Chapter 122: The Disgrace of the French Guards
Once all the plantation owners had signed contracts to cultivate potatoes, Joseph affably stated that dedicated personnel would soon handle their admission into the French Brewing Technology Association and teach their brewers the relevant techniques.
Finally, he warmly cautioned everyone to beware of unauthorized wineries illicitly using the new brewing methods.
Pasteurization, at its core, was quite simple: controlling the temperature and heating time. Anyone exposed to it could easily leak the method. However, France now had Patent Law and a Patent Office. If anyone dared to use patented technology without permission, they could expect to face bankruptcy from damages.
The plantation owners present immediately declared with shared animosity that they would do their utmost to diligently oversee this.
Competitors were enemies, and they eagerly wished for fewer rivals to improve their own sales. Moreover, they had paid membership fees and patent usage fees; how could they sit back and watch those who hadn't joined 'free-ride'?
Some were even already contemplating how to acquire the properties of Comte de Leudeny and others at a low price once they went bankrupt.
Joseph then praised everyone's loyalty to the King before leaving the Arsen Wine Cellar.
Upon reaching the gates of Arsen Estate, he suddenly tapped his forehead. 'How could I forget him?' he thought. He then instructed Eman, "Count Eman, please be so kind as to invite Mr. Vergniaud over."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Inside the carriage, Joseph smiled at Vergniaud. "Mr. Vergniaud, you see, just as I said, everyone will be very eager to cultivate potatoes."
Vergniaud naturally remembered their wager and immediately replied in a tone filled with admiration, "Your Highness, your actions simply astound me. Please, give your orders; whatever is within my power, I will do my utmost to fulfill."
Joseph nodded with satisfaction. "Then I thank you in advance for the efforts you are about to undertake. The promotion of potato cultivation in Bordeaux has achieved considerable success. There are similar regions where this method can also be promoted, such as Burgundy and Provence."
Upon hearing this, Vergniaud immediately understood the Crown Prince's intent, and his eyes lit up. Burgundy and Provence were both wine-producing regions; although their output was not as high as Bordeaux's, winemaking was of significant importance in those areas too.
As long as the new brewing technology was used as bait, following Bordeaux's script, he believed many plantation owners would be willing to cultivate potatoes.
Joseph added, "Oh, and Brittany and Normandy can also promote potatoes in this manner."
"Ah?" Vergniaud was greatly puzzled. "Your Highness, but these regions do not produce wine..."
Joseph smiled faintly. "But they have a beer industry. My brewing technology is not only effective for wine but also for beer and spirits."
Vergniaud's eyes widened. "This technology is truly unimaginable!"
"It can even be used to preserve milk," Joseph added casually, looking at Vergniaud and chuckling. "I hope you can go to these regions on my behalf to promote potato cultivation using this brewing technology. Of course, I will provide you with the necessary personnel."
Vergniaud possessed excellent oratorical skills and was very dedicated to potato cultivation, making him the ideal candidate for these tasks. With him traveling back and forth, Joseph would save a great deal of energy.
Vergniaud immediately bowed, placing a hand over his chest. "Your Highness, it is an honor to serve you! I will certainly ensure your satisfaction!"
He then discussed some important details of the "potatoes for technology" exchange with Joseph, finally unable to resist asking what had lately been his greatest curiosity. "Your Highness, could you tell me how you managed to significantly increase both the brewing success rate and quality, even though you haven't been involved in the brewing process yourself?"
Joseph didn't hide it, as Patent Law protected him and he had no fear of him leaking it. "Mr. Vergniaud, brewing failures and poor quality are both related to wine turning sour. Do you know where the sourness comes from?"
Vergniaud, who operated a wine cellar and was quite knowledgeable, immediately replied, "There are usually several possibilities, such as poor grape quality or inaccurate control of brewing time..."
Joseph waited for him to finish, then smiled and shook his head. "The factors you mentioned might have an impact, but they are not the root cause."
Vergniaud immediately widened his eyes. "The root cause? What is it?"
"Lactic acid bacteria."
"Lactic acid bacteria?" Vergniaud froze. "Is that a type of bacteria?"
Joseph nodded. "Exactly, it's what's used to make yogurt."
"But that's yeast," Vergniaud blurted out.
"That's merely a misconception," Joseph corrected. "In fact, it's something completely different from yeast. It breaks down proteins or sugars, releasing lactic acid, which is the source of the sourness in wine.
"And these bacteria are ubiquitous in nature, so when brewing, they easily mix into grape must or water, causing the wine to turn sour."
"Fortunately, they are very fragile. They only need to remain in a 60-degree Celsius environment for half an hour, and they will be completely eliminated."
Vergniaud said thoughtfully, "According to you, simply heating the brewing ingredients to 60 degrees Celsius and maintaining that for half an hour will solve all the problems?"
"Indeed so."
Vergniaud's face was filled with disbelief. "It's really that simple?!"
"That's how science often is," Joseph smiled, nodding. "Once the process of discovery is set aside, the conclusions are often not complicated."
Early the next morning, as Joseph was having his luggage packed, preparing to return to Paris, Governor Monsellot and Vergniaud suddenly arrived at his room.
Joseph was somewhat surprised. There were still two hours until his scheduled departure time; why had these two come so early to see him off?
After exchanging greetings, Monsellot said, looking rather troubled, "Your Highness, please forgive me first, but after discussing it with Mr. Vergniaud, we thought it best to discuss this with you."
"What is it? Please, speak."
"It is this: Vicomte Joubert, Vicomte de Vienne, and Baron de Chapelier wish for an opportunity to pledge loyalty to His Majesty the King. That is to say, they want to cultivate some potatoes."
Seeing that the Crown Prince had no recollection of these names, Vergniaud hastily reminded him from the side, "Your Highness, they did not attend the second day's meeting."
Monsellot continued, "Your Highness, they have stated that they are willing to sow potatoes on half of their plantation area."
Joseph frowned. Vergniaud hastily interjected, "Your Highness, they realize their mistake and are begging for your clemency..."
Joseph knew these three had also paid a hefty price; just to enlist the Governor as a lobbyist would cost a considerable sum.
They had refused his generous offer, so now they would face steeper demands. Since that was the case, he would make them bleed a little more; it was good to have more potatoes planted anyway.
Thus, he said with a cold expression, "Tell them to sow potatoes on two-thirds of their plantation area, and double their membership fees. That's my decision."
Monsellot's expression relaxed, and he bowed deeply and respectfully. "Yes, Your Highness, they will surely be grateful for your mercy and generosity."
As for the other nobles who had not yet received the news, or were still hesitating, they had lost their last chance to join the French Brewing Technology Association. A bleak future awaited them.
...
Several days later, the Crown Prince's convoy entered Paris.
Looking out through the carriage window, Joseph saw that many public latrines had been constructed along the streets, with citizens going in and out of them. Occasionally, he would also spot carts filled with manure, being pulled by horses out of the city.
Posters declaring "No Public Urination or Defecation" were plastered everywhere, and police officers glared menacingly at passersby. If anyone made any gesture as if to relieve themselves publicly, they would immediately blow their whistles and rush over to reprimand them.
The effect was also very significant; the amount of excrement on the streets had decreased by seventy to eighty percent. Yet, there were still stragglers who would relieve themselves in public, leaving traces. This was not surprising; cultivating habits of public hygiene among the populace certainly couldn't be achieved overnight.
At this time, Paris was already considered quite clean and orderly among the major European cities.
Joseph took a deep breath. The city air felt much fresher; he no longer had that constant feeling of walking through a latrine.
As the carriage passed the Seine River, Joseph wondered if it was just his imagination, but he even felt that the river water appeared clearer.
In reality, as the amount of street excrement decreased, the filth washed into the Seine by rainwater had indeed decreased significantly. Even Parisian citizens drawing water from the river could vaguely sense that the river water was starting to taste 'fresher'.
This also prompted them to pay more attention to public urination and defecation. Many citizens had already begun reporting those who relieved themselves on the streets to the police.
When the carriage passed a relatively secluded public latrine, Joseph ordered it to stop. He then dismounted and curiously went inside to experience it firsthand.
Inside was a large pit latrine, divided into four squatting stalls by wooden partitions, which thoughtfully had handrails installed. Opposite the squatting stalls was a long row of urinals. Overall, it was quite respectable.
Joseph relieved himself and emerged from the latrine, feeling satisfied. After a few steps, he suddenly felt as if something was amiss.
He turned around to look. 'It seemed everything that should be there was there...'
Suddenly, it dawned on him, and his face immediately darkened. 'This public latrine only has one entrance, which meant it was only a men's latrine?!'
He recalled the public latrines he had seen along the way, then pulled Eman aside to ask, and finally confirmed that indeed all of them were men's latrines only.
Once Eman understood the Crown Prince's displeasure, he tried to explain, "Your Highness, perhaps they assumed ladies rarely relieve themselves in the street."
Joseph sighed. 'They're truly a handful,' he thought. 'He couldn't even miss a single detail in his instructions.'...
The convoy restarted. As they gradually neared the city center, promotional posters for Fashion Week began to appear along the streets. Directional signs with arrows, written in multiple languages, had been added at intersections.
According to Joseph's arrangements, the Fashion Week advertisements had already begun to circulate across Europe over a month ago, with advertising fees alone costing over 100,000 livres.
The results were notable, however. The focus of conversation among nobles across Europe was now the Paris Fashion Week, and over seventy percent of the luxury hotels in the Tuileries Palace area were already booked.
It was clear that once Fashion Week officially opened, a flood of foreign visitors would pour into Paris, lavishly spending their gold coins, creating an event that would go down in history.
...
In a villa in the southern suburbs of Paris, a soirée was being held.
Most of those in attendance were military officers. Their clique wasn't fond of salons, so soirées had become their most common form of socializing.
In an inconspicuous corner of the soirée, a major with discolored teeth swirled the wine glass in his hand and said in a low voice, "Aurore, tell me about the routine activities of those contemptible police."
The tall, slender lieutenant beside him respectfully nodded and lowered his voice. "I had someone watch the police training ground for over ten days and found that they conducted artillery training every three days..."
The surrounding officers instantly showed expressions of disdain:
"A bunch of damn police actually got their hands on artillery!"
"Hmph, they'll be lucky if they don't fire shells into their own camp."
"Indeed, artillery isn't something people like them can operate!"
Aurore continued to describe the police academy's situation. "On the days they train artillery, they practice once in the morning and once in the afternoon, with an interval..."
After he finished, the major with discolored teeth asked again, "Have the conditions of the surrounding villages been thoroughly investigated?"
Aurore nodded, pulled out a piece of paper, and pointed to a rectangle in the center. "This is that accursed training ground, and these circles next to it represent farmhouses."
The major with discolored teeth looked for a moment, then tapped a circle on the northern side with his finger. "How far is this from the police training ground?"
"Half a li," Aurore replied.
"A bit too far," the major said. "What about here?"
"A little over one-third of a li."
"Good, this is the one. There's also a dense forest nearby." The major with discolored teeth smirked coldly. "Cécilien, you and your men will handle security."
He pointed to the northern side of the training ground on the map and said, "Right here. Aurore, you are responsible for transporting the cannons and moving them away after the deed is done. If anything goes wrong, hide in this dense forest first.
"According to your information, the police's last training session is just after 4 PM. If you just stall for a bit, night will fall, and then you can return to the barracks at your leisure."
"Yes!"
The major with discolored teeth then looked at the short, fair-haired man sitting opposite him. "Camus, you and your men are responsible for the firing. You only get one shot; you must hit that farmhouse, and then quickly retreat into Paris."
"Understood, don't worry."
"Aurore, when is their next training?"
"The day after tomorrow, sir."
"Good. Tomorrow, you will familiarize yourselves with the terrain again. Then, we act the day after tomorrow." The major with discolored teeth raised his glass and declared fiercely, "Cheers! Those despicable police dare to insult a general and the French Guards! This time, we must leave them with a lasting memory!"
These men were indeed officers of the French Guards.
The last time, when French Guards commander Besenval was forced to retreat at gunpoint by police officers outside the police academy's training ground, he considered it a great humiliation and blamed the dean of the police academy and the Paris Commissioner of Police for it all.
Of course, Besenval, as a high-ranking officer, knew that dealing with these two required political maneuvering, but his subordinates, however, only wanted immediate revenge.
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