleburg.

A British intelligence officer with a livid face laid the loss report on George Kevin’s desk and said gravely, “Nearly all of the more than 350 people were lost. The plan must be temporarily suspended.”

Mr. Grenville, Assistant to the British Foreign Minister, frowned and said, “Captain Pickering, after six months of preparation, not a single area was able to create the chaos as planned?”

The intelligence officer hung his head, “The police in Walloon are not only numerous, but their combat capabilities are on par with the military. Our group of over eighty in Namur was routed by fifty police officers in just ten minutes.”

Kevin’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper.

According to Lord Grenville’s plan, the British Intelligence Department had recruited armed thugs in the Flemish Region of the Southern Netherlands—there were many remnants of the Brabant Revolt there, and it was easy to recruit manpower—then sneaked into the Walloon Region to attack the Dutch-speaking residents.

Indeed, while the Walloon Region was predominantly French-speaking, there were still many Dutch-speaking people.

If the plan had succeeded, they would have spread propaganda in the Flemish Region that the Walloon Region was persecuting Dutch-speaking residents. Flanders, with its Dutch-speaking majority, would have been instigated to retaliate against the Walloon Region.

With the British secretly supplying weapons, this conflict was destined to be extremely bloody.

However, what the British Intelligence Department did not expect was that the police in the “unarmed” Walloon trade zone would be so difficult to deal with.

In reality, even if they had successfully incited an uprising, the people of the Flemish Region would not have been able to storm into the Walloon Region—the latter’s police were trained and armed like regular troops, fully capable of guarding the border.