The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 210

Chapter 210: The North African Development Plan

As the nobles in the Hall of Mirrors concluded their bows, the murmurs of admiration gradually subsided. Queen Marie turned her gaze toward Joseph, her expression filled with affection and pride:

"And my brilliant son, your Crown Prince! As everyone knows, the plan to travel to North Africa and strike against the Barbary pirates was his original idea. He also provided many critical suggestions for its implementation. Finally, we have achieved this great victory!"

Indeed, she had first praised her husband earlier purely to save face for His Majesty the King. From the very beginning, her true intention was to commend her cherished son.

Recalling her son's past remarkable performances, the Queen couldn't help but smile. First, it was Joseph's proposal to collaborate with America in combating the pirates, saving France a substantial amount of money and earning gratitude from both America and Russia.

Then, just last month, Joseph suggested deploying the newly established Berthier Corps to North Africa for support. Initially, she thought they were simply going to assist the navy. Unexpectedly, this small corps of 3,000 soldiers ended up completely dismantling the pirates' stronghold and even helped the young King of Tunisia reclaim his throne, winning France tremendous advantages in Tunisia.

Yes, the Queen only knew about the deployment of the 3,000 soldiers of the Berthier Corps. As for the 1,100 police academy cadets, they had gone abroad on a "vacation" funded by the Crown Prince himself, a fact he had never reported to her.

The nobles in the Hall of Mirrors immediately bowed once more to Joseph, showering him with lavish praise:

"The Crown Prince will bring a bright future to France!"
"Praise the Son of God!"
"France's finest heir..."
"His Highness is the embodiment of talent and wisdom..."

Even though Joseph, after nearly a year of "training," had developed some immunity to such flattery, he still felt goosebumps all over.

Standing nearby, Louis XVI beamed with pride as he patted his son's shoulder, looking even happier than when the nobles had praised him earlier.

As for the Queen, her thoughts were simple and repetitive: My son’s exceptional judgment and ability—he is truly my bloodline...

The noble young ladies in the hall gazed at Joseph with adoration and infatuation. The Crown Prince was still the most outstanding, the most handsome, the most ideal dream lover!

And compared to last year, His Highness seemed to have gained something extra.

Yes, he had clearly grown taller and more robust, and even his Adam’s apple was more prominent! Clearly...

At this thought, the young ladies blushed deeply. His Highness was now undeniably "mature."

Now, the question was: how could one be the first to lure him to bed? After all, he still did not have an official mistress!

They paid no attention to Clementine, who was trying her best to appear "adorably fierce" by Joseph’s side. After observing her for months, everyone knew that the Tuscan princess, despite her loud demeanor, was actually quite easygoing and, most importantly, had little scheming nature.

This only encouraged the young ladies to act on their ambitions. After all, Versailles had always operated on this principle: a Crown Princess is a Crown Princess, and mistresses are mistresses. Everything can be discussed...

As the voices of praise quieted, Louis XVI and Queen Marie stepped into the center of the hall, beginning the opening dance to Handel’s Water Music.

In the back of the hall, a young noble in a brown coat watched the grand celebration with some confusion, muttering to himself:

"Is it really necessary to hold such a lavish ceremony just for catching a few pirates? They didn’t use to celebrate like this when pirates were caught before..."

A middle-aged noble standing nearby overheard him and immediately corrected him:
"This celebration isn’t just about defeating pirates. Look here—France spent almost nothing, deployed only 3,000 soldiers, and secured enormous benefits in North Africa."

"Indeed," another, a rotund man, nodded. "According to the reports, we’ll soon be able to purchase land in Tunisia and establish factories. Additionally, France now enjoys most-favored-nation status for tariffs in Tunisia."

He chuckled. "In essence, apart from not having the power to appoint officials, Tunisia is almost a French colony now."

The young noble’s eyes widened in shock. "I see! In that case, such a celebration is indeed warranted. Since the Seven Years' War, France has struggled to gain overseas benefits due to British interference!"

The rotund man chimed in:
"And Tunisia is a wonderful place—fertile land, rich in iron, and abundant in olives. It’s quite prosperous."

"In a few years, it could bring substantial revenue to France. The Minister of Finance will surely be delighted."

"Ha! God bless the King, and God bless France!"

"God bless the King!"

Unlike most of the hall’s jubilant attendees, a small group of nobles with military backgrounds near the orchestra seemed less pleased.

One officer whispered, "Does anyone know the origins of this Berthier Corps?"

Another answered, lowering his voice:
"It seems Berthier was formerly under General Custine and later came to Paris through a recommendation from Baron de Bréteuil. After the French Guard incident, he took over some of their forces and formed this corps."

"So, he must be quite wealthy. Otherwise, how could he have risen so quickly?"

A fifty-something officer with deeply lined eyes interrupted, grumbling:
"I don’t care about his background. I just want to know how he dared to move troops to North Africa without informing us! I heard even the Marquis de Saint-Priest wasn’t aware of the deployment!"

These military nobles had long formed an "interest alliance," monopolizing control over military resources. Any large-scale troop movement required their consensus; otherwise, the involved officer would face ostracism, or a campaign could cost five million livres when it should have cost only one.

"It was a direct royal order," another officer explained. "The Minister of War wasn’t consulted."

"How is that acceptable?" the older officer exclaimed, his voice rising in agitation. "We can’t allow this precedent! I mean, the royal family using force at will—"

The others quickly signaled for him to lower his voice. Fortunately, the music was loud enough that no other nobles overheard.

Beyond political concerns, if their people had been sent to North Africa, they could have profited handsomely, pocketing millions of livres. With Berthier’s independent action, that money was now out of reach.

The other officers nodded in agreement.
"The royal family is bypassing us."
"We must ensure they don’t gain control over the army."

However, a younger officer waved dismissively. "General Astier, there’s no need to overreact.

...

“It’s just a small corps of about 3,000 men. They can’t accomplish much.”

“Like this time—if it weren’t for their luck in encountering the Tunisian coup, with their limited numbers, they wouldn’t have been able to enter Tunis at all.”

“In the future, when it comes to truly large-scale battles, the royal family will still have to rely on us. When that time comes, we can use the issue of the Berthier Corps’ jurisdiction to negotiate with the royal family.”

“Won’t that resolve everything?”

...

After the King and Queen concluded their opening dance, Joseph stepped up for the customary second dance. Naturally, his partner was Clementine.

It was still the simplest sarabande, and the stark difference in their heights made their poses as they spun politely in place seem all the more awkward.

It was undoubtedly the most awkward scene in the entire hall.

Once the dance ended, Joseph quickly escaped to a quiet corner. Soon after, Mirabeau, who also disliked dancing, joined him and began discussing plans for investment in Tunisia.

Originally, this task should have been handled by the Minister of the Interior, but Joseph knew Count Morneau’s limited capabilities. Therefore, he entrusted Mirabeau with the planning, intending to submit it directly to the cabinet for approval.

However, when Mirabeau mentioned that the plan aimed to “send 50,000 people to Tunisia over three to four years,” Joseph couldn’t help but frown slightly.

In his view, it would be ideal to harvest a substantial amount of grain from Tunisia next year to alleviate France’s grain shortage. If they could simultaneously generate industrial and trade income on a significant scale, that would be even better.

But if it would take three to four years to relocate just 50,000 people, the impact would be negligible.

“Can’t the pace and scale of immigration be increased?” he asked Mirabeau.

“Your Highness, this is the fastest plan we could devise after careful consideration,” Mirabeau replied, troubled. “You know, although land in Tunisia is cheap, purchasing large tracts still requires a lot of money. Additionally, the travel expenses, resettlement costs, and the fact that there’s no immediate production in the first six months mean that only those with substantial savings could even consider going.”

“And wealthy people are rarely willing to leave France, given that North Africa’s environment isn’t exactly comfortable. Only when the first settlers there start making money and the news spreads back home will more capable individuals be willing to take the risk. But it will take time to reach such a scale.”

Hearing this, Joseph fell into silent contemplation.

It seemed that he had oversimplified the issue.

The real world was nothing like playing a strategy game, where a mere click of a mouse could mobilize tens of thousands of people to execute an order immediately.

Convincing individuals to invest their savings and risk their lives venturing into unfamiliar lands was no easy task.

Did this mean that the achievements in North Africa couldn’t be converted into tangible benefits in the short term?

Searching his mind for examples of immigration, Joseph’s eyes suddenly lit up. A century later, the Americans’ massive westward migration would become the perfect template. They could replicate the North African Development Plan, modeled on the American frontier expansion.

After organizing his thoughts, Joseph said to Mirabeau, “Perhaps we need a different perspective to solve this problem.”

“What do you mean, Your Highness?”

“If the wealthy are unwilling to endure hardships in North Africa, then let the poor go!”

Mirabeau froze for a moment, then shook his head. “Your Highness, that’s unlikely... The poor can’t even afford the necessary travel expenses.”

“The government can provide loans,” Joseph said, borrowing from the American method and adapting it to France’s circumstances. “Travel costs, seed money, farming tools, even the living expenses for the first six months—all of it can be loaned to French farmers through banks. Would 300 livres per person suffice?”

“That... wouldn’t even be necessary, Your Highness. Around 200 livres per person should be enough. If we organize a fleet for mass transportation, it could cost even less.”

“Excellent,” Joseph nodded. “As for the land, the banks can purchase it from the Tunisians and hand it directly to the farmers for cultivation. After farming for ten years, the land will belong to them. During that time, they’ll only need to pay the government a portion of their harvest.”

“Tunisian soil is fertile. They’ll be able to repay the loans with their harvests in no time.”

Mirabeau was stunned. “Your Highness, such an approach would require significant government spending—likely tens of millions of livres.”

“It would still be worth it!”

Joseph was well aware that the drought this year and next would lead to a massive reduction in crop yields. By the middle of next year, famine would be unavoidable. At that point, the government would have to spend enormous sums on grain purchases for disaster relief.

It would be better to invest some of that money in Tunisia now. The resulting grain harvests could similarly mitigate the famine, and Tunisia would become a stable source of food—a region with ample sunshine and rain, capable of producing three harvests a year.

“Before long, Tunisia’s abundant resources will pay back the initial investment.”

Mirabeau pondered this and slowly nodded. Indeed, as the Crown Prince said, if the French population in Tunisia increased, the region’s iron products, olives, and livestock could be developed to meet the growing demand. These could then be sold throughout North Africa.

Suddenly, another issue came to Mirabeau’s mind. “Your Highness, with such a large investment, won’t our finances—”

“I’ll find a way to address that,” Joseph sighed, considering the possibility of creating a Tunisian Development Fund to attract private investment. However, he was unsure how much domestic capital would be interested in North Africa.

If necessary, they could issue high-interest bonds. Fortunately, France’s debt had somewhat stabilized, and the current financial situation might barely sustain such a measure.

Still, this would drive up national debt interest rates, which had only recently decreased.

Sigh, money... why is it so hard to earn?

...

England.
London.
St. James’s Palace, Parliament Hall.

“It’s evident that the French have outmaneuvered us,” a bespectacled MP remarked, casting a mocking glance at the Duke of Leeds, the Foreign Secretary. “We squandered £400,000 strengthening the coastal defenses of our irrelevant North African ‘neighbor,’ Algiers—oh, and let’s not forget those dozens of cannons.”

“And yet, we can only watch as France reaps the benefits in Tunisia, gaining privileges nearly equivalent to colonial control.”

The Duke of Leeds clenched his fists under the table. These Whig opportunists had been enjoying their lives in London’s grand mansions while he endured the Mediterranean’s gales, dining on salt meat and sour wine.

Yet now, they had the audacity to criticize him!

His eyelid twitched, but he forced a smile. “James, you must be mistaken. It was £360,000—I didn’t even use the full budget.”

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