Chapter 110: A Battle of Wits
In the reception room on the west side of the cathedral, Archbishop Beaumont's face was filled with astonishment. "Your Highness, this simply won't do!
"Potatoes absolutely cannot appear on the Passover dinner table..."
He was referring to the scene depicted in "The Last Supper" painting—Jesus, on the day of Passover, sharing his final meal with his twelve disciples, and declaring in their presence that one of them would betray him.
Joseph smiled faintly. "Archbishop Beaumont, how can you be so certain there were no potatoes on the table back then?"
"Well..."
"I recall that in the earliest depictions of 'The Last Supper,' the Lord held only a single loaf of bread. It wasn't until Da Vinci's immortal masterpiece that a variety of foods appeared. So, adding one more item should be perfectly acceptable, wouldn't you agree?"
A high-ranking priest nearby cautiously interjected, "Your Highness, to my knowledge, potatoes would not have been present in Jerusalem before the Passion..."
Joseph immediately stood up, his voice filled with righteous indignation. "What kind of talk is that? Are you questioning the Lord's omniscience and omnipotence? How could there be anything in this world that the Lord hasn't eaten or seen? Especially a potato, which even you have tasted!"
The priest jumped, hastily recoiling and desperately making the sign of the cross over his chest, continuously praying for the Lord to forgive his sin, asserting that he had no intention of questioning the Lord.
Joseph turned, offering him a warm smile. "Archbishop, the tea leaves you drink every day are also not mentioned in the Bible. The corn that the poor of Paris rely on to sustain themselves is likewise not recorded in the Bible. Yet these are all gifts from the Lord, and we can only offer Him our gratitude. Amen."
He smoothly made the sign of the cross over his chest, and the surrounding clergy hastily followed suit, echoing, "Amen."
"However," Beaumont, who had interpreted scriptures for decades without rival among the faithful, had never encountered such a cunning angle as the Crown Prince's. He immediately adopted a clergyman's professional demeanor and countered, "Your Highness, while many things are not explicitly recorded in the Bible, we can find their equivalents within it.
"For example, tea leaves belong to the category of tree leaves. And corn is a type of grain. As long as they are of the same kind..."
Joseph, having done his homework on the way there, immediately retorted, "Archbishop, you are absolutely right. The Bible mentions the roots of the broom tree as food, and potatoes are precisely a similar kind of thing. You see, both are tubers dug from underground."
"That's not..."
Another high-ranking priest slowly offered, "Your Highness, all edible crops in this world are propagated through the blending of male and female. Grains, corn, and tea leaves are all like this. But potatoes, lacking distinct sexes, can reproduce simply by cutting off a piece. This suggests they are a blasphemous creation..."
Joseph turned, smiling faintly. "You might want to discuss this with Count Lamark. I'm sure he would be happy to enlighten you."
Beaumont shot the priest a glare. Being very learned, he naturally knew that potatoes did have flowers and seeds; it was simply that they grew too slowly, which discouraged people from planting them.
Seeing the clergy fall silent, Joseph emphatically waved a hand and declared, "Everything in this world is created and bestowed by the Lord, and potatoes are no exception.
"I trust you all know that potatoes have saved countless lives in places like Prussia and Austria. This proves that they are food the Lord uses to rescue humanity, a testament to His mercy.
"Your mission is to help people accept the Lord's gifts, thereby making them more grateful and devout, is it not?"
He glanced at the many lower-ranking clergy eavesdropping outside and announced loudly, "This time, it's not just about adding two potatoes to the painting. The government has decided to promote potato cultivation throughout all of France, which will require the church to send people to assist, telling farmers that this is a gift from the Lord. All clergy who help with the promotion will receive a monthly stipend of 10 livres.
"Furthermore, in the areas you are responsible for, if the public's acceptance of potatoes is high, your respective churches will receive a reward of 300 livres."
Beaumont observed the jubilant expressions of the clergy outside, hesitated for a long while, and finally let out a long sigh. He turned to Joseph and said, "Crown Prince, perhaps you are right. Potatoes can be added to 'The Last Supper.'"
He shook his head silently to himself. 'It won't make a difference, though. Even if the Church agrees, those people won't plant potatoes on their land.'
...
Soon, a new version of "The Last Supper" appeared in Parisian art galleries. In the painting, two potatoes conspicuously sat on the plate before Jesus, while a small bowl of mashed potatoes was added in front of Peter.
Major Parisian newspapers also began to print reproductions of the painting. Although they were in black and white, and the engravings weren't exceedingly fine, anyone could clearly discern the two lumpy, spherical objects as potatoes.
In front of Royal Chef Barnabé's "Tornado Potato Tower" stall, citizens remained quite hesitant—centuries-old habits were not easily changed overnight.
However, some people from desperately poor families, seeing the street children who had eaten potatoes days prior still bouncing around happily, showing no signs of poisoning or illness, couldn't help but feel a flicker of interest.
Finally, someone, resigned to their fate, bit into a free skewer of fried potatoes, immediately smacking their lips at the delicious taste.
Elsewhere in Paris, mashed potatoes, french fries, and other dishes prepared by royal chefs were quickly claimed for free. Although still few dared to try them, invisible cracks were beginning to appear in the colossal dam of public resistance.
...
Meanwhile, the Tuileries Palace, both inside and out, was a hive of frenetic activity.
Hundreds of carpenters, masons, and glaziers were busy repairing doors, windows, walls, and chandeliers. Having been neglected for too long, over eighty percent of the more than two thousand rooms required restoration.
Flesselles, the President of the Paris Chamber of Commerce, meticulously dressed yet with dust clinging to his tricorn hat, was directing his subordinates, coordinating the deployment of personnel and resources.
As the newly appointed President of the Paris Fashion Week Preparatory Committee, his brown eyes were bloodshot, yet he showed no inclination to rest.
At the Crown Prince's request, the preparatory committee had already drafted a plan to complete the restoration of the Tuileries Palace within a month. With funding now secured, it was a time for everyone to work desperately to meet the deadline.
On the east side of the palace square, a large runway, over 50 meters long and constructed from maple wood, was nearly half-finished. A multitude of workers, like ants, transported materials up and down.
Flesselles watched it all with a surge of excitement. He knew very well what this grand fashion event would bring to Paris.
"Prosperity!"
"Prestige!"
"And immense profit!"
Meanwhile, in a grand hall within the Tuileries Palace's western wing, Joseph observed the dozens of women before him—all beautiful, yet moving with peculiar gaits and strikingly odd gestures. He couldn't help but press a hand to his forehead and shake his head.
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