Habsburg Resurgence

Reader mode
24
  • Index

    • Neptune

    220px-Nathan_Rothschild.jpg

    Nathan Mayer Rothschild, the British branch of the Rothschild family business    ​

    19 January 1816, London

    Nathan Mayer Rothschild shook Joseph’s hand firmly. “Welcome to N M Rothschild & Sons,” he said in precise German, as precise and measured as his English had been a few minutes before when speaking to another one of his wealthy clients, a nervous-looking fop who looked like he’d had to sell the family silverware to cover his gambling debts.

    “Thank you,” Joseph replied, and settled down opposite one of the members of what would become the richest family in Europe. Nathan Rothschild settled down on the other side and folded his arms over his stomach. “May I ask,” Rothschild ventured, “what is the purpose of this visit?”

    Joseph smiled. “I’ve been following your success quite closely, Herr Rothschild,” he remarked. Truthfully, he had only begun doing reading the previous year. “I met your brother- James Mayer- in Paris. A very astute financier, and of impeccable moral standards.” He’d met the Parisian Rothschild only in the barest sense of the word,” having recognized him fondling one of the Polish women at Milla’s bordello in passing.

    “Thank you,” Rothschild smiled back, inflating slightly with pride.

    “I just got this idea, you see. The Interior Minister- von Warthausen- he’s thinking of founding a bank. Do you think it would be all right if you, I suppose, asked your brother to help out?” Joseph’s face betrayed a carefully falsified expression of embarrassment. Rothschild laughed lightly.

    “My brother will involve himself in any profitable enterprise, as will any other member of our family.” He leaned forward. “Please, allow me to make clear, Archduke. The Rothschilds have business in every corner of Europe- we are loyal to our own families, and to the states which we have made our own. Attempting to pressure or bribe us into serving Vienna alone is rather pointless. If Britain offers better profit- and it does- then we will serve Britain, as I am doing now. And so on, for Naples and France and Austria.”

    Joseph deflated. “Oh,” he muttered. “Well, it was worth a shot.” He removed his pince-nez and rubbed his face; Rothschild watched him patiently and with not a little bit of amusement. “My father intends to ennoble your whole family; I’m talking to him to expedite the process. Until then, your family might want to know that they might be given the hereditary title of Freiherr soon enough… Baron von Rothschild.”

    “Thank you,” Rothschild replied, inflating once more, his fingers drumming on the table.

    “We’re also thinking of industrializing, and would appreciate investment. Imagine, if you will-” and here Joseph removed a little map from his pocket, an exquisite vista of Austria with little gold leafing, “-imagine Bohemia, fully industrialized on a similar scale to this great nation of Britain, supplying manufactured goods to Prussia and Saxony and Bavaria. Venice- the old home of the Serene Republic- a naval power again, building steamboats such as you see in the rivers of England, teaching aspiring naval officers the secrets of the sea. Lombardy- a textile and silk paradise, the richest province of the Empire, the cockpit of the peninsula. Temesvar has a reasonable source of coal. Transylvania is rich in iron, lead, gold and copper. Hungary is undergoing an agricultural revolution, exporting large amounts of grain and wool. It will be the breadbasket of the Balkans-”

    Rothschild concealed a flash of excitement and smiled blandly, noting to himself that not once had Joseph mentioned the word “Italy”. “And what about the Hereditary Lands and Galicia?” he asked.

    “I suppose Vienna can be the centre of finance,” Joseph said doubtfully, “and Galicia has- might have- oil, for whatever purpose it may be exploited. I expect uses can be found for it.” He leaned forward. “So. Investment?”

    “If it is repaid, I suppose we can consider,” Rothschild replied, and shuffled the papers on his desk in a bid not to look at Joseph. His carefully organized mind was whirring, recalling old contacts in the railroad industry, and grizzled captains of the Royal Navy who owed him one or two favours. “Nothing is set in stone, of course; but your pitch was most convincing.”

    “Mmm.”
     
    Last edited:
  • Index
    • 25
  • Index

    • Neptune

    Magyarország said:
    Edit: I'll have to check the Hungarian politicians that would participate in such a dumb attempt at a coup. Then again, fron what I read, the magnates were hardly competent at the time.
    Click to expand...

    *whistles nonchalantly*

    Update schedule hopefully still on track. Haven't written a new update in a while; too much work to catch up on.

    200px-Nicholas_Vansittart,_1st_Baron_Bexley.jpg

    Nicholas Vansittart​

    23 January 1816, (outskirts of) London

    Nicholas Vansittart, 1st Baron Bexley, passed a hand over his face as the carriage juddered. Joseph could still hear the bugles blaring in the distance, and in his head he recalled the portly figure of George of Hanover waving goodbye. And good riddance, he thought viciously. “Are you alright?” he asked Vansittart.

    “Fine,” the Chancellor of the Exchequer replied tiredly. “Taxation and debt are running us into the ground. Napoleon drove our economy mad.” He seemed to rouse himself. “It’s good, though- your visit. Britain needs friends.”

    “You have them. There was a Congress in Vienna, was there not?”

    Vansittart smiled without humour. “Good feeling alone is not enough. We put a new crown on the head of the elder George, but he knows not who he is. And the younger George feasts every day with women in his lap. We are a kingdom without a king.”

    “Better to have a kingdom run by Parliament than an Empire with a buffoon on the throne,” Joseph said thoughtlessly, and was rewarded by Vansittart ’s eyes widening. He blanched. “Don’t tell anyone about this-”

    “I shan’t.”

    Joseph gave a quick, spasmodic nod; he settled into his seat and looked out of the window. The two men sat in silence. The carriage juddered; Joseph looked out of the window and saw a boat pass by, steam belching from its turrets as it churned down a river. Smoke trails rose in the distance

    “In any case,” Vansittart roused himself again, “you wanted a tour of our industry, didn’t you? I must thank you for giving me the chance to have a vacation- nothing less than a member of the government for a Prince of Austria.” His spine straightened unconsciously. “Right, so a quick briefing on industrial development. We’ve done research into canals and railroads… good and sturdy iron, and textiles as well...”
     
    Last edited:
  • Index

    • Magyarország

    I did some quick research and I can give you a couple of ideas for a noble uprising.

    Pál Esterhazy, the head of the famous Esterházy family after 1833 was historically pro-Habsburg, but the family's financial situation was relatively bad and they stood to lose the most out of the abolition of serfdom and loss of privileges. If you want an earlier uprising, then his father is an even better candidate. Plus, if they lose, Pál's more sensible son can take over the family earlier...

    Other ideas are Artúr Görgey, one of the revolutionary generals in OTL 1848, Mihály Horväth, bishop and nationalist, and Kázmér Batthyány if he stays conservative.

    The other noteworthy OTL revolutionaries are either too democratic and anti-magnate or wouldn't be revolutionaries iTTL, being reformers instead.
     

    Magyarország

    Neptune said:
    Could an "unholy" alliance be possible?
    Click to expand...
    Do you think you can get revolutionary-republicanists and reactionary magnates together? I think the only way would be that the abolition of serfdom and noble privileges aren't the issue, which sort of makes a noblemen conspiracy irrelevent in the end...
     
    26
  • Index

    • Neptune

    Schoefft_József_Széchenyi.jpg

    István Széchenyi    ​

    30 January 1816, Portsmouth

    Joseph clinked his tumbler with that of Count István Széchenyi as they looked out over the veritable army of men bustling over the fortifications and shipping facilities of the new city. He’d run into the first lieutenant while the tour had been ongoing; it was a damned shame that his uncle had been unable to convince his father regarding industrialization. Still, Rothschild had advised advancing the possibility of a loan. Joseph concurred; it wasn’t like he was the most knowledgeable at this topic, anyway.

    “So, how was the Emperor like, anyway?” the Count asked, his eyes dark and intent under his bushy eyebrows. He had joined the army at seventeen, in 1808; Joseph had not yet been conveyed from Austria. The two of them had probably met in passing- one of the army of scions whom his father had attempted to lump him in with.

    Joseph waggled his hand vaguely. “He was a nice man. Distant, patronizing, and rarely his true self in my presence.” Discreetly, he cast to the back of his mind Napoleon returning from Leipzig, Napoleon planning the invasion of Russia, Napoleon on the day that he left his wife and child forever.

    Széchenyi nodded with what looked like satisfaction. “I would expect so,” he remarked, “I find that men who are so often made to be something that they are not- they often fail to live up to the things demanded of them. Napoleon included.”

    Joseph nodded. Then: “When are you leaving the service, then?”

    His new friend grinned under his beard and waggled his hands. “A decade more of travelling, I suppose. The women in London, I hear, love foreign nobles.”

    “That's because the British nobles are such boors,” Joseph interjected nastily, and the two men shared a quiet laugh at the expense of their hosts milling about below.

    Joseph pushed himself back from the balcony, stumbling slightly. Széchenyi straightened up smoothly and followed him indoors. “So, what are you doing when you return, Archduke?”

    Joseph tossed the remark over his shoulder, his gaze fixed on the staircase as he manoeuvred his leg carefully from one step to the other. “Industrialization. My uncle found investors, but my father disapproves, like he always does. I'll convince him- and, barring that, I'll convince Metternich.” He cricked his neck to the side as Széchenyi fell in step beside him. “The whole system is solidifying. Stagnant.”

    Széchenyi’s eyes flared involuntarily; he tapped his foot on the floor and exhaled, dipping his head. “Yes, it is,” he breathed, stretching the muscles in his back as Joseph made his slow way down. “Do you mind if I speak frankly? I've been doing some thinking...”

    Joseph waved a hand, smiling genuinely. “By all means, Count. Only by knowing the grievances of the subjects involved can we know what to amend, after all.”
     
    Last edited:
  • Index

    • De von Of

    FellowNerd said:
    Can I get a cliff notes version o why this guy is important. I'm drawing complete blanks.
    Click to expand...
    Important Hungarian reformer who was still (broadly speaking) loyal to the Habsburgs. Took an interest in industrialization. This alone should make him interesting to any reform interested Habsburg emperor.
     

    Magyarország

    FellowNerd said:
    Can I get a cliff notes version o why this guy is important. I'm drawing complete blanks.
    Click to expand...
    He is just the founder of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences and declared the Greatest Hungarian. Nothing too special. :p

    In all seriousness, he was arguably the most important Hungarian reformer before 1848 hit off and even then, he was one of the most respected voices in Hungarian politics. Too bad he had bouts of terrible depression and pessimism. Especially when Kossuth surpassed him.
     

    Neptune

    Magyarország said:
    He is just the founder of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences and declared the Greatest Hungarian. Nothing too special. :p

    In all seriousness, he was arguably the most important Hungarian reformer before 1848 hit off and even then, he was one of the most respected voices in Hungarian politics. Too bad he had bouts of terrible depression and pessimism. Especially when Kossuth surpassed him.
    Click to expand...
    Well, if we're lucky we can redirect Kossuth into Slovak nationalism. Make him another nationality's problem.
     

    Magyarország

    Neptune said:
    Well, if we're lucky we can redirect Kossuth into Slovak nationalism. Make him another nationality's problem.
    Click to expand...
    From the Kossuth biography I own, OTL Kossuth is pretty much 'I must do my duty for my Nation'. If that meant collaborating with the Loyalists, so be it. If it meant working with the radicals, fine. He had no loyalty to the Habsburgs, but all for the Kingdom and making it prosperous. Hell, if he feels like the Kingdom is in good hands, he'll peacefully retire and return to being the lawyer he always wanted to be.

    At least, so he claimed. Maybe it's just crap that he made up while in exile for all I know. Making him a champion of Slovak nationalism is definitely really interesting, if a little controversial.
     
    27
  • Index

    • Neptune

    Good god, reading translated Wikipedia pages makes my head hurt.

    28a19c74371ed2b9de285ffef855f97b.jpg

    Franz I, briefly both Holy Roman Emperor and Emperor of Austria- the first Doppelkaiser in history​

    28 February 1816, Vienna

    “Milord,” the chamberlain bowed low, “your son is here to see you.”

    “Again?” Franz flapped his hand from his seat. “What part of ‘he’s unreliable’ do you not understand? I gave very specific instructions.”

    The chamberlain bowed lower, if that was even humanly possible, his wig nearly brushing the dusty floor, and scurried out. Franz propped his elbow on the expensive wooden arm of his chair and fumed. He’d always known John and Joseph were in cahoots, the two of them… industrialization, or whatever it was- it would be change. A waste of effort. And the economy…

    “Your highness, may I come in?” Metternich was at the door, his eyes wide. Franz waved his hand to indicate acknowledgement, but his Foreign Minister had already crossed the floor to sit down. A quick and angry part of his mind flared at the blatant disrespect, but the sluggish majority comprising the rest of his learned behaviours and habits tamped down the knee-jerk reaction. “What is it?”

    “Your highness, do you recall the Rothschilds?”

    Franz scratched his jaw. “...yes,” he replied warily. “They’re the rich Jews, yes?”

    “They have single-handedly bailed us out of a growing financial depression!” Metternich explained, his voice quivering. “Those investors who Archduke John recruited from Britain have been encouraged to redouble their efforts by Nathan Rothschild, the British one. Naples and France are offering loans in the millions to counter the deficit. Stadion is negotiating the foundation of the Austrian National Bank- a ridiculous name, but it’s his project- he’s negotiating it in the next room with Salomon Rothschild, who’s providing a loan of his own to keep the bank afloat-”

    Franz settled down into his chair heavily. “Well,” he remarked, keeping his voice under control, “that’s good. Make sure that Warthausen does not forget his duties as Minister of the Interior, then. Yes?”

    “The Minister of the Interior is far more concerned with finances than censorship, your highness,” Metternich ventured.

    Franz tensed slightly. Still, did he not welcome assistance with this tiresome and thankless task, that of running this ramshackle, glittering Empire? He supposed a compromise could be reached. “And who do I have to thank for this, Metternich?”

    Metternich glanced at him.

    “Archduke Joseph Ferdinand, your highness.”

    Franz drummed his fingers on his chair. He’d never done anything like this to his father, certainly. Then again, he’d never had much of an aptitude for ruling. “You may go, Metternich. If they want to invest, go ahead and let them; just make sure to inform me that they aren’t fiddling with the… with things.” He waggled his fingers. Metternich would understand, he always did.

    His favourite minister bowed deeply and swept out. Money was always welcome, Franz reckoned. A comfortable grease to the wheels of state. He could always transfer control of the censorship to himself if necessary.

    Now: a knock at the door again. “Enter!” Ah, so it was Joseph.

    “How did you get in?” Franz demanded.

    “I dodged your chamberlain, Father,” his son replied, smiling genially. Franz did not, however, let his guard down. “I came to ask you if we could have access to the mines in Bohemia and Transylvania. Coal and iron, copper and magnesium.”

    Franz rubbed his eyes. “And what is this for?”

    “Investment. Did Prince Metternich tell you about the loans? The loans require a bit of work on our part as well… but we shall surely recoup the losses, enough to pay the Rothschilds and their associates back a thousand times.”

    “I appreciate your optimism,” Franz said, sarcasm thick in his tone. A sudden tiredness seized him. “How do you intend to get all this work done?” inquired he, wearily.

    “Investment,” Joseph said. “Von Warthausen’s Austrian National Bank is instituting a sort of loan system. The Hungarian and Bohemian high nobility are just lining up for it; as well as some would-be industrialists. There are dreams, I hear, of railroads across the land. Just imagine,” Joseph continued, eyes widening to take in a vista that Franz could never see, “our troops insinuated in every nook and cranny of the country. Nowhere will be safe for revolutionaries...”

    “I tire of this,” Franz said shortly. Savagely, he tore a scrap of paper from the pile beside him and scribbled quickly on it. Joseph watched in silence. “You will… forgive me...” Franz remarked, through gritted teeth, his knuckles white on the pen, “...for my pessimism.” He peered up through his pince-nez. “If these… investments… do not yield any fruit in, oh, a year, I will tear away all the rights you and your British lackeys have to the mines.” So saying, he ducked his head and punctuated his statement with a flourish, puncturing the parchment and sending ink splattering across the page. Wordlessly, Joseph provided the wax.

    “I will try not to disappoint, Father,” Joseph said.

    Franz threw a glass paperweight at his son as he left the room. It hit the wooden door as it closed and splintered; splintered into a hundred glittering pieces. It was not good, this feeling of impotence and confusion. Francis did not know what he was going to do, but he was certainly not about to do nothing at all.

    Unfortunately for him, that was exactly what he would end up doing.
     
    Last edited:
  • Index

    • Magyarország

    Well, clearly Franz doesn't like Joseph doing his own thing, but I have a feeling he'll realise soon enough that a competent son is a good thing to have around when you don't want to do much...
     
    Reader mode
    You must log in or register to reply here.
    Top
    Top