Chapter 119: The Real France
"Your Highness, are you saying that blood is used to transport nutrients and oxygen?" Perna asked, her emerald eyes blinking with serious focus, her pretty face full of earnestness. "So, if you bleed a patient, it should make them even weaker?"
Joseph clapped softly. "Indeed, you've uncovered the truth."
"Then why do we perform bloodletting?"
"That was a mistake."
"No wonder you've always refused bloodletting," Perna murmured, nodding thoughtfully. She then looked at Joseph, hesitating slightly. "Your Highness, what if... what if your conclusion isn't correct?"
"To study science, one must possess a spirit of skepticism and never blindly follow authority," Joseph replied, nodding in approval at her comment. "Actually, it's quite simple to discover what's right and what's wrong: just conduct a double-blind experiment."
"A double-blind experiment? What's that?"
Joseph explained, "Simply put, you find patients with the same illness and similar physical conditions, then divide them into two groups that cannot interact with each other.
"One group receives bloodletting treatment, while the other does not. Whichever group recovers first will tell us if bloodletting is truly effective."
Her eyes lit up. "Your Highness, perhaps we could also use this... oh, double-blind experiment, to test whether a certain medicine is effective, or if certain factors influence a patient's condition."
Joseph gave her an approving look for her ability to grasp the broader implications. "You are quite right; these things can indeed be verified using a double-blind experiment."
Perna's hand trembled with excitement as she gripped her pen, her eyes sparkling as she gazed at Joseph. "You... you're truly astonishing! How did you come up with these ideas?"
She glanced at her notes again. "Your Highness, may I tell my father about this method?"
"Of course."
As they spoke, the pitter-patter of heavy rain began drumming on the carriage roof. Clearly, a downpour had started outside.
Before long, the carriage slowly came to a halt. From outside the window, Guard Captain Clauzel called out, "Your Highness, the road ahead is waterlogged. It would be unwise to continue."
Joseph sighed, a hint of frustration in his tone, and ordered them to find a nearby place to take shelter from the rain.
This was his first time leaving Paris, and he had expected other regions, though perhaps not as grand, to not be drastically different. He hadn't anticipated that barely fifty kilometers beyond the Paris metropolitan area, everything would resemble impoverished, secluded countryside.
For instance, the section of road they were currently on clearly showed signs of shoddy construction; the surface was loosely compacted, and any slightly low-lying areas instantly became impassable after being soaked by the rain.
Carriages, in particular, would almost certainly get stuck in the mud if they attempted to force their way through.
This time, to speed up their journey, he had specifically instructed his retinue to avoid the usual formal welcomes and farewells from local officials. He hadn't expected to be held up by heavy rain instead.
After a while, the cavalry scouts returned with news: there was a small village to the east. Clauzel quickly directed the convoy to turn and head towards it for shelter.
After Joseph's carriage got stuck in the mud five or six times, they finally arrived before a dozen dilapidated farmhouses with thatched roofs.
Clauzel chose the largest farmhouse, knocked on the door, and offered the owner eight livres. The owner immediately bowed with profuse, delighted thanks.
Joseph stepped inside, a strong scent of mildew assailing him. The house wasn't spacious, its walls papered with old newspapers. The only furniture consisted of a wooden cabinet and a wobbly wooden table. Fortunately, it provided adequate shelter from the wind and rain.
Because the lodging fee Clauzel had paid was far too generous, the farmwife felt she had to properly entertain such distinguished guests. She brought out the best food her family had, sent her children to borrow numerous items from neighbors, and finally prepared a "lavish" meal, which she carefully carried out from the inner room.
"Oh, no need, we've brought our own food..."
Clauzel stepped forward to stop the farmwife. Joseph saw the tense and disappointed expression on her face and, not wanting to reject her kindness, instructed his guard captain to let her bring the food.
Eman, ever diligent, tasted the white bread, cured meat, roasted chicken, and vegetable soup laid out on the table. Only then did he nod to the Crown Prince, signaling that it was safe to eat.
Joseph took a few bites; the food was quite bland but not entirely unpalatable.
Clauzel and Eman also ate a little, while Perna, being the least picky about food, nearly finished her entire portion and even went into the inner room to praise the hostess's cooking.
Sitting idly had grown rather dull, so Joseph struck up a conversation with the man of the house. "Do you know about the government's directive to plant potatoes?"
The farmer, bowing and nodding with great deference, replied, "Yes, my lord. Father Marmont spoke of it; he said it was a gift from the Lord."
"And do you plan to plant some?"
The farmer shook his head.
"Why not plant them? You only have to repay two-thirds after the harvest; it's quite a good deal."
The farmer hesitated for a good ten seconds before quietly saying, "Vicomte Colbert said it's best not to plant that stuff..."
Clauzel quickly leaned closer to Joseph, whispering, "Your Highness, I just inquired. Colbert is the local landlord here. Everyone nearby is his tenant farmer."
Joseph nodded, then asked the farmer, "But isn't it up to the farmers themselves what they choose to plant?"
The farmer replied dully, "But Vicomte Colbert forbids it."
Joseph sighed. These annual tribute farmers—the most numerous type of tenant farmer—were ostensibly free to cultivate the land as long as they paid rent. In reality, however, they remained heavily dependent on the feudal lords who owned the land.
For example, they couldn't freely move far from their land, were required to perform various corvée labors for the feudal lord, and even disputes could be settled by the lord—if the lord lived nearby.
Thus, these tenant farmers typically wouldn't defy the wishes of the great landlords. The Old Nobility's resistance to potatoes also meant that large numbers of annual tribute farmers were unable to cultivate them.
Joseph chatted with the farmer for a while longer, gaining a general understanding of the family's living conditions.
The farmer, Gaizka, cultivated about 4.5 acres of land belonging to Vicomte Colbert, earning around 200 livres from his harvest each year.
However, after paying Colbert's land rent, the family still had to pay a long string of taxes: Poll Tax, Military Tax, Tithe, Twentieth Tax, Corvée Labor Tax, and many others.
Throughout the rest of the year, they would also face Milling Tax, Pressing Tax, Salt Tax, Goods Tax, Toll Tax, and more.
What remained was barely enough for the family to have black bread to eat each day.
As for savings, Gaizka explained that frequent droughts in recent years had led to poor harvests. His family had long since run out of any surplus and now owed others nearly 50 livres.
Because Gaizka was quite strong, his family was considered relatively well-off in the village. According to him, a full fifth of the villagers couldn't even eat their fill every day.
Joseph's heart ached. There were over twenty million tenant farmers like Gaizka in France. If a severe natural disaster struck, they would have almost no means to resist. At that point, to prevent themselves and their families from starving to death, they would undoubtedly join the ranks of any uprising without hesitation.
He let out a breath. Whether it was France's massive debt or the plight of its poorest farmers, resolving these issues would require many difficult reforms: promoting industrial development, adjusting land distribution, weakening the feudal privileges of the great nobility and the Church...
He mused on these thoughts as he walked to the window. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Madame Gaizka in the inner room, carefully collecting the leftovers from their meal. Eman's half-eaten bowl of vegetable soup was poured into a pot, where she added water and a few more vegetable leaves, turning it into a larger pot of soup. A walnut-sized piece of cured meat was meticulously sliced into almost transparently thin pieces and placed between slices of black bread.
Two children, about eight or nine years old, watched their mother's busy movements with eager eyes, occasionally wiping the corners of their mouths as if witnessing the preparation of the most exquisite delicacy on earth.
Joseph felt a pang of sadness. In Paris, his gaze was constantly filled with the powerful vying for influence, with noblewomen lost in extravagant dissipation, and with aristocrats' endless balls and salons. Only today, in the Gaizka household, had he truly seen the real face of France.
Poor, dilapidated, resistant to change, and teetering on the brink...
Just then, a knock sounded from behind them.
Gaizka quickly went to open the door, ushering in a small man in a long gray coat. "Monsieur Barbot," he said respectfully, "what brings you here?"
The man named Barbot nodded a perfunctory greeting to Gaizka, then went straight to Eman, bowing humbly. "My good sir, I am the local magistrate here; you may simply call me Barbot. May I ask where you've traveled from?"
The title of magistrate sounded rather impressive, but it simply referred to the official responsible for administering the local parish—that is, the village. He was essentially the village head.
As Barbot spoke, the parish priest, having heard that important figures with many attendants had arrived in the village, also hurried over to Gaizka's house.
"My good sir, how may I be of service to you?" Barbot asked, his face wreathed in smiles, clearly mistaking Eman for the leader of the group.
Eman, seeing that the rain had stopped through the door that the priest had left open, pointed in the direction of the previously waterlogged road. "Monsieur Barbot, the road outside the village is damaged by the rain. Could you please arrange for someone to repair it?"
"Oh, certainly, certainly."
Barbot nodded repeatedly, then turned to the priest. "Father Marmont, please entertain our esteemed guests. I'll go gather some men to repair the road."
He took two steps, then looked back and gestured to Gaizka. "Did you hear that? The road needs repairing. You come along too."
"Yes, Monsieur Barbot."
Gaizka replied, reaching for the coat hanging on the wall.
Joseph asked casually, "Monsieur Gaizka, how much pay do you receive for road repair work like this?"
"Pay?" Barbot responded immediately, a little too solicitously. "My good sir, it's just road repair; there's no pay involved."
"Oh?" Joseph raised an eyebrow slightly. "Is the road outside the village also Vicomte Colbert's property?"
Barbot shook his head. "No, it's not."
"Then has Monsieur Gaizka paid his Corvée Labor Tax?"
Barbot flinched, then nodded. "Yes, he's paid it."
"If he's paid his Corvée Labor Tax, and this isn't the lord's direct corvée, then why isn't he paid for repairing the road?"
"Well..."
Joseph smiled, watching him. "Monsieur Barbot, surely you're not unfamiliar with the laws and regulations?"
Barbot gasped, startled. As an official in France, one could be incompetent, but never unfamiliar with laws and regulations—that was a sure way to lose one's position!
He quickly shook his head. "No, no, you are absolutely right; wages should indeed be paid. Ah, would two sous per person be acceptable?"
"Just follow the regulations."
"Oh, right, right. According to regulations."
Gaizka gratefully bowed to Joseph, then hurried out with the magistrate.
Three hours later, Joseph's convoy drove once more towards Bordeaux, along a road now repaired with branches and crushed stone.
Gaizka and his wife stood by the roadside, watching until the figures of the rearguard cavalry vanished from sight. Only then did they return home.
Madame Gaizka was about to cut some black bread to appease her husband's hunger after his long, busy half-day, when she suddenly noticed a small cloth bundle on the stove hearth.
She hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and carefully opened the bundle. Immediately, she gasped. "My God! Adam! Come quickly!"
Gaizka ran a few steps into the inner room and saw his wife holding a cloth bag and a large handful of silver coins.
He took the bag and found a note inside. He quickly unfolded it to read: 'Monsieur Gaizka, thank you for showing me another side of France. Please do not refuse this token of my appreciation.'
He looked in the direction Joseph had departed, crossing himself repeatedly over his chest. He murmured, "May God bless you, kind young lord."
Madame Gaizka quietly counted the silver coins: exactly 50 livres. She excitedly grabbed her husband, jumping up and down, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Adam, we have enough to pay off our debt!"
They had borrowed money at an exorbitant 15% interest. If they couldn't repay it quickly, given their family's circumstances, they might never be able to clear the debt...
Eight days later.
On the grand avenue north of the Palais de la Bourse in Bordeaux, large crowds had gathered on both sides of the road, eagerly awaiting the passage of the Crown Prince's carriage.
Soon, several elegantly styled, luxuriously crafted carriages approached in the distance. The crowds immediately erupted in cheers, waving their arms energetically.
In one of the central carriages, Comte de Montsoreau, the Governor of Bordeaux, respectfully addressed Joseph. "Your Highness, most of them arrived last night. If you truly wish, you could certainly convene a meeting at any time. However, the banquet is ready, or perhaps you might prefer to first..."
Joseph smiled and nodded. "Thank you for your efforts, Comte de Montsoreau."
He checked his pocket watch. It was half past one in the afternoon. "Then let's begin at three o'clock."
"As Your Gracious Highness wishes."
The carriages drove through the crowds, Joseph occasionally waving to the welcoming citizens. Eman's appointed staff, in a carriage behind, traditionally scattered small coins and candies to the people.
The heart of Bordeaux—the Palais de la Bourse square—had already been secured by Clauzel and his guards. Joseph didn't even go to the villa Montsoreau had prepared for him to rest, heading directly to the Palais de la Bourse to prepare for the three o'clock meeting.
The potatoes would be arriving soon, and he didn't want to waste a single minute.
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