Chapter 927: The Crown Prince's World Cup
The court conductor raised his baton with a flourish, and the final notes of Bach's Orchestral Suite No. 1 faded into silence.
Joseph made his way toward the sidelines, with Sophie still buzzing in his ear.
"Rumor has it that Madame Adelaide was once head over heels for one of her guards," she whispered conspiratorially. "But His Majesty Louis XV sent the man packing to a remote mountain range with a measly four thousand livres."
"Ever since then, the poor woman has been desperately hoarding her dowry just so she could finally get married. She is sitting on a fortune now, but her youth has long since withered away..."
Joseph escorted her back to the circle of noble young ladies before returning to Archbishop Brienne.
"Your Highness, your dancing has truly become exquisite," Brienne began with the customary flattery.
"Indeed. Even Viscount Lejeune was full of praise for that last pirouette," another added.
"Your Highness's steps were in perfect harmony with the soul of the music..."
While the routine praise continued, it was hard to find many genuine highlights in the Crown Prince's dancing. Consequently, the group quickly steered the conversation back to official business.
Joseph nodded slightly.
"Happiness therapy" had always been an effective tool for quelling unrest. If the masses were preoccupied with a singing and dancing competition, they would naturally overlook their impulses to riot. Especially when their bellies were full, wouldn't a legitimate cash prize be much more appealing?
However, Joseph soon realized that the cornerstone of the Star of France's success was holding the finals at Versailles, with the Queen herself presenting the awards. Without the prestige of the palace, the event would lose much of its luster.
He pondered what kind of activity would be better suited for a "peripheral region" like the Rhineland.
Fashion Week was immediately ruled out. The World Expo was already underway in Paris. The Supreme Louis Prize required a more cultured atmosphere, perhaps somewhere like Italy.
The "Olympic Games"—or the Future and Peace Games—would be suitable for the German-speaking regions, but it wasn't a scheduled year.
At that thought, Joseph couldn't help but chuckle. After all, who said a sporting event needed a specific reason to be established? 'Why not just start a football "World Cup"?' he thought. In his previous life, he never had the chance to attend a World Cup in person. Now, he could create one himself and watch as many live matches as he pleased.
He turned to Mirabeau. "The 'Star of France' isn't quite right for the Rhineland. I intend to host a 'World Football Hercules Cup' in Cologne instead. Football allows for more participants and doesn't require a band or a formal hall. All you need is a patch of open ground, which fits the conditions of the Rhineland much better."
Indeed, the Rhineland of this era was not the highly developed industrial hub of the future; it was quite impoverished. There weren't many theaters suitable for grand performances.
Mirabeau hesitated. "Your Highness, football is popular here, but in the German... ah, the German-speaking regions, few people are familiar with the sport."
Joseph's Church-led promotion of football in France over the last two years had made it a hit, but it hadn't crossed the borders yet. Still, Joseph remained confident.
"With proper promotion, the German-speaking regions will become obsessed with it in no time."
He knew all too well how fanatical the Germans of the future were about football. That region was a major beer producer, and the combination of beer and football would be more intoxicating to them than any drug. Given the lack of entertainment in this era, a fun sport with a cash prize would draw people in like moths to a flame.
Joseph continued, "I want you to oversee the distribution of five thousand free footballs to the Rhineland as soon as possible, so the locals can practice."
In this era, footballs were made of stitched leather with an inflated pig's bladder inside, making them quite expensive. Joseph had previously ordered them to be made with flexible wooden strips as a frame covered in leather, which lowered the cost, but they still cost ten francs each—far too much for an average family. Even in France, more than seventy percent of footballs were provided for free by the Church.
Joseph then briefly outlined the tournament format, the awards, and the prize money. Mirabeau nodded along as he listened. It was, of course, a collection of mature commercial strategies from the future—engraving the winner's name on the trophy, "sudden death" rules, and the Golden Boot and Golden Ball awards. It was designed for maximum hype.
Finally, Mirabeau offered another compliment. "Your Highness, the name you've chosen for the trophy is incredibly meaningful. Hercules... ah, just hearing that name, I can already feel the intensity of the competition!"
Joseph didn't elaborate. 'I just want to fulfill my dream of personally handing out the Hercules Cup,' he thought. 'As for Hercules? Who even is that guy?'
The ball concluded at ten o'clock that evening.
Joseph exited the Hall of Mirrors and whispered a few instructions to Eman. After the butler nodded and departed, Joseph deliberately slowed his pace. A moment later, Madame Adelaide, followed by her maids, hurried to catch up from behind.
Joseph acknowledged her with a nod. "You didn't seem particularly happy tonight."
"Thank you for your concern." His aunt forced a smile. "I... I was just remembering things from the past. I feel much better now."
Joseph smiled. "I wonder if you'd be interested in leaving Versailles for a while to clear your head? Perhaps to find a bit of romance?"
Madame Adelaide froze for a second before laughing behind her folding fan. "You are quite the humorist, Your Highness. At my age, I am perfectly content to spend my days weaving tapestries."
"I am being serious, dear Aunt Adelaide. I know of a suitable candidate. He's wealthy, handsome enough, and has a deep appreciation for the arts. I'm certain the two of you would get along."
Madame Adelaide laughed even harder. "Very well then, tell me: who is this gentleman?"
"Ercole III," Joseph replied. "The Duke of Modena."
She searched her memory for the name and nodded. "Yes, he was quite dashing when he was younger."
"So, do you agree?"
"Haha, Your Highness, I don't even know if my old bones could survive the jolting carriage ride to Italy."
Madame Adelaide clearly didn't take the proposal seriously, treating it as lighthearted banter. Joseph realized matchmaking was going to be more difficult than expected. He stopped walking and turned to her with a grave expression. "Aunt, Modena will soon expand. It will be more than double its current size."
"Is that so? How wonderful for them."
"So, do you wish to become its Queen? And I mean a Queen Regnant, not merely a King's consort."
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