The Negotiation Theater

The Figaro gambit had succeeded where nothing else had in raising Art's sagging spirits. It demonstrated that he could retaliate within the Old Guard's own realm with the subtle weaponries of culture and perception. Heartened, he now turned his thoughts to yet another crisis brewing in his in-box: the Austrian ultimatum.

The day for responding to the Empress's "request" for a five-million-livre loan approached. For weeks, he had struggled with the brutal choice the HUD had presented him with: good husband or good king; save his marriage or his fortune. Now, though, after he had outmanipulated Vergennes, he viewed the matter differently. He had been in accountant mentality, a yes/no choice on an accounting form. He needed to think in diplomatic terms, as he would in a theater. He would not say yes nor say no. He would change the play itself.

He summoned the Comte de Mercy-Argenteau, but he could not find him amidst the working, paper-covered mess of his study. It was a man's room for a clerk, a man of figures. It was a different forum for an audience. He had the audience sit in the Apollo Gallery, one of the finest and largest staterooms in the entire palace.

It was a magnificent hall, with a vaulted ceiling covered in ostentatious paintings glorifying the military achievements, the cultural progress, and the absolute power of the French monarchy. All the panels lauded the military campaigns, the cultural progress, and the absolute power of the monarchy. Light streamed through the tall windows, reflecting off the gilt frames and highly polished marble floors. It was a room designed to dazzle and intimidate, with the implicit reminder, unuttered yet unmistakable, for any visitor present, that he stood literally in the very center of European power.

When Mercy-Argenteau was announced, Art stood waiting for him, not behind a desk, as he often stood, but in the center of the gallery, directly underneath a heroic Louis XIV in his famous passage through the Rhine. He stood in a dress suit of dark blue velvet, with the star of the Order of the Holy Spirit burning on his bosom. He was projecting power, solidity, tradition. It wasn't a business meeting. It was a negotiation between great powers.

The ambassador, accustomed as he was to the diminutive atmosphere of the King's study, was plainly, though only slightly, taken aback by the grandeur of the atmosphere. It constituted the first tiny movement in the power balance.

"Your Majesty," began the ambassador, bowing low, his voice ringing a little in the great hall. "You wanted to see me regarding the happy business of the Empress's letter."

Art smiled, a kingly, gentle smile. He said nothing immediate about the loan. He shifted the subject, assuming control of the narrative. "Comte, I have taken much time reflecting on the Empress's charming letter. News of a forthcoming heir, a child who shall combine the Bourbon and Habsburg bloodlines, is a blessing across our nations. Such a historic occurrence demands a celebration proportionate in its historical significance."

He began down the gallery, forcing the ambassador to drop into step beside him. "A loan, a simple loan," he said with a wave of his hand in rejection, "is commerce. It is the commerce of merchants, of financiers. It is a short-term solution for a short-term emergency. A grandson is born, a Dauphin, a grandson of the Holy Roman Empress; it demands something more. It demands a reaffirmation of irrevocable, lifelong friendship."

Mercy-Argenteau's expression remained curious, yet cautious. "A gesture, Your Majesty?"

"A treaty," said Art, stopping in front of a tapestry where a peace treaty was being signed. "I believe we should mark this jubilant event with something more than a transient exchange in coin, but with a 'Treaty of Perpetual Friendship and Family.' Some new, enforceable pact, which shall for ever last, as a token of our combined power."

This was Art's counter-response. He took their demand and made it something bigger, something much more difficult to reject.

"According to the provisions of this treaty," Art continued, his voice resonating with theatrical solemnity, "France would be honored to grant the trade privileges you mention, an enduring gift to our Austrian brethren in celebration of our common heir's birth." He was capitulating in the lesser of the two evils, the trade treaty, and presenting it as his own generous initiative.

"In exchange," he went on, facing the ambassador fully, "Austria's stake in this grand treaty would in no way be something as unpalatable as a loan being refunded. It would be a series of deeds worthy of her imperial magnificence."

He presented his terms, each one shaped carefully to provide him with political cover and concrete advantages while costing Austria very little in hard cash.

"First," he added, lifting a finger, "as a sign of our firmly established and unalterable frontiers, the Empress shall formally renounce all current, trivial demands for territorial suzerainty on the banks of the Rhine. It is a patchwork of small, quarrelsome bits of soil concerning which there is an embarrassing amount of administrative friction. Let us wipe the slate clean in the spirit of friendship." It was an enormous political triumph for him, for it put him forward as an unyielding stalwart for French soil.

"Second," he added, "we shall establish a joint military commission for 'standardization of training and equipment.' A golden opportunity for our grandes armées to swap lessons with one another." This was his brilliant stroke, a subtle way of gaining rightful access to Austria's premier artillery designs and founding procedures, a priceless military asset.

"And third," he concluded, his eyes meeting the ambassador's, "to pre-empt any doomsayers who would question the sense of the current treaty, the Empress herself will issue a public statement, printed in each court throughout Europe. In it, she'll lament our union, yet offer a personal eulogy for the 'sound and prudent budgeting' of the French monarchy. A mother's proud endorsement for one's son-in-law's good leadership."

Mercy-Argenteau was shocked. He had entered expecting a simple yes or no answer in response to a request for five million livres. He was being presented with a difficult, multi-point foreign treaty he could in no way negotiate. Art's proposal was diabolically clever. How could the Empress ever refuse a "Treaty of Perpetual Friendship" in celebration of a birth of her very own grandchild without seeming churlish and warlike? How could she refuse giving up a few acres of worthless swampy disputed ground? And, least of all, how could she refuse an obit for the King's good business acumen without in public acknowledging her own daughter had married a buffoon?

The ambassador, who was an extremely clever European statesman, had been completely outmaneuvered. His hands were tied.

"Your Majesty," finally said Mercy-Argenteau, his mind clearly straining to keep up. "This is... an offer of breathtaking scale. It lies well beyond my narrow prerogatives properly to comment thereon. I must, inevitably, submit this immediately to Vienna for the Empress's immediate consideration."

"Please," said Art with a big, magnanimous smile. "Take all the time you need."

He had emerged victorious. He had converted their extortion into a subtle negotiation in which he now had the upper hand. He had bought for himself months of time, reversed the entire narrative, and put himself in a position where he could garner huge political and military advantages while appearing magnanimous. He had learned how to now play chess rather than checkers.

When the ambassador stepped back bowing, looking far less composed than when he had entered, Art felt a huge burst of satisfaction. He wasn't just reacting anymore. He was dictating. It was confirmed in the HUD with a silent, satisfying update.

Diplomatic Skill: +10.

Situation: Austrian Ultimatum - NEUTRALIZED.

New Opportunity: Treaty Negotiations - PENDING.