The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 155

Chapter 155: The Crown Prince and the Illegitimate Child

Madame Walsh left her room number at the Tuileries Palace with the staff of the Paris Angel Trading Company. The staff respectfully informed her that the items she purchased might not be delivered until the next morning.

There was no alternative. Despite spending 300 livres on cosmetics, the influx of customers brought by Fashion Week had overwhelmed the store's delivery service, even with their couriers working overtime for 18 hours a day. This was already an expedited privilege for her gold card membership.

Afterward, the Walsh couple visited a carriage shop and ordered the latest "royal model" carriage for 800 livres—600 for the carriage itself and 200 for its transport to the British port.

Next, they headed to the Louvre District to visit the Royal Museum.

In the carriage, Madame Walsh admired the clean, orderly streets of Paris. She squinted, took a deep breath, and couldn’t help but exclaim, “This is so much cleaner than London! Even the air smells sweet.”

Mr. Walsh nodded in agreement. “Indeed, there’s not a trace of filth on the streets. Sometimes, I have to admire the French for their civility in this regard.”

Madame Walsh soon noticed a peculiar square building and pointed it out, asking their guide about it.

The guide hesitated before explaining awkwardly, “Ah, madam, that is a public restroom, a place for passersby to relieve themselves.”

Madame Walsh immediately felt embarrassed by her lack of worldly knowledge and mumbled, “No wonder the streets are so clean. When will Britain learn from this?”

She silently vowed to study French upon returning home; not recognizing a restroom was a humiliation she wouldn’t allow herself to repeat.

Mr. Walsh leaned back in his seat, yawning. “Ah—I don’t want to return to London. Compared to this place, London feels like a garbage heap...”

The guide’s eyes lit up with delight at his words. Seizing the moment, he gestured toward the direction of the Tuileries Palace Garden and smiled. “Mr. Walsh, perhaps you could consider buying a villa in the ‘Royal Garden.’ Then you could spend more time in Paris, especially during London’s rainy season—a vacation in Paris would be perfect.”

The so-called Tuileries Palace Garden was, in fact, a massive plot of land adjacent to the palace where Parisians frequently strolled after meals.

Walsh blinked and asked, “Are you referring to that large cluster of buildings under construction east of the Tuileries Palace?”

“Precisely, Mr. Walsh. They’ll be completed in three or four months,” replied the guide, whose enthusiasm was partly driven by personal gain—he earned a 500-livre commission for every villa sold through his recommendation. The carriage purchase earlier had already earned him 30 livres.

Walsh was intrigued. The proximity of the villas to the Tuileries Palace meant that from the windows, one could make out the intricate details of the sculptures outside the palace.

“What’s the price of those villas?” he inquired.

“Ah, the ones closest to the Tuileries Palace are priced at over 50,000 livres—around 2,000 pounds. Those near the public carriage route are about 1,900 pounds. There are also some farther out priced at 1,500 pounds.”

Walsh involuntarily sucked in a breath. Even with his considerable wealth, he couldn’t justify spending 2,000 pounds on a villa in France. A similarly luxurious villa in London wouldn’t exceed 1,000 pounds.

Noticing his hesitation, the guide quickly added, “These villas are an excellent investment, sir. They’re not just adjacent to the former royal palace. Look over there—that’s a school being built for elite children. Only residents of the ‘Royal Garden’ will have access to it, and members of the French Academy of Sciences are rumored to teach there.

“And over there—that’s Paris’s largest hospital...

“That’s a shopping center...

“To the south, there’s also a croquet field...”

Despite the tempting amenities, Walsh ultimately decided not to visit the villas—he feared he might not be able to resist buying one, which would strain his finances.

After touring Paris with his wife, they returned to the Tuileries Palace, where the afternoon’s fashion show had already started.

However, this time, only Madame Walsh attended the show. Her husband went straight to the gaming hall upon their return and enthusiastically threw himself into the “slot machines.”

Madame Walsh glanced at the empty seat beside her and muttered in surprise, “Why hasn’t Mr. Alvin come?”

Her British journalist friend was at that moment in a theater, nervously watching as Hunter Shaw searched for the “Magic Fire Seed” amidst molten lava on stage.

Indeed, Alvin lacked the funds to visit the gaming hall, let alone splurge on shopping. His newspaper had sent him to cover Fashion Week but provided him with only a modest expense account.

Fortunately, he could afford theater tickets. Hoping to pass the time, he decided to watch a play, unaware that he would become so engrossed that he couldn’t pull himself away.

The play Breaking Through the Heavens was utterly captivating, with its thrilling plot stirring his emotions.

The theater was running a ten-show marathon, so Alvin purchased a full pass and spent an entire day in the venue, forgetting about his assignment to cover the fashion show.

It wasn’t until the actors, exhausted from the triple shifts, had to stop for the day that he remembered his unfinished work.

On his way back to the fashion show, he resolved to translate the play into English and bring it to London’s stages.

In the Tuileries Palace gaming hall, Mr. Walsh, dejected after losing ten consecutive rounds, rubbed his hands together before preparing to insert another coin. Just then, he heard a young man’s wild shout behind him: “Amazing, haha! Did you see that?!”

Frowning, he turned to see a flamboyantly dressed young man of Russian descent in a red coat monopolizing four slot machines at once. One of the machines displayed three knight symbols—a jackpot worth thirty times the bet!

Walsh felt a pang of envy.

The young Russian nonchalantly collected the coins spilling from the machine and continued feeding them into all four machines, pulling the handles with frantic energy as his bloodshot eyes darted among the spinning reels.

This time, none of the machines hit. Undeterred, the Russian man kept gambling, his feverish excitement growing as the sound of coins clinking onto the floor echoed once again.

At that moment, Viscount Fresselles, the Fashion Week committee chair, approached with a small entourage. Politely, he advised, “Count Bobrinsky, you’ve been playing for a full day and night without eating. For your health, I recommend taking a break.”

“Get out of my way! Don’t block me!” snapped the young man.

Before his words faded, several burly bodyguards stepped forward, forming a wall to push Fresselles and his group back.

Helpless, Fresselles quietly instructed a security inspector accompanying him before leaving.

The police officers stationed nearby discreetly watched over Count Bobrinsky, prepared to summon a doctor should he collapse or show signs of distress...

Joseph walked wearily out of the southern gate of the Tuileries Palace.

Queen Marie Antoinette had agreed to act as the image ambassador for Fashion Week, requiring her to deliver a speech every two days. Naturally, he had to accompany her.

Fortunately, the construction of an east-west wooden railway spanning four leagues across the city made travel to the city center more convenient. After entering the city, it only took a little over twenty minutes to reach the Tuileries Palace, saving the Queen a significant amount of time.

According to the plan, the railway would extend westward to connect Paris and the Palace of Versailles.

When completed, it would take just over an hour to travel from Versailles to the city, reducing travel time by nearly 70%.

This wooden railway, though expensive, cost 50,000 livres per league—equivalent to four kilometers—even after William Murdoch brought in British track-laying craftsmen who used new methods to reduce costs. If French craftsmen had done the work, the cost would have been 10,000 more.

However, the railway’s ability to enable the nobles of Versailles to travel conveniently to Paris could increase the city's annual commercial revenue by at least one million livres. Shorter travel times meant the nobles had more time for shopping and entertainment, and even those who previously found the trip too inconvenient would visit Paris more frequently.

Joseph stretched his arms and caught sight of a life-sized oil painting, Son of God, hanging prominently in the palace hall. Queen Marie was particularly fond of this piece. Knowing that many foreign dignitaries would attend Fashion Week, she had commissioned a replica to be displayed here, ensuring her son’s presence was felt.

Joseph shook his head in embarrassment. While pondering whether to have Fouché arrange for the painting to be "stolen" one night, he saw Viscount Fresselles approach with a troubled expression.

The latter nearly bumped into the Crown Prince before realizing it, hastily stopping to bow.

Joseph smiled and asked, "Viscount Fresselles, what seems to be troubling you?"

Fresselles hesitated for a moment before responding, "Your Highness, Count Bobrinsky of Russia has been gambling in the gaming hall for an entire day and night, refusing even to eat. I've tried persuading him several times to no avail. You understand, given his status, if anything were to happen..."

"Count Bobrinsky?"

Joseph furrowed his brows slightly. Eymond immediately leaned in and whispered, "Your Highness, he is the illegitimate son of the Empress of Russia. He's been loitering in Paris for years and is known to many nobles."

Joseph nodded in realization. "Alexei?"

"Yes, Your Highness, that is indeed his name."

Joseph narrowed his eyes. So, Catherine II's youngest son, the younger brother of the future Tsar Paul I, had come to participate in Fashion Week as well.

He suddenly recalled that in the Russian drama Catherine the Great, Alexei was depicted as traveling the world from a young age to avoid threatening his brother's succession. However, his excessive indulgence eventually forced Catherine to summon him back to Russia. Shortly after, he was exiled to a remote town for reflection.

France was currently seeking an alliance with Russia to advance its North African strategy. Alexei, who enjoyed Catherine II's favor, presented a perfect opportunity for dialogue, perhaps yielding unexpected benefits.

Joseph gestured to Fresselles. "Lead the way; I’ll try to reason with him."

"Oh, thank you so much, Your Highness."

...

Inside the gaming hall, Alexei was enthusiastically feeding coins into a slot machine when a poised young man appeared before him, smiling down at him.

Alexei’s expression shifted briefly before he returned his attention to the lever, muttering, "What do you want? Please step aside."

Joseph watched as Alexei inserted a silver coin, then reached out to pull the lever with force. Smiling, he said, "I remember that when I was young and unwell, I was sent to recover at Meudon Castle.

"You know, there were no tutors or etiquette officers there, so I could ride horses, climb trees—enjoy complete freedom.

"Whenever my studies became too oppressive, I’d feign illness to ‘recuperate’ there for months.

"Once, I wanted my ‘vacation’ to last an entire year, so I pretended to have a grave illness, on the verge of death. I thought I had outsmarted everyone.

"But do you know what happened? My mother was so worried that she summoned all the court physicians to treat me, including bloodletting and enemas. It was tormenting!

"In the end, I had to ‘recover’ on my own, only for her to announce that I would henceforth remain at Versailles under her watchful eye, never to return to Meudon Castle again.

"Don’t you think I was foolish then?"

Alexei froze briefly before realizing the Crown Prince’s point. Upon seeing Joseph earlier, Alexei had immediately recalled the Son of God painting. Like the Crown Prince, he had feigned indulgence and frivolity to avoid political struggles and to secure his brother Paul's succession.

However, as Joseph had just implied, if he overplayed his hand, it could provoke his mother’s concern, tethering him firmly to her control.

He stepped back, dropping his playful demeanor, and bowed respectfully, speaking fluent French. "Thank you for the advice, Your Highness. I gather you’re aware of my identity. It’s an honor to meet you here."

"Indeed, Count Bobrinsky," Joseph replied with a smile and returned the bow. "I believe you now need dinner and a good night’s rest. If you refuse, I will have no choice but to temporarily close this gaming hall."

...

As they made their way to the dining hall, Joseph continued the conversation, "I’ve heard rumors about you."

Alexei, groggy from exhaustion, chuckled. "It seems I’m rather well-known, Your Highness."

"What I mean is that if you keep up this behavior, Her Majesty the Empress might soon recall you to Russia."

Alexei shrugged. "Perhaps."

In truth, he had already heard whispers from St. Petersburg: his mother had inquired multiple times with the French ambassador about his situation and seemed inclined to summon him back.

But what could he do? His brother’s claim to the throne remained precarious. Deeply loyal to Paul, Alexei wished to avoid adding pressure. His only recourse was to maintain his guise as a carefree libertine.

Muttering, he said, "This is the only path available to me."

Kessold had already inspected the private dining room with the guard and signaled Joseph that it was secure.

Joseph escorted Alexei into the room and, gesturing toward the menu, remarked, "What would you like to eat?

"Actually, there’s much you can do—things unrelated to politics. And those pursuits might even take you further from St. Petersburg."

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