Chapter 117: Frightening Administrative Efficiency
At the Paris Police Academy training ground, an officer ran swiftly to Joseph and the others, reporting on the situation outside.
"Baron Besenval?" Joseph frowned slightly at the name.
Wasn't that the commander of the French Guards?
When the Parisian populace attacked the Bastille back then, this man not only didn't stop them, but instead moved all his troops to the Champ de Mars in the suburbs.
If he had merely observed, it would have been one thing. But he even sent a unit of artillery to assist in bombarding the Bastille. Moreover, his troops frequently resupplied at the Palais-Royal, making it virtually certain that he belonged to the Orléanist Faction. For Louis XVI to entrust such a man with the defense of Paris — it would be a miracle if the situation didn't spiral out of control.
Joseph was determined to replace such a man, but he currently needed to stabilize the military aristocracy, so he hadn't made a move yet.
However, since the man had come knocking, there was no need to be polite.
...
A moment later, Friant emerged from the training ground, doffing his hat in greeting:
"My name is Friant, and I'm the Commandant of the Paris Police Academy. How may I assist you?"
Besenval sat stiffly on his horse, giving a slight nod before pointing his riding crop toward the training ground. "Why are there cannon sounds coming from here?"
"Cannon fire?" Friant asked, a faint smile on his face, in accordance with the Police Academy's "Confidentiality Protocol." "Ah, we're holding a ceremony to mark the completion of an assessment. The cannons are for celebration."
Besenval paused, then retorted irritably, "I'm asking you why there are cannons at the Police Academy's training ground!"
"Your Excellency, General, is there any decree prohibiting the Police Academy from possessing cannons?"
Besenval blinked again. There indeed seemed to be no such decree — back then, there wasn't even such a thing as a Police Academy, so where would such a regulation come from?
He scowled, "Why did you purchase cannons?"
Friant stated matter-of-factly, "To maintain urban security, of course."
"You need cannons to maintain security?!"
Friant nodded. "General Besenval, do you recall the barricades the rioters erected at street corners during the 'Flour Riot' a few years ago? Even the troops dispatched to quell the unrest couldn't bypass those obstacles.
"We believe that if something similar were to happen in Paris, only cannons could restore order."
"If a riot truly broke out, it wouldn't be up to you police to resolve it." Besenval sneered, eyeing him askance. "Speaking of which, last month, the mob besieged the High Court for so long, yet I saw no police dare to suppress them."
Friant's expression was one of shock. "Your Excellency, General, those protesting citizens were demanding severe punishment for the villainous Vezinier. Do you truly believe they should have been suppressed?"
"You..."
Besenval choked, speechless. Public opinion had already equated Vezinier with villainy. Anyone who took the wrong stance on this issue could expect to be torn apart by the citizens of Paris.
He glared fiercely at Friant, then haughtily waved a hand. "Stand aside. Important personages will be arriving soon, and I must ensure the security of this area. Now, I intend to go inside and inspect."
Friant remained motionless, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Your Excellency, General, unless you have orders from His Majesty the King or the Police Bureau."
Besenval had never once taken the police seriously. He turned and gave a subtle nod to his accompanying guards.
Several guards immediately stepped forward, preparing to escort Friant away, when a burst of footsteps echoed from the training ground. Moments later, over thirty officers jogged out in formation.
The commanding officer issued a series of crisp commands. The thirty-plus men quickly fanned out into two horizontal lines, raising their rifles to aim directly at Besenval.
The general's face instantly stiffened. He considered it his due that even the Commissioner of Police would show him deference, yet a mere official from a police academy dared to point a gun at him.
"You! You'll regret your actions today!" Besenval snorted, tugged on his reins, and rode away crestfallen with his men.
Joseph didn't pay much mind to this minor incident; after all, the Police Academy nominally belonged to the municipal government, so Besenval wouldn't dare cause any real trouble there.
...
Northeast France, Lorraine province.
Marquis de La Tour, the Governor, scanned the document in his hand, then frowned at his assistant beside him. "Charles, wasn't this the order I sent to Maurice the day before yesterday?"
"Ah, sir, it's this part," the assistant quickly said, pointing to a line of small text. "Vicomte de Rénif believes this might conflict with the requisition decree from two years ago, so he specifically requested your confirmation."
La Tour frowned again. "So, is there a conflict or not?"
"Ah, I believe... there shouldn't be..."
La Tour nodded, dipped his pen, and signed the document. Just as he was about to hand it to his assistant, an official hurried into the office and bowed. "Your Excellency, Marquis, a dispatch just arrived from Versailles."
"The contents?"
"It seems to instruct you to immediately send people to count potatoes and coordinate their loading for transport."
La Tour took the document and glanced over it, surprised. "Potatoes from where? Maurice just sent back the potato acquisition documents to me."
The official replied, "Sir, it appears Vicomte de Varlin sent people to acquire them. Oh, his men arrived at noon and are waiting outside now."
La Tour ordered Varlin's men to be admitted. After questioning them, he learned that Varlin, entrusted by someone, had begun acquiring potatoes across various regions five days prior. He had already collected over a million pounds, all currently stockpiled at the docks, awaiting counting and loading for shipment.
La Tour promptly instructed someone to draft a document, verified it, signed it, and then dispatched it to the corresponding Governor's representative.
Afterward, he drafted another document, reporting to Versailles that the previous work had been terminated due to changes in orders and the assistance of merchants.
Varlin's men, having received their master's instructions, used money to hasten the clerks responsible for transmitting documents and followed them all the way to the Governor's representative...
According to France's standard administrative procedures at the time, the Governor's primary duty was merely to relay and issue documents, forwarding directives from Versailles to the various Governor's representatives.
The Governor's representative had to confirm the documents. If they found an issue, they had to send them back for re-signing. If there were no issues, they would confirm the local official responsible for the matter, who would then apply for funds and arrange for the specific implementation.
And of course, if the lower-ranking officials found any part of the document improper, they would send it back for confirmation...
Given Lorraine province's administrative efficiency, they were currently only halfway through the first step, and it would likely be another four or five days before the acquisition work could even begin. Meanwhile, Mirabeau's merchant friends had already collected over a million pounds of potatoes, with even more in transit by land.
As for the transport convoys and ships, those were also sourced by Mirabeau's friends; otherwise, His Excellency the Governor would have been slow to mobilize vehicles and vessels.
However, merely assigning officials to count the potatoes took a full three days for the entire process — a step that merchants absolutely could not circumvent. Without an official's signature and confirmation, they couldn't receive payment for the acquired potatoes.
Another day passed waiting for the millions of pounds of potatoes to be counted and loaded onto ships.
At this point, only over 20 days remained until France's usual spring planting season. It was almost certain that the southernmost provinces would miss the potato planting window entirely.
The first ships, laden with potatoes, sailed down the Orne River towards the more distant city of Bordeaux.
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