Chapter 124: A Businessman in War (3) September 20, 1791.Landgraviate of Hesse, Frankfurt.
Although three hours had already passed since he rose from bed, Mayer Amschel Rothschild was still standing before the washbasin, repeatedly studying his face.
Had he perhaps missed a patch of stubble on his chin while shaving?
Even though he had washed several times, could there still be some scent clinging to him?
To eliminate every possible variable that might cause the other party even the slightest discomfort, Mayer could only keep staring at the mirror again and again.
"Damn it… I spoke confidently enough, but… whew."
Mayer muttered quietly.
After all, the person he was about to meet was no ordinary man.
According to rumor, he was a powerful minister who had already replaced two kings and even manipulated the crown prince who would become the next king—a man who sought authority without limit.
Yes, Guillaume de Toulon, the Controller-General of Finance of the revolutionary government and the owner of Ears of the Nation.
Working as both the treasurer of the Landgrave of Hesse and a financier, Mayer had encountered countless kinds of people. From that, he realized several things.
First, there were many extraordinary people in this wide world.
A politician at a young age? Why not? Of course it was possible.
Just look at William Pitt, who became Prime Minister of Britain and leader of the Tory Party at the age of twenty-four.
A businessman at a young age? Why not that either?
Matthew Boulton, partner of James Watt, founded a factory at nineteen and became Britain's foremost merchant of manufactured goods.
The second thing he realized was that politicians and businessmen alike all kept a black witch's cat inside their hearts.
The Prime Minister of Britain allowed small ally Poland to be torn apart for the sake of maintaining alliances with greater powers.
Matthew Boulton used every trick imaginable to prevent James Watt—the human printing press who could multiply pounds endlessly—from accepting a recruitment offer from the Russian Empire, ensuring he remained in Britain.
But someone who was both a politician and a businessman…
Could such a person really be an ordinary human like himself?
Did the category human even include someone like Guillaume de Toulon?
Mayer could not even begin to guess how many black cats lurked inside the young Frenchman.
After rinsing his mouth once more at the washbasin, Mayer finally raised his voice.
"Jeannette, Salomon, Nathan! Father's leaving!"
"Yes!"
The first to run to him was his eldest daughter Jeannette, clutching the hem of her skirt.
Come to think of it, that man Guillaume was said to be the same age as Jeannette.
"Father, you're leaving now?"
"Yes. Take good care of your mother and your brothers. Especially when I'm gone—make sure Salomon and Nathan stop wandering about and study their accounting properly."
"How long will you be gone?"
"It won't take long. About a week."
"I understand. Leave the house to me and have a safe trip."
"Good girl."
Smiling with satisfaction at his daughter's respectful bow, Mayer opened the door and stepped out of the mansion.
"Sir Rothschild, shall we depart immediately?"
"Yes, please do."
"Very well!"
Mayer and the coachman climbed into the carriage, and soon the horses began moving with a rattling sound.
Leaning against the window, Mayer watched the scenery passing outside.
Near Frankfurt's city hall stood rows of mansions that clearly had enormous sums of money poured into them. Beneath the high autumn sky, they stretched endlessly before his eyes.
It was fitting for Frankfurt, the long-prosperous financial city of the Holy Roman Empire. Most of the mansions were as luxurious as the residences of imperial noble families in Vienna, the empire's capital.
Yet among those splendid residences there was one mansion whose charm lay precisely in its modesty.
It belonged to the Rothschild family—the long-serving treasurers of Hesse.
It was neither the glittering residence of a newly rich parvenu nor so frugal that it diminished the dignity expected of a vassal of the landgrave.
The Rothschild mansion was simply modest—pleasantly so.
It was, in essence, the survival strategy of the Jewish Rothschild family living in a land dominated by Catholics.
Never flaunt wealth.
Yet never fall behind.
Neither more nor less—always remain precisely in the middle.
That was the Rothschild method of survival.
Holy Roman Empire, Trier.
"Come here, kitty. Come here!"
"Ahem, Your Excellency! That's not how you do it! Be gentler!"
"G-gentler? I think I'm already being gentle enough."
"With more sincerity!"
How much more sincerity am I supposed to show? Even the Animal Farm TV show would give me two thumbs up if it saw this.
I crouched down again and held out a small biscuit.
"C-come here, kitty! Look, there's a treat!"
"Hiss!"
"Uwaah!"
At the furious roar of the thirty-centimeter predator, I dropped the biscuit in my hand.
Damn it… aside from being cute, do all cats have terrible personalities? Why do they play nicely with the Finance Ministry staff but start hissing the moment I show up?
"Pff… hehe…"
"Ahem. Everyone, stop laughing. You're embarrassing His Excellency."
"…."
Damn it. I'm the Controller-General of Finance. If this keeps up, my dignified and majestic image will be ruined.
I mean, back in the day I even argued face-to-face with the king in the Assembly!
"Ahem. I'll go back inside and finish tomorrow's work in advance. Excuse me."
It definitely wasn't because the Finance Ministry staff were teasing me.
I just wanted to get ahead on my work.
After all, when I was in elementary school I never once fell behind on my Kumon homework.
Stretching my cramped legs, I headed naturally toward the office as if nothing had happened.
"Your Excellency, already finished with your break?"
"Yes. The cats wouldn't even look at me. But… what's that?"
"Oh, that one? They say a black cat outside is a bad omen, but inside the house it brings good fortune. So we let it in for a moment."
"I see…"
Thirty centimeters? Maybe forty?
A black beast was prowling right through the middle of my comfortable office.
"C-come here, kitty. Want a treat?"
"…."
What the hell, does this one hate me too?
In the end I tossed the biscuit into the corner of the office.
"There's something tasty over there. Could you please go eat it?"
Perhaps moved by my sincere devotion, the beast turned and walked toward the biscuit I had thrown.
I returned to my seat, opened the ink bottle, and dipped the nib of my quill into the ink again.
Those few minutes while the quill absorbed ink were unbelievably boring.
If I had been born in this era, I might not even realize how bad it was. But since I had already used Jetstream pens in modern times, it drove me insane.
When the hell are ballpoint pens supposed to be invented?
The moment they appear, I'm buying all the shares of the company that makes them.
Wait… this is still the 1700s. They probably won't appear until about fifty years after I die.
Hold on. Does that mean I have to use this trash until the day I die?
Ugh. This is torture. If only a single Monami pen would fall from the sky.
"Meow."
"Yeah, you think so too—hey, why did you come back?"
The black cat jumped onto my lap and sprawled across it.
"Ha ha. They say a black cat that enters the house brings fortune. Looks like you've struck it lucky, Your Excellency."
"Lucky? It's just heavy."
"Why not raise one? You're already twenty, yet still unmarried. It must get lonely."
"…I'm not sure if that's advice or verbal abuse."
Perhaps because this was a world where people married at eighteen, everyone seemed overly interested in my romantic life.
It's not that I don't want to marry! I just don't have the opportunity to meet anyone!
Just as I continued lamenting silently, a messenger entered the office.
"Your Excellency, you have a visitor."
"A visitor? Who is it?"
"An envoy sent by the Landgrave of Hesse."
"Hesse? Ah, Frankfurt."
If tens of thousands of soldiers from a neighboring country were marching past your doorstep, anyone would feel uneasy.
This was probably just a courtesy visit. I could greet him briefly and send him on his way.
"Is the envoy in the reception room?"
"No, Your Excellency. He is expected to arrive shortly. Shall we bring him here?"
"That would be rude to someone who traveled such a long distance. I'll go down and wait for him myself."
I lifted the cat from my lap and set it on the floor, then stood up.
Why are you following me again?
"Haha, Your Excellency. It seems that cat likes you."
"Sigh. Do whatever you want."
"Your Excellency the Controller-General, it is an honor to meet you. I am deeply grateful that you waited for me like this."
"You've traveled a long way from Frankfurt. It's only proper courtesy."
The young Frenchman said this as he extended his hand toward Mayer.
Mayer took the offered hand and shook it slowly.
According to rumor, the man was cunning and vicious. But upon meeting him, the impression was surprisingly different.
He simply looked like a bright and courteous young man—one of those promising youths you might find in any town.
After the handshake ended and they sat down, the young man spoke again.
"The coffee here is quite good. Ah—I forgot to ask. May I know your name?"
"Ah, my name is Mayer Amschel Rothschild. I serve as treasurer to the Landgrave of Hesse and am engaged in finance… Why that expression?"
"Ah, nothing. Just a moment… My apologies. But is your surname really Rothschild?"
Mayer swallowed his tension.
"Yes. That is correct…"
"I see…"
The young man's brow furrowed instantly.
Was it because the Rothschild family was Jewish?
Was the young Frenchman displeased that Mayer himself was a Jew?
France was overwhelmingly Catholic, but Mayer had never heard that this man was particularly devout.
With his heart tightening again, Mayer watched the representative of the French government, waiting for what he would say.
You're Jewish? Ha. I have nothing to say to the people who killed Christ.
Jeeewish? A Jew daring to stand proudly before a Catholic? Are you asking to be killed?
Please let it be anything but those two.
But as if mocking Mayer's desperate hope, a black cat suddenly appeared and sprawled across the young man's lap.
Damn it. A black cat—the symbol of misfortune.
Is this some kind of joke?
Is this Yahweh's will?
If only I can return home safely…
As Mayer thought this anxiously, the young man's voice reached his ears.
"Sir, would you like to do some business with me?"
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