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Chapter 154: The Prince and the Illegitimate Son
🕑 Added 2024-12-23 22:27:39 +0000 UTCChapter 154: The Prince and the Illegitimate Son
Mrs. Walsh gave her room number at the Tuileries Palace to the staff at the Paris Angels store. The staff member politely informed her that her purchases might not be delivered until the next morning. Despite spending 300 livres on cosmetics, the overwhelming number of customers due to Fashion Week had the store's delivery staff working 18-hour shifts and still struggling to keep up. This was a special expedited service, thanks to her gold card membership.
Afterward, the Walshes visited a carriage shop and ordered the latest model of the "royal carriage" for 800 livres—600 for the carriage itself and 200 for shipping it to a British port. They then headed to the Louvre Royal Museum.
As they rode through Paris, Mrs. Walsh admired the clean, tidy streets, taking a deep breath and remarking, "This city is so much cleaner than London. Even the air smells sweet."
Mr. Walsh nodded in agreement, "Yes, there's not a trace of filth on the streets. Sometimes, I have to commend the French for their civility in this regard."
Mrs. Walsh soon noticed a small, square building and pointed it out, asking the guide what it was.
The guide, slightly embarrassed, explained, "Ah, madam, that's a public restroom, a place where people can relieve themselves."
Mrs. Walsh blushed, feeling a bit embarrassed for not recognizing it, and muttered under her breath, "No wonder the streets are so clean. I wish Britain would adopt such practices."
She silently vowed to learn some French when she returned home; she didn't want to be the kind of person who couldn't even recognize a restroom.
Mr. Walsh, leaning back in his seat, yawned, "Ah—I don't even want to go back to London. Compared to this place, London feels like a garbage heap..."
The guide, noticing his comment, saw an opportunity and eagerly pointed toward the Tuileries Palace Gardens, smiling, "Mr. Walsh, perhaps you might consider buying a villa in the 'Royal Garden.' That way, you could stay in Paris more often, especially during London's rainy season. It would be a perfect place to vacation."
The Tuileries Palace Gardens, despite being called gardens, were actually a vast open space beside the palace, a favorite spot for Parisians to stroll after dinner.
Walsh blinked and asked, "You mean those houses being built on the east side of the Tuileries Palace?"
"Exactly, Mr. Walsh. They'll be completed in three to four months," the guide replied. He was being so enthusiastic because he would earn a 500-livre commission for every villa sold through his introduction. He also stood to earn 30 livres from the carriage purchase Walsh had just made.
Walsh was quite tempted since the villas were very close to the Tuileries Palace, with windows that offered a clear view of the palace sculptures.
He asked, "Do you know the prices of those villas?"
"Ah, the ones closest to the Tuileries Palace are priced at around 50,000 livres, which is about 2,000 pounds. Those near the public carriage tracks are around 1,900 pounds. The ones further away are about 1,500 pounds."
Walsh couldn't help but take a deep breath. Even with his substantial wealth, he couldn't justify spending 2,000 pounds on a house in France. A similar villa in London wouldn't cost more than 1,000 pounds.
Noticing his reaction, the guide quickly added, "These villas are worth every penny, sir. Not only are they close to the old royal palace, but that building over there is a prestigious school where only children from the 'Royal Garden' can attend. I've heard that members of the French Academy of Sciences will be teaching there.
"And over there, that's the largest hospital in Paris...
"That's a shopping mall...
"To the south, there's a croquet court..."
In the end, Walsh decided not to view the 50,000-livre villas—he feared he might be tempted to buy one, which would strain his finances.
After touring around Paris, the Walshes returned to the Tuileries Palace, where the afternoon fashion show had already begun.
This time, only Mrs. Walsh attended the show. Her husband, upon returning, went straight to the game hall, eagerly engaging with the "slot machines."
Mrs. Walsh glanced at the empty seat beside her and wondered aloud, "Why didn't Mr. Alvin come?"
Her journalist friend, Mr. Alvin, was currently in a theater, watching intently as Hunter Xiao searched for the "Magic Ember" in a pool of lava.
Indeed, he didn't have the money for the amusement park, nor for shopping. The newspaper had sent him to cover Fashion Week, but they hadn't provided much of an expense account.
But he could afford theater tickets, so he decided to watch a play to pass the time, not realizing how captivating it would be.
The play Breaking the Sky was incredibly engaging, with its thrilling plot keeping him on the edge of his seat.
The theater was hosting a ten-show series, and he had bought a pass, spending the entire day in the theater, forgetting all about covering the fashion show.
It wasn't until the exhausted actors finished their final performance and the theater closed for the night that Alvin remembered his unfinished work.
Rushing back to the fashion show, he silently vowed to translate that amazing play into English and bring it to London!
In the Tuileries Palace's game hall, Mr. Walsh was frustrated after losing ten rounds in a row. As he rubbed his hands together and prepared to insert another coin, he heard a young man's wild shout behind him: "Fantastic! Haha! Did you see that?!"
He turned around to see a young man with a Russian appearance, dressed in an exaggerated red coat, dominating four slot machines. One of the machines displayed three knight symbols in a row!
Walsh knew that was the 30x payout!
He couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy.
The Russian casually collected the coins the machine spat out and continued enthusiastically feeding them into the four machines, pulling the levers one by one while his eyes darted between the spinning drums.
This time, none of the drums stopped on a winning combination. Unfazed, the Russian narrowed his bloodshot eyes and kept playing.
Soon, his luck returned, with two machines ringing out in a chorus of falling coins. The Russian's excitement grew even more intense.
At that moment, the head of the Fashion Week Committee, Viscount Frayssel, approached with a few others, kindly advising, "Count Bobrinsky, you've been playing for an entire day and night without eating. For your health, I suggest you take a break..."
"Get lost! Get lost! Don't stand in my way!"
No sooner had the young man spoken than several burly bodyguards moved in, pushing Frayssel and his men back with their bodies.
Frayssel, seeing no other option, whispered instructions to the security officers who had come with him before leaving.
He then stationed a few police officers around Count Bobrinsky, ready to call a doctor should the count collapse or show signs of distress.
...
Joseph, feeling a bit tired, walked out of the Tuileries Palace's south gate.
Queen Marie had agreed to serve as the spokesperson for Fashion Week, giving a speech every two days, and Joseph had to accompany her.
Fortunately, Paris had recently installed a wooden track running east to west, about four French leagues long. Once inside the city, it only took about twenty minutes to reach the Tuileries Palace, saving the Queen a lot of time.
According to the plan, the wooden track would eventually extend westward, connecting Paris and Versailles.
When complete, it would take about an hour by track carriage to travel from Versailles to Paris, cutting travel time by nearly 70%.
This wooden track, though expensive, costing 50,000 livres per league—about 4 kilometers—was worth the investment, especially since British track layers, using new techniques, had already reduced the cost. If French workers were to lay the tracks, it would cost another 10,000.
But the convenience it offered to the nobles traveling from Versailles to Paris would increase Paris's annual commercial revenue by at least a million livres—less travel time meant more time for shopping and entertainment. Additionally, those who previously avoided Paris due to the distance or discomfort would now visit more frequently.
As Joseph stretched his arms, his eyes caught the life-sized painting Son of the Divine hanging in the main hall. Queen Marie was so pleased with the painting that, knowing many foreign dignitaries would attend Fashion Week, she had a copy hung there to showcase her son.
Joseph couldn't help but cringe, wondering if he should have Fouché arrange for someone to steal the painting in the middle of the night when Viscount Frayssel suddenly appeared, looking anxious.
Frayssel nearly ran into the Prince before stopping abruptly, bowing respectfully.
Joseph smiled and asked, "Viscount Frayssel, what seems to be the problem?"
Frayssel hesitated for a moment before responding, "Your Highness, Count Bobrinsky from Russia has been playing in the game hall for an entire day and night without eating. I've tried to persuade him several times, but to no avail. You know, with his status, if something were to happen, it could be..."
"Count Bobrinsky?"
Joseph frowned slightly. Nearby, Eymond leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Your Highness, he's the illegitimate son of the Russian Empress. He's been wandering around Paris for several years, and many nobles know him."
Joseph nodded in understanding. "Is it Alexei?"
"Yes, Your Highness, that's his name."
Joseph narrowed his eyes. So, Catherine's youngest son, the future Tsar Paul I's half-brother, had also come to Fashion Week.
He suddenly remembered watching the Russian drama Catherine the Great, which mentioned that Alexei traveled the world from a young age to avoid posing a threat to his brother's succession [Note 1]. However, due to his wild behavior, Catherine eventually called him back to Russia, where she sent him to a remote town to reflect on his actions.
Since France was about to ally with Russia to advance its North African strategy, and Alexei was highly favored by Catherine the Great, this was a good opportunity to talk to him. Perhaps it could lead to unexpected benefits.
He signaled to Frayssel, "Please lead the way. I'll try to persuade him."
"Oh, thank you so much, Your Highness."
In the game hall, Alexei was still enthusiastically inserting coins and pulling levers when he noticed a dignified young man standing before him, smiling.
His expression changed momentarily, but he quickly refocused on the slot machine, muttering, "What do you want? Please step aside."
Seeing him insert a coin, Joseph pulled the lever for him and began to share a story with a smile, "I remember when I was young, I wasn't in the best of health and had to spend some time recovering at Meudon Castle.
"You see, there were no tutors or etiquette officers there. I could ride horses, climb trees, and enjoy total freedom and relaxation.
"Whenever I got fed up with all the lessons and duties, I would fake being ill so I could go there and 'recover' for a few months.
"But one time, I wanted to extend my 'happy vacation,' so I pretended to have a serious illness, acting as if I was on the verge of death. I thought for sure I could stay at Meudon Castle for a whole year.
"But guess what?
"My mother was so worried that she summoned all the court physicians to treat me, and they subjected me to several bloodletting sessions and even enemas, which were quite an ordeal.
"In the end, I had to drop the act. Afterward, my mother told me that to keep a closer eye on my health, I would have to stay at Versailles from then on and could never go back to Meudon Castle.
"Don't you think I was a bit too foolish back then? Haha."
Alexei paused for a moment before understanding what the Prince was implying—he had recognized Joseph from the Son of the Divine painting.
To avoid the political struggles in St. Petersburg and to help his brother Paul's succession, Alexei had deliberately cultivated a reputation as a dissolute playboy, traveling the world.
But as the Prince had just pointed out, if he went too far with the act, it would inevitably worry his mother, who might decide to keep him under close watch.
Taking a step back, Alexei dropped his playful demeanor, bowed respectfully, and spoke in flawless French, "Thank you for the reminder, Your Highness. I assume you're aware of my identity. It's an honor to meet you."
"Yes, Count Bobrinsky," Joseph replied with a smile, returning the bow. "I think you could use a good meal and a full night's sleep. If you don't agree, I'll have to temporarily close this game hall."
A short while later, on their way to the dining room, Joseph continued the conversation, "I've heard a few rumors about you."
Alexei, his mind a bit foggy after staying up all night, chuckled, "It seems I'm quite famous, Your Highness."
"What I wanted to say is that, given your current behavior, the Empress may soon order you back to Russia."
Alexei tilted his head indifferently, "Perhaps."
He had already heard whispers from St. Petersburg—his mother had inquired about him several times through the French ambassador, hinting at her intention to call him back.
But what could he do? His brother's position as heir was still precarious. Deeply loving his brother, Alexei didn't want to add any pressure to him. So, being a playboy was the only way he could help.
He muttered, "It seems this is all I can do."
As Crosod led the guards to inspect the private dining room and nodded to Joseph, signaling that it was secure, Joseph and Alexei entered and sat down.
Joseph then asked, "What would you like to eat?
"Actually, there are many things you can do—things that have nothing to do with politics. In fact, such pursuits might even keep you far away from St. Petersburg."
Note 1: In Russia, before Paul I, the Tsar's successor was not always the eldest son but could be any chosen heir. Therefore, although Alexei was an illegitimate child, if he had gained enough favor from Catherine the Great or garnered significant political support, it was possible that he could have been selected as the heir instead of Paul.
(End of Chapter)
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