The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 154

Chapter 154: Paris Fashion Week

March 11, 5 PM.

In the Tuileries Palace, newly adorned with countless ribbons, oil paintings, and advertisements, the much-anticipated Paris Fashion Week, now the focus of all Europe, was about to begin.

The Tuileries Palace, a castle-like structure surrounded by towering halls on all sides, enclosed a massive central square. Originally designed to serve as the king’s last fortress in times of emergency, this square was meant to be the royal parade ground for military exercises.

However, at this moment, the square was packed with thousands of visitors from various nations who had come to attend Fashion Week.

For those unwilling to pay for the expensive seats, many crowded into the gaps between the square and the buildings, craning their necks toward the grand T-shaped stage on the eastern side. Even standing room required a ticket costing 6 livres.

Thanks to Joseph’s aggressive promotion campaigns across various countries—with taglines like “Paris Fashion Week: For Those Who Truly Understand Fashion,” “Join Your Loved One for the Romance of Paris,” and “Let the Winds of Paris Fashion Week Carry Your Dreams”—the event had become the talk of Europe’s aristocratic circles.

Under such enormous hype, Paris Fashion Week became a focal point for nobility across the continent. Anyone who could afford the cost of a trip to Paris would never want to miss this grand occasion—failing to attend would mean losing face before those who had experienced it.

As a result, the number of visitors to Paris Fashion Week exceeded 100,000. Tickets for the opening ceremony, though priced steeply, had sold out a month in advance. Any noble wanting tickets afterward had to endure exorbitant markups, paying four to five times the original price through scalpers.

On the eastern side of the Tuileries Palace square, in the luxurious seating area closest to the T-stage—dubbed the “Golden Zone,” where tickets officially cost 80 livres each—a middle-aged Englishman with loose eye bags and large protruding ears sat in a black velvet coat. He gazed wide-eyed at the opulent Tuileries Palace, exclaiming in amazement:

“When I saw the newspaper ad that said, ‘Experience Royal Living at the Tuileries Palace,’ I thought it was just French exaggeration. But they really know how to put on a show.”

The young man beside him, holding a notebook and pen, smiled and nodded.
“Mr. Walsh, this Tuileries Palace was indeed the royal residence of the French.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Alvin,” Walsh nodded in surprise, then praised, “No wonder it’s so lavish! It seems my money was well spent this time.”

His wife chuckled and said,
“Dear, I recall you saying on the ship here that the French are only good at making food and frivolous things like clothes.”

“Well, I must admit, their palaces aren’t bad either,” he replied.

At that moment, the sound of graceful music echoed around them. Versailles’ Lord Chancellor, Baron Barondin, took the stage and delivered a lengthy opening speech in operatic tones.

Then, Queen Marie Antoinette appeared, dressed in a white formal gown with her hair styled nearly a foot and a half high. Flanked by attendants and maids, she stepped gracefully onto the stage. Fireworks lit up the sky.

French guards and officials surrounding the event immediately bowed their heads in respect. Visitors, astonished that the Queen of France herself—Europe’s icon of fashion and luxury—was present, hurriedly stood to nod politely in acknowledgment.

The atmosphere reached a climax.

Queen Marie smiled and greeted the crowd before beginning her speech, carefully scripted by her son:
“Welcome to Paris, the city of fashion and romance, and to Europe’s largest fashion celebration…”

Walsh, unable to understand French, could only hope the newspaper’s promise of “five fashion shows a day with hundreds of stunning beauties” would begin soon.

Fortunately, Queen Marie did not keep him waiting. After concluding with “May you all enjoy this wonderful week,” she returned to her room on the third floor of the Tuileries Palace, overlooking the stage.

A renowned singer performed next, followed by the main event: the fashion show.

As lively music played, three tall, beautiful models wearing the latest season’s glamorous gowns strode confidently down the T-stage.

The audience was stunned.

This was unlike anything they had ever seen!

The models weren’t mere mannequins showcasing clothing, nor were they using suggestive charm to draw attention. Their every movement exuded elegance and nobility, their expressions poised and natural, like three confident aristocratic ladies casually passing by.

Their presence perfectly highlighted the unique and distinguished character of the gowns they wore.

Meanwhile, on two large display boards over four meters tall flanking the stage, details about the models’ gowns—including the designer, design philosophy, features, and price—were showcased.

Fashion Week staff moved among the guests, politely informing them that orders could be placed at any time for the dresses on display.

This innovative combination of fashion shows and on-the-spot sales was a revolutionary and cutting-edge concept for the 18th century.

Mrs. Walsh immediately fell in love with a light green gown worn by the model on the left. She glanced at the price on the display board—220 livres.

She mentally converted the price to pounds and, reassured that her husband wouldn’t mind, turned to him with a charming smile and asked softly,
“Dear, what do you think of that green gown?”

Walsh, distracted by the “voluptuous beauties,” glanced at the price and absentmindedly nodded, “If you like it, buy it.”

“Thank you, darling!” She immediately summoned a staff member.

However, she soon regretted it. A later model appeared wearing a purple ball gown that captivated her even more than the green dress.

Each subsequent outfit was more fashionable and beautiful than the last, leaving Mrs. Walsh dazzled and with only one thought in her mind: “I want them all.”

An hour later, the first show ended.

Despite her restraint, Mrs. Walsh still bought three dresses and a deep blue suit for her husband.

Walsh, meanwhile, enjoyed the view of slender waists and “voluptuous beauties,” only realizing the cost when it came time to pay—nearly 40 pounds!

This was gold pounds, with one pound worth approximately 25 livres.

Still, as a prosperous British wool merchant, he calmly paid the bill.

Many other guests faced similar situations. The 23 staff members managing Fashion Week pre-orders were so busy that they worked until 4 AM, their hands cramping from processing orders.

Meanwhile, Walsh’s companion, the British journalist Alvin, rushed back to his room to compose over ten pages of news reports about Fashion Week and sent them to Britain overnight.

That evening, the Walshes dined at the “Royal Restaurant” on the first floor of the Tuileries Palace, savoring authentic French court delicacies—beet-baked snails, Dauphin oysters, cherry-glazed foie gras, and red wine truffle-roasted pigeon...

The sumptuous feast left the couple, hailing from a culinary wasteland, utterly enchanted. They left the restaurant utterly stuffed, supporting themselves against the walls as they walked out.

Though they had waited over 40 minutes in line and spent 1 pound 12 shillings on the meal, they felt it was worth every penny.

Returning to the Tuileries Palace, Mr. and Mrs. Walsh originally planned to have a drink, but they noticed a brightly lit hall filled with colorful lamps and various peculiar machines midway. Laughter and joy filled the air, immediately drawing the couple in.

Their accompanying translator and guide pointed to the sign above the hall and explained, “This is an amusement hall with many fun games to play.”

Mr. Walsh, intrigued, stepped inside and immediately spotted a young man, who appeared to be of Spanish descent, pulling forcefully on a lever attached to a machine taller than a person. The cylinders inside the machine began spinning rapidly.

The Spaniard stared intently at the spinning cylinders, muttering under his breath, “Stop! Stop!”

Moments later, the front cylinder stopped, displaying the yellow fleur-de-lis of the French royal family.

The middle cylinder then came to a halt, also showing a fleur-de-lis.

The Spaniard’s breathing quickened.

Finally, the last cylinder slowed, moving past a sword, then an apple, before eventually stopping at a fleur-de-lis.

The young Spaniard erupted in wild cheers, punching the air and jumping repeatedly.

The machine emitted a series of crisp "ding" sounds, and the Spaniard bent down eagerly to retrieve a wooden box from the machine’s base. It was filled with silver livres—at least seventy or eighty coins.

“What is this?” Mr. Walsh asked in astonishment, turning to the guide.

The guide gestured toward the machine. “Mr. Walsh, this is called a ‘slot machine.’ You insert one livre to pull the lever. The cylinders inside will spin, and if they stop on three identical symbols, you’ll receive several times, or even dozens of times, the value of your bet in silver livres.

“That young man just now hit the jackpot—one hundred times the payout.”

Mr. Walsh’s interest was piqued. He scanned the hall, noticing that dozens of machines were all occupied.

Finally, at the cost of 10 livres, he acquired a turn from a middle-aged man and eagerly inserted a livre into the slot before pulling the lever forcefully.

After spinning rapidly, the cylinders stopped on a cat, a shield, and an "X," clearly a losing combination.

Frowning, he inserted another livre but again won nothing.

It wasn’t until his fifteenth try that the cylinders displayed three apples. A cheerful clinking sound came from the machine’s base as silver coins collided.

Mr. Walsh retrieved a wooden box and, overjoyed, pocketed the five silver livres inside, looking more thrilled than if he had won five pounds.

An hour later, Mrs. Walsh, yawning, retired alone to their reserved room on the second floor.

Mr. Walsh, meanwhile, noticed a pinball machine nearby with no players. Curious, he switched over.

Inserting a coin, he pulled the lever, sending the pinball bouncing around the machine before it finally fell into a hole marked “X3.” Three silver coins dropped from the machine.

Delighted, Mr. Walsh quickly “changed allegiance,” becoming absorbed in the pinball game.

These entertainment machines were specially prepared by Joseph for celebrations such as Fashion Week.

The internal mechanisms were simple, involving a combination of springs, flywheels, and gears. They were crafted over several months by the artisans of more than ten Parisian clock shops and were far less complex than clocks.

Although these were simple gaming machines, people of this era had never seen anything like them before. Enthralled, they repeatedly pulled levers and handles, unable to stop.

A total of more than seventy such machines had been set up in the Tuileries Palace, each voraciously consuming visitors’ silver livres.

By 3 a.m., Mrs. Walsh woke up from her sleep to find her husband still absent. Hastily dressing, she headed to the amusement hall, where she found Mr. Walsh, eyes bloodshot but visibly ecstatic, still pulling the lever...

...

The next day.

There were no fashion shows scheduled for the morning or afternoon.

After breakfast, Mrs. Walsh dragged her husband, whose dark eye circles covered half his face, to the much-talked-about "Eden Amusement Park," which was described as “extremely fun” and a place you’d “regret missing for the rest of your life.”

At the entrance to the amusement park, which looked like it had been plucked from a fairytale, workers dressed as large, fuzzy black-eared mice with big eyes and pointy noses greeted visitors.

Yes, these adorable mascots were none other than Mickey Mouse, copied directly by Joseph in an era where Disney didn’t exist to object.

Large crowds were drawn to the irresistibly cute Mickeys, some following them around while others gently touched their heads, exclaiming in awe.

The Mickeys enthusiastically directed visitors to the ticket booths.

The ticket prices were far from cheap—30 livres per person for unlimited access to all attractions, along with complimentary tea and snacks. For access to four steam-powered attractions without refreshments, the cost was 18 livres.

Mr. Walsh confidently handed over 2 pounds and 10 shillings to the ticket seller for full access and entered the amusement park with his wife.

His wife, who was over thirty, instantly transformed into a teenage girl, laughing and cheering as she rode the carousel and teacups.

After Mrs. Walsh finally had her fill of fun, she pulled her husband toward the flagship store of the Paris Angel Company. While Britain had franchised stores, the Paris flagship reportedly carried a new product called "eye cream," currently discounted—a must-buy!

They initially planned to call for a carriage, but a public horse-drawn bus happened to stop nearby. Following the guide’s suggestion, they curiously boarded the spacious vehicle, which could accommodate 25 passengers.

Pulled by two horses, the bus moved swiftly along newly laid wooden tracks. The wheels faced minimal resistance, allowing for high speed. Moreover, the vehicle’s new suspension system, combined with the smooth wooden tracks, ensured the ride was almost completely free of bumps.

Mrs. Walsh remarked joyfully, “This bus is incredibly comfortable.”

The guide chimed in, “You have a keen eye! This uses the same technology as royal carriages. Similar carriages are now a favorite among Parisian high society.”

Mrs. Walsh leaned in and whispered, “How much would a smaller, four-person version of this cost?”

“Around 600 livres,” the guide replied.

Mrs. Walsh immediately turned to her husband with a pleading look. He nodded generously. “Tomorrow, we’ll visit the carriage shop.”

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